Via Filipina 2007 No. 20
Serendipity Surf #1: Learning, Languages, and Living
By Niña Terol
Using the principles that I have learned from my serendipity walks (“Don’t think, just walk”), I went on a short journey around the World Wide Web, letting my mouse and my fingers take me where they would. I tend to be very utilitarian in my approach to the Web and hardly go Web surfing, so this proved to be quite an interesting exercise.
Here are some interesting sites and tidbits of info that I found along the way. I hope you’ll find some of these useful.Ü
Free online courseware
MIT (Massachusetts Institute of Technology) offers free online courseware on a lot of topics ranging from Management and Mathematics to Quantum Physics and Nuclear Engineering. These materials have been compiled from actual undergraduate and graduate lectures and are completely and absolutely free. It’s great for people (like me) who like to catch up on their academics without the hassle of attending classes or paying for tuition.
The upside: You can download courses from a wide range of subjects and you’re not bound to any kind of concentration or degree. (If you want to read up on Earth, Atmospheric, and Planetary Sciences, go ahead!)
The downside: These courseware don’t entitle you to certification of any kind.
Free language labs
Want to brush up on your Spanish or French? Or do you want to learn a new language, such as Portuguese, Greek, or even Flemish? BBC has a cool portal that offers video, audio, and MP3 downloads of courses, conversations, clips, and catchphrases featuring 37 European languages, the different UK languages (Irish, Scottish Gaelic, Welsh), and the usual global languages (French, Spanish, German, Italian, Mandarin, Portuguese, and Greek). I liked it for its variety, its user-friendliness (if you don’t have audio in your computer, you can view transcripts), and—of course—the credibility that comes from BBC.
The upside: There’s so much to do, learn, and download—and most of it is free.
The downside: You’ll lose out on the classroom interaction that’s vital in learning a new language, and you won’t earn any certification from this, either. (The fact that I scored 9 out of 10 on a Spanish skill assessment test doesn’t mean anything; Instituto Cervantes still downgraded me from nivel once to nivel cuatro!)
Home Improvement on Both Sides of the Spectrum
I used to be a Martha Stewart fan—that is, until she served time for insider trading and until I realized how drab she really looks onscreen! For all her tips and tricks on getting organized and living an idyllic life, she sure looks far from put-together!
In spite of that, however, I still enjoy watching her show once in a while and going through the sites of the various Martha Stewart magazines. My favorites are Martha Stewart Living, Martha Stewart Weddings, and Body + Soul. You don’t need to register or purchase anything to get tips and recipes, and you’ll get a lot of ideas for summertime crafts and fun (if you’re looking for some).
The thing about Martha, though, is that there is a lot of emphasis on perfection and details that may sometimes be too time-consuming and downright impractical for everyday living. That’s why I also like Real Simple. It’s an online and offline magazine that gives tips and advice for people who just want things done simply, practically, and fuss-free. (This is where I got the leads on MIT and BBC Languages.=))
The upside: Loads of ideas!
The downside: Not enough time to work on all these ideas! Sometimes, too, the tips and recipes aren’t suited to Philippine (read: Third World) living.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Monday, April 16, 2007
The People Are Still Smiling
Via Filipina 2007 No. 19
The People Are Still Smiling
By Niña Terol
It was, for Paul and I, just like any other night: he was to perform a high-intensity number on his Kali Drum, in front of an audience of thousands, and I was to be his ever-loyal partner, just watching from the sidelines, embracing my love from afar.
Only this time, he was performing on a makeshift stage in the middle of an urban poor settlement. His audience was a cheering mob of squatters and unemployed folk, malnourished children running barefoot on a newly cemented road, men and women perched high atop unfinished hollow block structures, people who called shacks made of corrugated steel their home. This was a campaign rally, and the people have gathered here not so much to hear the candidates’ platforms, but to get away from the squalor of their crushed dreams and, maybe, get a t-shirt, a cap, or even some noodles and canned goods to help them survive the next few days.
The people here have so much more to hope for, and yet they smile and cheer at the slightest provocation: a naughty joke here, a poorly sung videoke favorite there, the sight of a B-list celebrities and has-beens whose only claims to fame are either their surgically enhanced chests or their pretty-boy looks.
