Monday 15 July 2024

"I AM A SENTIMENTAL WOMAN"


"I AM A SENTIMENTAL WOMAN"
(author unknown)

My husband is an engineer by profession. I love him for his steady nature and the warm feeling when I lean against his broad shoulders.
Three years of courtship and now, two years into marriage, I have to admit that I am growing tired of it. The reasons I loved him before have now become the source of all my restlessness.
I am a sentimental woman, extremely sensitive when it comes to relationships and my feelings. I yearn for romantic moments, like a little girl yearning for candy. My husband is my complete opposite; his lack of sensitivity and inability to bring 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 remained silent the whole night, deep in thought with a lit cigarette. My disappointment only increased. Here was a man who couldn’t even express his own predicament. What else could I hope for from him? Finally, he asked me, "What can I do to change your mind?"
Someone once said that 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's 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 know that picking the flower will cause your death. Would you do it for me?"
He said, "I will give you your answer tomorrow..." My hopes sank upon hearing his response.
I woke up the next morning to find him gone, and I received a bunch of messages from him on messenger. It read: "My dear, I would not pick that flower for you, but please allow me to explain further..." The first message already broke my heart. I continued reading:
"When you use the computer, you always mess up the software programs and cry in front of the screen. I have to save my fingers so I can help restore the programs. You always leave the house keys behind, so 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, so I have to save my eyes to show you the way. You always have cramps whenever your 'good friend' approaches every month, so I have to save my palms to calm the cramps in your tummy.
"You like to stay indoors, and I worry that you might be infected with infantile autism. I have to save my mouth to tell you jokes and stories to cure your boredom. You always stare at the computer, which isn’t good for your eyes, so I have to save my eyes so that when we grow old, I can help clip your nails and remove those annoying white hairs. I can also hold your hand while strolling down the beach, as you enjoy the sunshine and beautiful sand, and tell you the colour of flowers, just like the glow on your young face. So, my dear, unless I'm sure that someone loves you more than I do, I couldn’t pick that flower and die."
Tears streamed down my face, falling onto my phone screen and blurring the text. As I continued reading, "Now that you've finished reading my answer, if you're satisfied, please open the front door because I’m standing outside bringing your favourite bread and fresh milk..." I rushed 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 overlook the true love that lies between peace and dullness.
Love shows up in all forms, even very small and cheeky forms. It's never about grand gestures; it could be the most dull and boring form. Flowers and romantic moments are only surface appearances in a relationship. Underneath it all, the pillar of true love stands... and that's our life.... Love, not words, wins arguments...

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