Eight Years Later

You, who have laughed with me (and sometimes at me; no hard feelings, really) with all my silliness and absurdity. You, who have allowed me to be what I am without any pretense and deception, Happy Anniversary!

And I imagine you saying something along the lines of “So, would you like to go out somewhere tonight?” And in my PG-rated dream, we were hugging, embracing, cuddling and snuggling.

Lest you notice, I’m becoming emotional these days and crave all that sort of human connection that only a hug can satisfy. I don’t exactly think of tearing up the dance floor or have a candlelit dinner, or go to a movie theater to celebrate our years together. In case you are not aware, I seemed to have lost for anything outdoor. May be we can just cook our favorite pasta dish and party with the kids at home.

And you will bring out your gift, a tiffany ring inside a tiny, red velvet box. And from somewhere came the sound of Jose Mari Chan’s I Have Fallen in Love With The Same Woman Three Times.

You know what? I am a wee bit jealous of your job right now. You are becoming too absorbed with it. I do apologize in advance if it came right over my head. But I can’t help thinking that there will always be younger, slimmer, sexier, prettier girls that will go around you. Those girls who can oh-so-casually walk up to any guy, look him straight in the eye, and ask him out. I hope you will not fall in to the trap. That though I cherish and adore you, I don’t think I can share you with any body to make the relationship thrive; and I’m not about to settle for anything less than a thriving relationship. No one should ever settle for anything less than that.

Your phone rings but you seemed not mindful of it. You look very happy, and proud with what become now of our married life together.

You have let me share a piece of myself with you, both as a woman and a friend, and for that, I am eternally grateful. This marriage has truly become a labor of love (translation: two cesarean cuts, one vertical, one horizontal. Just enough to remind of babies, and other hazards of sex).

I look forward to what the next eight years will bring. After all, this journey wouldn't be the same without you.

P.S.

My husband, a self-confessed computer nerd, will read this probably after so many years, so long a year I already forgot about the tiffany ring.