There was clearly hardly anything for me to enjoy, especially since I was in danger of being crushed by the mob, and my only link to safety was the shadow of my father-in-law-to-be’s close-in. I had already been spending the last two hours trying not to inhale the stench of the stale summer air infused with sweat and rotten garbage, and I had to find a way to smile at people and avoid fainting. It’s nobody’s dream date, but this—to be “one with the people”—is what my beloved lives for; this is now a part of my reality, too.
Beyond the literal and figurative filth that surrounded me, however, what made my stomach churn was the fact that the people seemed happy to swallow the trash that was being fed to them. This compound, I later on discovered, was a cemetery-turned-dumpsite-turned-urban poor settlement, and the people were literally living in and with garbage. It’s probably not their fault that they live here, but it’s probably their fault that they demand nothing more from their candidates but (poor) entertainment and a few hundred bucks. I saw for myself how a candidate with good credentials and a track record of public service was received less than warmly by the audience, but a candidate with a TV show, a penchant for arriving late, and nothing else to show for was met with hysterical cheers. It was as if they owed that candidate for showing up and gifting the multitude with his manufactured smile.
Filipinos are known for being “the happiest people in the world.” Our cheerful disposition, our warmth, and our compassion are known the world over, and they are probably the reasons why we are still around after decades of self-sabotage. But… to still keep on smiling and just nodding our heads through all this? Have we no self-respect at all?
There is nothing wrong with smiling through the pain. I just wish that people could learn to distinguish between laughter and mockery.
The People Are Still Smiling
By Niña Terol
It was, for Paul and I, just like any other night: he was to perform a high-intensity number on his Kali Drum, in front of an audience of thousands, and I was to be his ever-loyal partner, just watching from the sidelines, embracing my love from afar.
Only this time, he was performing on a makeshift stage in the middle of an urban poor settlement. His audience was a cheering mob of squatters and unemployed folk, malnourished children running barefoot on a newly cemented road, men and women perched high atop unfinished hollow block structures, people who called shacks made of corrugated steel their home. This was a campaign rally, and the people have gathered here not so much to hear the candidates’ platforms, but to get away from the squalor of their crushed dreams and, maybe, get a t-shirt, a cap, or even some noodles and canned goods to help them survive the next few days.
The people here have so much more to hope for, and yet they smile and cheer at the slightest provocation: a naughty joke here, a poorly sung videoke favorite there, the sight of a B-list celebrities and has-beens whose only claims to fame are either their surgically enhanced chests or their pretty-boy looks.
There was clearly hardly anything for me to enjoy, especially since I was in danger of being crushed by the mob, and my only link to safety was the shadow of my father-in-law-to-be’s close-in. I had already been spending the last two hours trying not to inhale the stench of the stale summer air infused with sweat and rotten garbage, and I had to find a way to smile at people and avoid fainting. It’s nobody’s dream date, but this—to be “one with the people”—is what my beloved lives for; this is now a part of my reality, too.
Beyond the literal and figurative filth that surrounded me, however, what made my stomach churn was the fact that the people seemed happy to swallow the trash that was being fed to them. This compound, I later on discovered, was a cemetery-turned-dumpsite-turned-urban poor settlement, and the people were literally living in and with garbage. It’s probably not their fault that they live here, but it’s probably their fault that they demand nothing more from their candidates but (poor) entertainment and a few hundred bucks. I saw for myself how a candidate with good credentials and a track record of public service was received less than warmly by the audience, but a candidate with a TV show, a penchant for arriving late, and nothing else to show for was met with hysterical cheers. It was as if they owed that candidate for showing up and gifting the multitude with his manufactured smile.
Filipinos are known for being “the happiest people in the world.” Our cheerful disposition, our warmth, and our compassion are known the world over, and they are probably the reasons why we are still around after decades of self-sabotage. But… to still keep on smiling and just nodding our heads through all this? Have we no self-respect at all?
There is nothing wrong with smiling through the pain. I just wish that people could learn to distinguish between laughter and mockery.
