Writing from the Kitchen Sink

I married my best friend, my comrade in arms, my partner in crime. We were in denial for the longest time. We couldn’t see what others could. We joke about how long it took for me to realise that we were actually married to each other.

And stand together, yet not too near together: For the pillars of the temple stand apart, And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow.

Kahlil Gibran

We are two very different people. I have always believed that only two peas in a pod can make a good couple. Opposites attract only in Science. Love is an art. Art is about blending, merging. Jarring notes and out of place brush strokes do not make good art. But like so many things, Life decided to step in. To prove me wrong. Life likes doing that to me.  

When I see him, I remember the first time we met. We were younger. Everything was exciting, everything was fresh, everything smelled of teen spirit. I was in a white denim jacket. He had spelled out his name. I noticed him and he noticed me. He did not dance. I did not give two hoots about who was watching. I remember the song. It was Don’t Cha by Pussycat Dolls. Irony.

And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.

Kahlil Gibran

Some things don’t change. He still doesn’t like dancing but when he does, it’s a dream. I still dance like no one’s watching. We dance to our own silent tune.

When I see him, I remember him walking across the street, away from me. He was waving back at me like we were long lost friends. We were meeting for the third time, possibly. But it felt like I had known him for a lifetime. There was a familiarity, a comfort. It felt like home. Our worlds had collided.

Fill each other’s cup but drink not from one cup. Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf. 

Kahlil Gibran

Our worlds are different. He likes vlogs and I live in books. But he always reminds me of the music in my heart.

When I see him, I remember grey skies. Grey dawns and the smell of freshly baked bread from the corner store co-op. Walks on wet pavements. Lugging heavy grocery bags. Crowded buses and ‘mind the gap’. Blustery days. Overcoats. Taste of home on Poland Street. Warm hearts.

Let there be spaces in your togetherness…

Kahlil Gibran

We have moved away from beautiful grey skies. He still does all the heavy lifting but I pull my weight too. We still walk together when we can. I aspire to bake my own bread some day.

When I see him, I remember late nights. Late night assignments. Late night chats. Late night snacks. Late night sweet tooth emergencies. Smoke and fog and sugar and laughter mingled with finding home. In him.

Love one another but make not a bond of love: Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls…

Kahlil Gibran

He returns home bruised and battle-weary after a long day and a hard commute. I wait for him with bated breath, a tired stay-at-home mom. We still struggle with sugar cravings. I wake up before the sun. He is still the night owl. But we find ways to sneak in midnight snacks and grey dawns. We love to laugh.

When I see him, I remember endless talks. Perhaps I talked and he listened. He listened to all my twitter without reservation, without prejudice, without judgement. I listened when he did not speak. He was the warm blanket I snuggled into.

Give your hearts, but not into each other’s keeping. For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts. 

Kahlil Gibran

We talk. About bills, about parenting, about growing old, becoming fatter/fitter. I love the sound of his voice. I love the language of his silence. We say ‘I love you’ in our own unique ways. He blushes when I scream it from the rooftops. I blush when he holds my hand surreptitiously in a crowded room.

Every day, we grow together. Every day we find and cherish the spaces in our togetherness.