The steps to fill the space between us, the
simultaneous wrapping of arms
and fingers around square shoulders, the
gentle brush of lips across my forehead
eyelashes tickling my cheek –
Some things change, some things stay the same.
I haven’t been married long enough to write about how hard it is. It seems effortless and exciting and brilliant and he’s crazy and I’m crazy about him. I’m sure I could have worded that with a touch more eloquence. #soz (dear future self when you see that hashtag, forgive me.)
Something I have noticed though, is that, I’ve changed. I’ve seen it in my eyes. In my reflection, in photos. I can hear it in my laugh.
in my interaction with people- my friends and family. It’s a subtle underlying ting beneath my conversation. A week ago my aunt leaned in to me – in the way that old people do when they want to impart wisdom – and whispered that I look much more mature now. I wasn’t sure what to make of it. It’s one thing for me to feel different and a wholly other thing for people close to me to tell me I look, talk and act differently. At first I wasn’t sure if I was comfortable with it. Did I change in a bad way or in a good way?
The epiphany I had: I had changed in an inevitable way. Everyone told me before I got married that things would change. They laughed and smiled that secret adult smile when they said
“Your husband becomes your best friend”
“You won’t be able to shit in the first week”
“Your whole life changes”
It seemed ludicrous at the time. It seemed a gross hyperbole. I mean my parents seemed pretty normal. Granted I didn’t know them before as separate entities BUT STILL.
Now I can see it.
I’m growing, and changing. And that’s not a bad thing. It merely takes an adjustment period, I’m still trying to find a balance between being a wife, a sister, a daughter and a friend. I have to actively try to be a good person in all those aspects of my life now. I’ll never stop trying.
You know it would be easy to achieve self-actualisation in a month if I could eradicate laziness from my life?
TO LOVE – Verb:
After you say things aloud, you begin to feel those things harder than you did before. I kissed his arm, and tried to explain to him the extent of my love. I tried to verbalise the way I could feel my heart expanding to contain all of it. I’m still not sure I could show him how much I appreciate him and care for him. He’s like this
one very good reason to get married is for the cuddles.
TO SET GOALS AND ACHIEVE THEM:
I absolutely have to include in this post that I am starting with Rushtush this month in order to get my rushtush tush. Here’s to the beginning of my fitness journey
*looks for dessert*
In my mother’s house, my room is half full of things I left behind. There’s no space in my new cupboards for all the jeans I was keeping for when I one day was a size 0. There’s no room for sentimental paraphernalia from 2000 and late. It smells musty and un-lived in. I grew up in this place, so why does it feel so
far away? like another lifetime I can barely recall. Even with standing in my room, it felt as if I was looking at it through a tunnel.
My bathroom however, feels exactly the same. That might be due to the fact that I’ve hardly gone to the bathroom since I got married. I had never experienced constipation before. Now I’m constipated all the time. My body would only find its way to the bathroom if my husband was nowhere near the vicinity and wouldn’t be for a few hours. I hope that goes away soon. I can’t live like this: Driving to my mom’s house every time I need to go.
One of the first questions I asked my husband before we got married was “Are you an affectionate person?” He said yes, he thinks so. Anyone who knows me, knows that a negative answer to that question would have been a total deal breaker for me. I can’t have my husband telling me not to hug him or touch him. I had already learned that not only was I generally an affectionate person, Physical Touch is my love language. It’s how I show people that I care for them. Similarly, simple gestures (like kissing my forehead) makes me feel loved.
He holds my hand while he drives. He opens the windows because he knows I get carsick. We drive around aimlessly at night. It’s my favourite pastime. We enter the house quietly, leaving all the lights off. I turned to kiss him-
you know sometimes when you touch a balloon and you touch someone else you feel a sort of spark? or when you touch the handle of a trolley and you get a shock? –
Sparks ignited when our lips met. literally. There was a beat of silence before I started whooping, laughing, jumping.
He thought it was hilarious. I thought it was magical. I am endlessly, hopelessly romantic. He asseverates all his love for me with his actions. I try and memorise the way he says my name. The way his tongue caresses the vowels in a way that makes my heart tremble.
I keep waiting for married life to “settle” to come into a routine. I find that each day with is different and filled with more.
That night was actually hysterical. It was 3 and a half weeks into being a wife. I really hope you guys are enjoying this as much as I am.
Things that I am most grateful for:
When people tell you that you’re not just marrying the person, you’re marrying the whole family, they’re not kidding. You’re acquiring a WHOLE set of people and they’re suddenly your family.
24 days. I knew him for 24 days before we got engaged. If you want to get technical – that is, count the hours I spent in his physical presence before we got married – I knew him for 9 hours before he was My Husband.
There’s this universal truth: you only get to know someone when you
Our home is a beautiful vista, bedaubed with rose gold colored ornaments. I marvel at all the tiny details put into making this place my new home. My eyes feast on everything I’ve been liking on Pinterest.
Here, I try to convince myself that this couch is mine, that this cupboard full of crockery is mine. I’ve never owned crockery before. And Tupperwares? Should I be returning these to my mother? And what do I with all these pots?
The furniture feels alien. Foreign. Even after I had lived here for a few days, it felt more like a weekend trip away. My clothing fit strangely. My belongings have acquired a different scent. I smell like my husband and this house. Every square inch speaks to me with soft, coaxing murmurs. But it can’t be rushed: the Feeling-At-Home process.
My husband begins to feel like the only familiar thing. I’ve known him longer than I’ve known the curtains and scatter cushions.
I walk around barefoot, my toes learning the pattern on the tiles, and the creak of my wooden floors.
I feel comfortable, yet uncomfortable. I soon realized that the discomfort was just me being homesick. Missing people, although an emotion, affects you physically. (Like most powerful abstract nouns, it could bring you to your knees. Funny how it’s the intangible things that have the tightest grip) we learn to enjoy companionable silences, and stay up all night talking. We swim at 2am and have snacks in the dark.
It feels like home.
This post depicts my first week living away from home.
Between 4pm and 5pm I develop a case of clinical anticipation. I glance at the clock every 3 and a half minutes, I fidget and fiddle with anything in my reach. I get positively antsy. He only leaves work past 5. Suddenly the wait is stretched out and crawling.
I’m too dramatic to admit that the wait was not as long as I expected. I’m too full of hyperbole and pedanticism to say that it was only 25 minutes.
My favourite part of every week day is the Mini Reunion between myself and my husband: I’m running across our little cottage but obviously in my head I’m running across a field of sunflowers. (the edges of my brain drip different flavoured cheeses; I know) I’ve been married for just over a month? I suppose it’s perfectly natural that I get excited (understatement) when he gets home.
Today his left pinkie is broken (no, it wasn’t my fault) his smile is bright, and as always, his arms are wide open.
Later, we’re folded into chairs under a marble table, our plates emptying slowly, the eating process delayed due to whispered conversations. One paragraph at a time, I can feel every nerve ending in my body sewing itself to his. This is how we become closer, with words that cause shiny eyes and fast beating hearts. This is how we fall deeper in love.
I’ll be continuing a series of posts like these, trailing back to my engagement and how I came to meet him, there will be other themes involved, It’s mostly about how much my life has changed and how much I’ve learnt in the past few weeks.