Friday, April 13, 2007
The Hard Questions About Family
Via Filipina 2007 No. 18
The Hard Questions About Family
By Niña Terol
The Hard Questions About Family
By Niña Terol
In my previous post, I mentioned having answered some questions about Family as a way of "excavating" through my childhood. Some of them are easy enough to answer; some will take more time and thought. You may choose to answer then one at a time--perhaps one a day or even one a week--and you may also choose to answer them all in one go, as I did last week. However you choose to tackle these questions, remember that, sometimes, it's not the answers themselves that count, but the process of asking the questions. (Rilke, remember?)
I will share more of the questions as I go through the other chapters in Miss Piver's book and go deeper into the soul-searching process. But if you could somehow find your own copy of The Hard Questions for an Authentic Life, then I would highly recommend getting your own. Think of it as your very own "performance evaluation workbook" as you go through the different stages in your life.
Ready? Here goes... Good luck!
Taken from The Hard Questions for an Authentic Life by Susan Piver
1. Whom do I consider to be my family? How many families am I a part of? List every person whom you consider to be a part of your family--be it your family of origin, the family you've created through marriage, the family you hope to create, or your families of choice.
2. Take a look at each person on this list and ask yourself the following: How often do we really connect with each other? Is it often enough? Too often? Are we involved enough in each other's life? Too involved? Are there any changes I need to make in terms of time spent with this person or depth of involvement in each other's life?
3. If I have not yet created my own family, would I like to? Is there anyone in my life right now with whom I can imagine creating a family?
4. What would this family look like (just the two of us and our friends, one child, a bunch of kids)? Does this person want to create a family with me? If I don't know, how can I find out?
5. In what ways would I like my family to be similar to the family I grew up in? In what ways would I like it to be different?
6. What values did I gain from my family of origin? The three most helpful? The three least helpful? Where do I notice these values showing up in my current life, with my current family (if applicable), and with my friends and initimate partners?
7. How have these values evolved or changed as I've become an independent adult? Has this created conflict within myself or within my family? If so, is there anything I can do or say to resolve these conflicts? What is the next step I can take in this process?
8. What conflicts exist within my immediate family (whether of origin or of marriage)? Is there any way to resolve them? Is there anyone I need to forgive? If so, for what? Whether or not the conflict involves me directly, what can I do to create healing within the family? Is there a conversation I need to have, a letter I can write, or an internal shift I can make to start the healing process?
9. If I'm married or in a committed relationship, does my spouse or intimate partner feel like "family" to me? If so, what is it about our relationship that makes it feel like family? Of not, why not? Are there things I can do to deepen our sense of family?
10. What do I really need that my family is unable to give me? Are there unresolved issues of psychological or physical security? Emotional connection and support? Is there some other way to get these needs met? Is there a conversation I need to have with a family member, clergy, or therapist to help me with my current needs?
11. What do I wish my family understood about me? Knew about me? Liked about me? Are there contributions I make that I feel go unappreciated? Are there things I like about myself that my family doesn't seem to recognize and value? Does my family "see" and appreciate who I really am? If not, how can I bring them more fully into my inner life? Or become reconciled to the idea that this may never happen?
12. What am I expected to contribute to the family? Am I the sole breadwinner? A key contributor to family income? Who is the central emotional caregiver? Who is responsible for household chores such as cooking, cleaning, repairs, bookkeeping? Am I comfortable with the roles I play? If not, what can I do to make the sorts of changes I'd like?
13. What holidays or events do I share with my family? Which would I like to share? Do we celebrate each other, important events, and happy times? Do we have a way of supporting each other during difficult times?
14. If I don't feel that I'm part of any family, what can I do to create family in my life? Are there professional, spiritual, leisure, or creative groups I can reach out to or join?
The photo above was taken during Erica's seventh birthday last year. Dad and I haven't spoken since my birthday this year; he got mad at me for not picking up my phone on the day of my party because I was busy cooking and entertaining my guests during MY special day. He didn't show up at my party. 'Nuff said.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Coffee? Tea? Yes, With Me!
Via Filipina 2007 No. 17
Coffee? Tea? Yes, With Me!
