Expressions of love…

In my youth, I write plenty of poetry. Not sure about the general caliber of the poems, but I sometimes write verses for friends going through a rough patch, in times of success, departures, weddings... It is my way of helping, or celebrating, or simply expressing… It seems like a normal thing to do …

I remember a letter I once write to a friend after his father’s demise. It is the hardest letter I ever write as a teenager. It may be the one I ever spend the most amount of time on, wondering how to articulate something I cannot comprehend, yet trying to offer support. He tells me that he read it several times. It makes me believe in the power of words – to heal, to make things better, even when they don’t really do anything.

In journalism school, we pass notes in class in rhyme, sometimes continuing the verse. The end result is both hilarious and brilliant. I am, after all, surrounded by a gifted bunch of writers and it seems like a normal thing to do.  

A few decades ago, when my husband and I are dating, I write him a poem (I may have written him a few – but this one I remember well). If you look at the first letter of the first word of every line (vertically), it aligns to say: I love you and his name. I know… I know… cheesy and mushy – but again 20-year-olds do things like that. Despite the cheesy format, the actual poem is decent (ahem…so I think…).

I give it to him in the car and I suppose he puts it in the glove box. He leaves for graduate school in the US, soon after. About a year later, he and his mom pick me up in the same car. His mom nonchalantly pulls out the paper from the glove box – (I recognize the handmade paper with alarm) and with equal nonchalance says, “I found this in the car – would you like to keep it”.

Beetroot faced, I grab it from her. Neither she nor my husband (boyfriend at the time – yeah, I married him despite this!) seem to be particularly reacting. I, on the other hand, am mortified. I wonder how many people have read it. I cringe some more. If I can’t jump out of the window, I want the car seat to swallow me and to never emerge again from the foam. Neither happens. I feign nonchalance (I think). I also never write a poem for him after that day.  

Sometimes I write notes for my girl and put them in her lunch box. Some are sweet, some are funny, some are pretty darn neat (ahem… in my opinion). She comes homes, empties out her lunch box, throws the notes – straight into the trash. The first time I see her do that, my eyes widen. Whaaat…. My exquisite little note… I sigh…

After all, she reads my expression of love, receives it, is done with it and is now ready to move on to other things…In due fairness, I remember the notes and cards this little hallmark elf makes for us, when little – I keep a few, many end in the recycle bin.

I am now beginning to understand the value of doing something simply because we value it, or simply for us. After all, we may often not assign the same value to another person’s gestures when we are at the receiving end.

I know how much joy and connection I feel when I write to someone. And that is my joy. Simple. Pure. In the moment. Writing is just one example. We all have our own expressions. Some may be as fancy as a painting, while others may be as mundane as doing the dishes.  

Yes. Love is a strange thing. Maybe it doesn’t always come full circle. Maybe it is not always made of full circles. Maybe it is a half-rainbow-like circle that we send to one another. And just like a rainbow, it may be strong and bright or at times, wispy and light.

And if we look closely, there are more love-filled rainbows around us than we notice. They come from family and friends and pets and even strangers, and we give them out – knowingly, and sometimes when we don’t realize.

I rarely write letters anymore and I never write poems. That chapter is done, and I have turned a page. But I did start putting one together, after writing the above.

Fifteen minutes and a cup of tea later, I see I have no intention of completing it. So will post it even if it’s unfinished or unpolished… just to make sure my half rainbow goes out… Happy Valentine’s day!

What is love?

It’s the wine, chocolates and cheese
It’s sometimes doing the dishes

That tender feeling that rushes

When gripped by a baby’s fingers

That deep stirring of empathy

In seeing our parents aging

It’s the space we hold for another

Be it a friend or sometimes stranger

A glance to steady another

A gentle squeeze on the shoulder

Yet to receive it, requires
An openness of the heart
Even when there’s more than we know
Engulfing us all around…

 

Maybe someday, I will sit down, polish it and complete it… till then…