That’s two four-year-itches, and it definitely was far from easy.
It took a while for us to get to where we are now. Now is a placid, stable state, and that while involved a lot of adjustments, arguments, and tears before we learned to accommodate each other’s personalities and quirks.
Amidst all the trials I held one thing true: we do love each other. But it was only during these recent years that I learned to appreciate my husband’s love language.
He is not and will not be the type to write me love letters or make grand romantic gestures, but he will unexpectedly ride the bus with me to Manila, just to ensure that I know my way around a new area in the city.
He will not hesitate to travel 250 kilometers just to help me construct a PowerPoint Presentation in a game show format.
Just when I was convinced he had no spontaneity, he will surprise me by coming home unannounced, settling for barely a 24-hour stay, just to say he misses me.
He will not likely declare his love on mountaintops, or with an audience, not even on social media, but I can depend on him to take care of all my computer-related needs, to handle the finances, to mind home improvement, to do the cooking, to make the bed in that special way that makes me smile, to massage and stretch the tension away from my body, among an array of other things that suit me and our life together.
All these years, he has shown his love through his presence, his service, his time. It took a while before I understood this language of his, for I spoke a different one all along, but now that I’m the tiniest bit wiser, I simply consider myself lucky.