By Niña Terol
Something beautiful happens when you choose to ignore technology for a while—as I did during the Easter holiday. You clear your mind of the cobwebs that block otherwise good judgement, you silence the cacophony of seemingly urgent demands on your time, and, little by little, you come face to face with the You that you haven’t seen in a while.
You know how it is when we have coffee (or, in my case, tea) with a friend to catch up and make up for lost time? That’s what I did this Easter—only, I made a date with myself to see how I have been doing.
It may seem a little awkward at first—what with all the pauses and the heavy silences in the room (or in my mom’s veranda)—but if you do it often enough, you’ll see that you, indeed, are your own best friend instead of your own worst enemy and the saboteur of your successes.
It seemed apt, too, to do it on Easter, for what else is the point of this holiday but to celebrate the miracle of rebirth? I’m not a religious person in the Church sense of the word, but I think that a good way to make penance at Lent is to spend time with ourselves and really see what on earth we’re doing. More than cutting back on junk food or giving up meat, it’s coming face to face with ourselves that can be a very painful experience. (But then again, you can’t be reborn if you don’t die a little, can you?)
In my case, facing myself meant going back to the root of everything: my childhood. I revisited the bittersweet moments, the periods of loneliness and confusion, the rejection and the depression, and also the little victories and the moments of childhood triumph. I looked again at what I did, why, and how, and I saw how the Me that is here now is actually the child of the Me that used to be. Our childhood experiences give birth to our traumas and our motivations in adult life, so it makes sense to start our catch-up process there.
I used the chapter on Family in Susan Piver’s book, The Hard Questions for an Authentic Life, as a guide in what Sarah Ban Breathnach calls “the excavation process.” Aside from answering these questions, I dug up old photos and observed the expressions that I had, the changes that have taken place in and about me these past 27 years, and how I feel about them now. These “exercises” made me realize that it’s the little choices that I have made then—what toys to play with, how to spend my time, which friends to keep—that have all helped me to become this person that I, in all honesty, love so much now.
And I say it without shame: I love myself for who I am and what I have become! And credit goes to the Little Niña who loved playing with Barbies and paper dolls, who built Lego towns and then made short animated clips out of the characters there, who kept diary after diary filled with poems, stories, and odes to then-crushes. I am a product of the choices that I had made as a child, and it’s only through the power of hindsight that I can say that I am happy to have made those choices.
I am a product of my family, too—and this is where the soul-searching turns rather bittersweet. Inasmuch as I love my family dearly, I know that I would have chosen to be born in a different situation if I could have. Alas, Nature dictates that there is only so much of life over which we have a choice; being born into a particular family or domestic situation is not one of them.
Again, let me reiterate: I love my family. It’s just that, since I was five years old (when my parents broke up), I have had to carry the unnecessary burden of being labeled a child from a broken family (and in those days, it was a big deal). Maybe it’s this stigma—and the desire to rise above it—that has helped me make good choices later on, but the stigma remains, and it has scarred me deeply.
Ironically, however, it was in facing the scars and facing the pain once again that I have learned to make peace with myself. There are certain things that can no longer be changed, but these all carry valuable lessons that I will bring with me as I move forward. When I came face to face with myself and saw things as they were, I appreciated once more how everything turned out the way they did. It’s like that wonderful pause in the middle of a conversation with your best friend when you sigh contentedly and say, “Things have a funny way of working out, don’t they?” They sure do.
Now that I’m back to the facing the daily grind, I know that I’ll miss those five glorious days of doing nothing else but catching up with me. There is so much more to talk about—our favorite topic: boys!—but I also know that I won’t wait ‘till next Easter for the next catch-up session.
Coffee? Tea? Yes, With Me!
By Niña Terol
Something beautiful happens when you choose to ignore technology for a while—as I did during the Easter holiday. You clear your mind of the cobwebs that block otherwise good judgement, you silence the cacophony of seemingly urgent demands on your time, and, little by little, you come face to face with the You that you haven’t seen in a while.
You know how it is when we have coffee (or, in my case, tea) with a friend to catch up and make up for lost time? That’s what I did this Easter—only, I made a date with myself to see how I have been doing.
