Love

An inspiring story of true love...

My husband is an Engineer by profession, I love him for his steady nature, and I love the warm feeling when I lean against his broad shoulders. Three years of courtship and now, two years into marriage, I would have to admit, that I am getting tired of it. The reasons of me loving him before, has now transformed into the cause of all my restlessness. I am a sentimental woman and extremely sensitive when it comes to a relationship and my feelings, I yearn for the romantic moments, like a little girl yearning for candy. My husband, is my complete opposite, his lack of sensitivity, and the inability of bringing romantic moments into our marriage has disheartened me about love. One day, I finally decided to tell him my decision, that I wanted a divorce.

"Why?" he asked, shocked. "I am tired, there are no reasons for everything in the world!" I answered. He kept silent the whole night, seems to be in deep thought with a lighted cigarette at all times.

My feeling of disappointment only increased, here was a man who can't even express his predicament, what else can I hope from him? And finally he asked me:" What can I do to change your mind?" Somebody said it right, it's hard to change a person's personality, and I guess, I have started losing faith in him.

Looking deep into his eyes I slowly answered : "Here is the question, if you can answer and convince my heart, I will change my mind, Let's say, I want a flower located on the face of a mountain cliff, and we both are sure that picking the flower will cause your death, will you do it for me?" He said :" I will give you your answer tomorrow...." My hopes just sank by listening to his response.

I woke up the next morning to find him gone, and saw a piece of paper with his scratchy handwriting, underneath a milk glass, on the dining table near the front door, that goes....

My dear, "I would not pick that flower for you, but please allow me to explain the reasons further.." This first line was already breaking my heart. I continued reading. "When you use the computer you always mess up the Software programs, and you cry in front of the screen, I have to save my fingers so that I can help to restore the programs.

You always leave the house keys behind, thus I have to save my legs to rush home to open the door for you. You love traveling but always lose your way in a new city, I have to save my eyes to show you the way.

You always have the cramps whenever your "good friend" approaches every month, I have to save my palms so that I can calm the cramps in your tummy. You like to stay indoors, and I worry that you will be infected by infantile autism. I have to save my mouth to tell you jokes and stories to cure your boredom.

You always stare at the computer, and that will do nothing good for your eyes, I have to save my eyes so that when we grow old, I can help to clip your nails,and help to remove those annoying white hairs. So I can also hold your hand while strolling down the beach, as you enjoy the sunshine and the beautiful sand... and tell you the colour of flowers, just like the color of the glow on your young face...

Thus, my dear, unless I am sure that there is someone who loves you more than I do... I could not pick that flower yet, and die.. " My tears fell on the letter, and blurred the ink of his handwriting... and as I continue on reading...

"Now, that you have finished reading my answer, if you are satisfied, please open the front door for I am standing outside bringing your favorite bread and fresh milk...

I rush to pull open the door, and saw his anxious face, clutching tightly with his hands, the milk bottle and loaf of bread.... Now I am very sure that no one will ever love me as much as he does, and I have decided to leave the flower alone...

That's life, and love. When one is surrounded by love, the feeling of excitement fades away, and one tends to ignore the true love that lies in between the peace and dullness.

Love shows up in all forms. Flowers, and romantic moments are only used and appear on the surface of the relationship. Under all this, the pillar of true love stands, and that’s our life.

My Second Love

One of my closest friends, Adrian, made me a mixed CD of songs after I had a harsh breakup with a girl. Each song was meant to summarize points of my life, and the feelings and exchanges I'd had with different girls. He had written some not-so-kind things about her on the CD with pink marker, and it made me smile. Smiling with sincerity was difficult for me then. I spent my days hiding away in the practice rooms of the music center and skipping classes with my friends. I had become so numb that I could hardly even feel, let alone pretend to feel. Adrian's mixed CD was a temporary release.

At the end of my senior year in high school, I spent the majority of my time continuing to try to escape. That's when I fell in love again. Her black and white keys were smooth, and the mahogany body was beautiful. I would occasionally skip English class to meet "my love" in the theater. My understanding English teacher would spot me through the windows, sitting at the eight-foot Steinway grand piano in the orchestra pit. He'd smile and wave.

I had music theory class at eight o'clock every morning. It was my science, my philosophy, and my escape. Every day after class, I felt like I had accomplished something. My other classes felt like child's play compared to music theory. Transposing keys, figuring out major thirds and chords, and remembering to hold my fermatas were a completely different feeling. I had been playing piano and guitar for years, but I never really understood them until I learned theory.
At the end of the year, Flan Man, what we called our music theory teacher, asked me to meet him in his office. I had this overwhelming feeling that I had done something wrong, like I had cheated on homework or failed the exam.
"PHILLIPE... AIR-NANDESS!!" Flan Man always greeted me with a handshake and his crazy smile. "Phil, remind me where you are heading off to school next year."

"JMU," I answered. "I plan on doing the business program there... or maybe something with law."



"Listen. I hear you every morning practicing on the piano. You've really got something. A
certain je ne sais quoi!" He was always a little over the top, but he wouldn't have been a very good conductor if he wasn't so quirky. "Just promise me, whatever you do with your life, you keep music close by. Keep practicing some theory. I wouldn't want to see your talents go to waste." I just nodded and he showed me the A I got on the final exam. I never walked into the music room again.
There I was, barely eighteen, and deep in my heart, I could feel that shadow of emptiness pressing my shoulders down. Flan Man's words had thrown me a curve ball. It was the epiphany I had been waiting for, and all it took was someone else telling me I was good at something.
The first time I ever snuck into the theater and unveiled the piano, I felt relief. I felt relief from my failed relationship, relief from the fear of leaving high school, relief from my own complacency. There is a sensation that overwhelms me when I touch the keys of a piano. It's as if my feelings transcend my physical body and are released through song; the notes on each page are the ups and downs of my own emotions. And now, thanks to my teacher, I realized that music had become my purest passion.