April Love

I don’t remember exactly how it started but I remember we first went out on a movie date. It was one of those Charlie Angels flick. It didn’t matter, the movie I mean. It was the company and the time spent together that mattered.

Then we started going out more and more often. I’d ask him to accompany me to places, get something, furniture hunting, try a new restaurant, catch the latest movie... and I enjoyed doing all that with him.

I found out more and more about him as a mate. How accommodating he was, how simple a person he is. How when he speaks his soft voice melts my heart. I was amazed at how comfortable I was walking around with him in KLCC, in PJ, in BB, even in Ampang... [when there was a risk we’d meet someone who knows my parents].

It was when my British mates came to visit KL that opened up my eyes and made me realise what a caring person he was. I had an upset tummy [I have a sensitive tummy]. He was accompanying my mates then. I called him on his mobile and he rushed over to pick me and brought me to a clinic. It was Saturday late afternoon and my clinic was already closed. No worries, he assured me, and took me to another. I didn’t have much cash but he said, not to worry, he did. Then he bought me dinner and sent me home. And if I recall it, he sent a text that night to ask how I was feeling. That night I cried in bed. I cried because I was happy. That finally there was someone who cared for me the way he did. I was crying because I knew I deserve it. I deserve to be cared [and loved] like that. Well, everyone does.

And then one day, I wondered. I wondered secretly when he would ask me to be his.

He was finally persuaded to ask me the privilege of being his girl in April.

I was truly happy. I thanked God and told Him I want to stay this happy for a very, very, very long time...

Life with him was unbelievably simple. I told my girlfriends about him [not my officemates especially after that episode with Jerk]. I wasn’t shy talking to him in my little baby voice, wearing my spoilt, pampered princess face with him, being my brat self, pulling out tricks at him by hiding around corners etc, and I love him for reciprocating in return and tolerating me. He once suggested something like maybe I should behave like the adult I am and I replied something like, ‘Honey, we don’t stop playing because we grow old but that we grow old because we stop playing.’

Yes, I called him Honey. My very own Honey Hunny.

I still spent the same amount of time with my girlfriends the way I did even before I met him. I love him for not calling me to check up on me. I love him for not questioning where I was going and who I was with. The more freedom he gave me the more things I wanted to share with him, the more I wanted to tell him what I did the night or day before, the more I wanted to spoil him. The more he doesn’t call up on me the more I call him during my outings to tell him that I wish he was with me and that I was missing him already.

I never knew simplicity could feel that good. We didn’t hold hands when we walked because I didn’t and still don’t think it’s appropriate – yes, despite me being the modern City born-and-bred girl - and he respected that [I don’t think I’d like it if my daughter, if I ever have the privilege of having one later in life, goes around holding hands with some boy and I don’t think my parents would like seeing me do the same].

Oh, the things we did. The places we went. The movies we watched. The restaurants we tried out. The stuff we talked about and shared. The shopping trips he accompanied me to. The little surprises we had for each other - soft toys for him, flowers for me, to name just two. The plans we made. The peak-hour phonecalls I made from England and Japan when I was there and the text messages I sent from Makkah because I missed him and the calls we made to each other when he was on sabbatical.

But I had my issues. I’m moody. I carried my emotional baggage with me into the relationship. I got insecure. I wrestled with the demons at night. I wondered if his parents thought I could ever be the right girl for their son. And I wondered if my parents would consent to the relationship.

I was also a coward. I didn’t dare take the risk of finding out what his parents actually thought of me or what my parents thought of him. I just wanted to continue for as long as I could without rocking the boat.

In my insecure state, I started to push him away. He would always come back and pacify me, comfort me, assure me, told me everything would be alright. He wanted to take care of me. I so badly wanted to hear that. But I was too confused with myself, with my feelings.

I loved him. But I never told him that. I was an insecure girl, constantly needing to seek assurances and imposing conditions and clauses. Because I was a prisoner of my own insecurities and doubts and I focussed mainly on the negative aspects – on why it may not work instead of on the positive aspects on why it would and could work. I failed to put a lid on my doubts, even with his constant assurances and reassurances. I didn’t work that hard and play my part as he did into making it work, so absorbed was I in all my insecurities. Like I said, I was carrying excess emotional baggage leftover from my previous failed relationships into ours. It wasn’t fair at all to him but I never realised that.

I should have been braver in expressing my feelings and make love to him, instead of holding myself back because I was afraid to commit myself.

And yet he remained strong and steadfast. And somehow, the surer he was, the less sure I was, the more doubts I had. How could he be so sure when I couldn’t? And yet he remained patient with me, giving me assurances, putting up with my emotional upheaval and irrational clauses and conditions. But I was too blind to see and appreciate all that.

And one day I pushed him away too hard and too far. Because I didn’t really expect him to actually fall for it. I thought he’d give me time and then come back and pacify me, assure me, put my doubts at ease once and for all... because I thought he knew the pressure I was under at work and the turmoil I was in with regard to my future career direction.

I thank God that I still have his friendship. I thank God that our paths crossed and that I have the pleasure of knowing and loving him. And I thank God that finally, I learnt my mistakes are what actually contributed to the failure of our relationship, although it was through a painful process that I learnt them. Yes, mainly my stupid mistake and now I’m paying the price of that costly mistake.

He will always be my April Love.

And I shall stop this indulgent reminiscence trip down memory lane now.