It may seem a little awkward at first—what with all the pauses and the heavy silences in the room (or in my mom’s veranda)—but if you do it often enough, you’ll see that you, indeed, are your own best friend instead of your own worst enemy and the saboteur of your successes.
It seemed apt, too, to do it on Easter, for what else is the point of this holiday but to celebrate the miracle of rebirth? I’m not a religious person in the Church sense of the word, but I think that a good way to make penance at Lent is to spend time with ourselves and really see what on earth we’re doing. More than cutting back on junk food or giving up meat, it’s coming face to face with ourselves that can be a very painful experience. (But then again, you can’t be reborn if you don’t die a little, can you?)
In my case, facing myself meant going back to the root of everything: my childhood. I revisited the bittersweet moments, the periods of loneliness and confusion, the rejection and the depression, and also the little victories and the moments of childhood triumph. I looked again at what I did, why, and how, and I saw how the Me that is here now is actually the child of the Me that used to be. Our childhood experiences give birth to our traumas and our motivations in adult life, so it makes sense to start our catch-up process there.
I used the chapter on Family in Susan Piver’s book, The Hard Questions for an Authentic Life, as a guide in what Sarah Ban Breathnach calls “the excavation process.” Aside from answering these questions, I dug up old photos and observed the expressions that I had, the changes that have taken place in and about me these past 27 years, and how I feel about them now. These “exercises” made me realize that it’s the little choices that I have made then—what toys to play with, how to spend my time, which friends to keep—that have all helped me to become this person that I, in all honesty, love so much now.
And I say it without shame: I love myself for who I am and what I have become! And credit goes to the Little Niña who loved playing with Barbies and paper dolls, who built Lego towns and then made short animated clips out of the characters there, who kept diary after diary filled with poems, stories, and odes to then-crushes. I am a product of the choices that I had made as a child, and it’s only through the power of hindsight that I can say that I am happy to have made those choices.
I am a product of my family, too—and this is where the soul-searching turns rather bittersweet. Inasmuch as I love my family dearly, I know that I would have chosen to be born in a different situation if I could have. Alas, Nature dictates that there is only so much of life over which we have a choice; being born into a particular family or domestic situation is not one of them.
Again, let me reiterate: I love my family. It’s just that, since I was five years old (when my parents broke up), I have had to carry the unnecessary burden of being labeled a child from a broken family (and in those days, it was a big deal). Maybe it’s this stigma—and the desire to rise above it—that has helped me make good choices later on, but the stigma remains, and it has scarred me deeply.
Ironically, however, it was in facing the scars and facing the pain once again that I have learned to make peace with myself. There are certain things that can no longer be changed, but these all carry valuable lessons that I will bring with me as I move forward. When I came face to face with myself and saw things as they were, I appreciated once more how everything turned out the way they did. It’s like that wonderful pause in the middle of a conversation with your best friend when you sigh contentedly and say, “Things have a funny way of working out, don’t they?” They sure do.
Now that I’m back to the facing the daily grind, I know that I’ll miss those five glorious days of doing nothing else but catching up with me. There is so much more to talk about—our favorite topic: boys!—but I also know that I won’t wait ‘till next Easter for the next catch-up session.
After all, best friends don’t get together for coffee (or tea) just once a year, do they?
*Wink*
*Wink*
Monday, April 2, 2007
What You Can Live and Live Without
Via Filipina 2007 No. 16
What You Can Live and Live Without
By Niña Terol
My most recent post elicited some responses from concerned girlfriends who either offered to talk or who shared some advice. The control freak in me is usually quite unreceptive to unsolicited advice, but this time, it made me feel so much better to know that there were other women like me who had felt the same way at some point in their lives. What was most reassuring was the realization that my experiences are normal—that there is no need for me to feel guilty or to think that I am doing something wrong.
The best reminder that I received was from a newlywed friend whom I consider a part of my “inner circle” of girlfriends, and whose partnership with her now-husband is, to me, a true example of dedication in love.
“… Love is a choice. I don't know why, but I've always felt this statement was empowering—because it reminds me that love is not subject to the vagaries of time. It's something that you build with your partner, and something you have the power to nurture and grow. And it reminds you that when things get rocky, the decision is always yours—to give up on the life you've built together or fight for it. I know it sounds idealistic (esp from a newlywed) but it's how I hope to make it through the next 50 years ;-)”
Reading her words not only reminded me of Fr. Dacanay’s class in Theology of Marriage and M. Scott Peck’s book, The Road Less Traveled (“Love is the will to extend oneself for one’s own or another’s spiritual growth”—or something like that), it also reminded me of all the great little things that make my relationship with Paul worth choosing over other things.
I’ve said it so many times, and in so many ways, that it’s the little things that matter, the little choices that define us. It’s been said so many times, too, that it’s the little things that can make or break relationships and marriages. However, we must also remember that not all little things matter in the same way. The act of choosing—the act of loving—is defined by what we decide to fight over and what we decide to tolerate or ignore. We’ll need to pick our battles wisely; we’ll need to constantly re-evaluate and redefine what we can or can’t live without, and what will or won’t kill us. Sometimes, the answers will surprise us.
For instance, when I think of our shoebox-of-a-home and feel tempted to throw a fit over the eternal mess in the living room, the food stains on the newly washed bed sheet, the food particle that was thrown in the kitchen sink, I pause for a moment and think: Are these little things really worth fighting over? Sure, I am Monica meets Charlotte meets Bree meets the Stepford wives, and I do want to have my domicile as clutter-free and as shabby chic as possible, but is that reason enough to create tension in our already small space and disrupt the flow of good energy into our home? At the end of the day, I’d rather fall asleep with my beloved in a comfortable mess, than sleep all alone in a sterile space.
And when my friends flash their rings and talk about their wedding proposals and their diamonds and their elaborate, traditional weddings, there are times when I do feel rather sad over not having THE wedding proposal of my dreams, THE ring with the huge rock on my finger, THE traditional wedding with the cathedral and the long trail and hundreds of guests. But then I catch myself and remember: I may not have a ring, but I have a home. I may not have been formally asked for my hand in marriage, but my beloved has worked hard to earn his right to call himself my future husband. We may not have a huge bank account (yet), but we have everything that we need, and we have all the right fundamentals to build a good future.
Sometimes I use this line to describe the dynamics in my relationship with Paul: “He has all of the things that I hate, sometimes to the 10th degree, but he also has all the things that I absolutely, non-negotiably cannot live without.”
Another friend describes it a bit more grotesquely: “There will always be sh*t; it’s just a matter of figuring out what kind of sh*t you can live with.”
The space, the mess, the money—these are issues that can be resolved with some planning, a lot of hard work (and a maid), and some comfortable compromises. These, I can live with. But everything else that I have found only in and through my relationship with Paul—an honest-to-goodness soulmate, a mentor, a partner, a workout buddy, a fellow sojourner… Music, paintings, loud colors, unconventional clothing, scrapbooks on the wall, purple roses, orange-and-yellow bouquets, gifts-just-because, meditation sessions, late-night discourses on synchronicity and the Universe, shared crash diets and food fests, jogging by the bay, boxing at the gym, free passes to art exhibits and cultural performances, conversations with some of the country’s most talented artists, playing dress-up and taking pictures wherever, dreaming of India and Spain and exotic cultures, working hard to make a difference in the world—these are things that have not only defined our relationship, they have brought out more of MYSELF and have made me comfortable in my own skin.
I have realized that instead of being in a constant state of angst over the things that I don’t have, because of Paul and our relationship, I am moving towards being in a constant state of celebration over experiences that money will never be able to buy.
Yes, the next time I experience anxiety attacks and have questions about being with someone “forever”, I will remember these things and choose love and the little things that I can’t live without—over and over again.
What You Can Live and Live Without
By Niña Terol
My most recent post elicited some responses from concerned girlfriends who either offered to talk or who shared some advice. The control freak in me is usually quite unreceptive to unsolicited advice, but this time, it made me feel so much better to know that there were other women like me who had felt the same way at some point in their lives. What was most reassuring was the realization that my experiences are normal—that there is no need for me to feel guilty or to think that I am doing something wrong.
The best reminder that I received was from a newlywed friend whom I consider a part of my “inner circle” of girlfriends, and whose partnership with her now-husband is, to me, a true example of dedication in love.
“… Love is a choice. I don't know why, but I've always felt this statement was empowering—because it reminds me that love is not subject to the vagaries of time. It's something that you build with your partner, and something you have the power to nurture and grow. And it reminds you that when things get rocky, the decision is always yours—to give up on the life you've built together or fight for it. I know it sounds idealistic (esp from a newlywed) but it's how I hope to make it through the next 50 years ;-)”
Reading her words not only reminded me of Fr. Dacanay’s class in Theology of Marriage and M. Scott Peck’s book, The Road Less Traveled (“Love is the will to extend oneself for one’s own or another’s spiritual growth”—or something like that), it also reminded me of all the great little things that make my relationship with Paul worth choosing over other things.
I’ve said it so many times, and in so many ways, that it’s the little things that matter, the little choices that define us. It’s been said so many times, too, that it’s the little things that can make or break relationships and marriages. However, we must also remember that not all little things matter in the same way. The act of choosing—the act of loving—is defined by what we decide to fight over and what we decide to tolerate or ignore. We’ll need to pick our battles wisely; we’ll need to constantly re-evaluate and redefine what we can or can’t live without, and what will or won’t kill us. Sometimes, the answers will surprise us.
For instance, when I think of our shoebox-of-a-home and feel tempted to throw a fit over the eternal mess in the living room, the food stains on the newly washed bed sheet, the food particle that was thrown in the kitchen sink, I pause for a moment and think: Are these little things really worth fighting over? Sure, I am Monica meets Charlotte meets Bree meets the Stepford wives, and I do want to have my domicile as clutter-free and as shabby chic as possible, but is that reason enough to create tension in our already small space and disrupt the flow of good energy into our home? At the end of the day, I’d rather fall asleep with my beloved in a comfortable mess, than sleep all alone in a sterile space.
And when my friends flash their rings and talk about their wedding proposals and their diamonds and their elaborate, traditional weddings, there are times when I do feel rather sad over not having THE wedding proposal of my dreams, THE ring with the huge rock on my finger, THE traditional wedding with the cathedral and the long trail and hundreds of guests. But then I catch myself and remember: I may not have a ring, but I have a home. I may not have been formally asked for my hand in marriage, but my beloved has worked hard to earn his right to call himself my future husband. We may not have a huge bank account (yet), but we have everything that we need, and we have all the right fundamentals to build a good future.
Sometimes I use this line to describe the dynamics in my relationship with Paul: “He has all of the things that I hate, sometimes to the 10th degree, but he also has all the things that I absolutely, non-negotiably cannot live without.”
Another friend describes it a bit more grotesquely: “There will always be sh*t; it’s just a matter of figuring out what kind of sh*t you can live with.”
The space, the mess, the money—these are issues that can be resolved with some planning, a lot of hard work (and a maid), and some comfortable compromises. These, I can live with. But everything else that I have found only in and through my relationship with Paul—an honest-to-goodness soulmate, a mentor, a partner, a workout buddy, a fellow sojourner… Music, paintings, loud colors, unconventional clothing, scrapbooks on the wall, purple roses, orange-and-yellow bouquets, gifts-just-because, meditation sessions, late-night discourses on synchronicity and the Universe, shared crash diets and food fests, jogging by the bay, boxing at the gym, free passes to art exhibits and cultural performances, conversations with some of the country’s most talented artists, playing dress-up and taking pictures wherever, dreaming of India and Spain and exotic cultures, working hard to make a difference in the world—these are things that have not only defined our relationship, they have brought out more of MYSELF and have made me comfortable in my own skin.
I have realized that instead of being in a constant state of angst over the things that I don’t have, because of Paul and our relationship, I am moving towards being in a constant state of celebration over experiences that money will never be able to buy.
Yes, the next time I experience anxiety attacks and have questions about being with someone “forever”, I will remember these things and choose love and the little things that I can’t live without—over and over again.
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