You bring me flowers. We talk for hours.

I enjoy looking back on the days when I was just falling in love. There's nothing more beautiful than discovering that God is changing your heart towards someone who was once just a friend. Although you may feel strange, helpless and bewildered, to me, it's still one of the most cherished feelings ever. And it's worth documenting and sharing.

This goes out to any girl who's ever been in love. :)And especially to the man who made me feel in love...it's been over a decade since that time, darling, and I'm still in love with you! See how far we've come?! :)

You bring me flowers...
...and we talk for hours.

You bring me chicken soup, medicine and cough drops when I'm down with the flu.

You go out of your way to drive me to places, especially when it's late and/or raining.

You read me poetry and fairytales on the phone when I can't sleep.

You take a deep and genuine interest in the things that I do, from the articles that I write to the issues my youth group struggles with.

You are so good for me that it's scary. What if I'm reading between the lines...only to find that there's really nothing there?

But despite the uncertainty, I am just glad that you are my best friend, because you're the only one who takes care of me this way. Your love - whether friendly or more than that (it doesn't even matter anymore at this point) - leaves me happily spoiled and gives me something to look forward to everyday.

Darling, every girl should have someone like you.

All my life, I've prayed for someone like you.

*I wrote this blog entry on Sept. 21, 2009, a decade ago now and many months before I got engaged and married. I wanted this to be part of my wedding vows and ended up writing something similar for the ceremony. This note goes out to every single lady who is waiting and praying for their God's best...know that the wait will someday be worth it!

All my life, I've prayed for someone like you.

And I thank God that I finally found you.

I absolutely don't want to spend the rest of my life with anyone else.

Cliche or not, he is the one I've wanted all my life.

When I was six years old, all I wanted was a Prince like Cinderella's to whisk me off to his castle and show me magical places and things.

When I was ten, all I wanted was for someone to hold my hand, lay on the grass with me and talk for hours on end about everything and nothing and then tell me I was beautiful.

When I was thirteen, all I wanted was to be secure and protected, to have someone I could trust and open up to like a best friend...and then some.

When I was sixteen, all I wanted was for someone to match my level of romantic hopelessness, to read me poetry and give me flowers and chocolates and take me to picture-perfect places, and to tell me every day that he loved me.

When I was nineteen, all I wanted was someone I could be proud of, someone I knew God approved of, someone I could take home to my parents and introduce to all my friends and have them tell me he's good for me.

When I was twenty-three, all I wanted was someone to have for the rest of my life, someone who would be faithful and sensitive and, unafraid of commitment, would be in it for the long haul.

When I was twenty-five, I found him.

He is everything I've been praying for...and a little bit more. 

The Drawing

She picked up the two inconspicuous yellowing sheets of white paper, which were almost lost amid the mess of random knickknacks, office materials and other old papers spilling out of the beaten heavy-duty gray storage bin she had pulled out of the walk-in closet in the room she formerly occupied with her husband at her in-laws' house.

At first, she thought they were just pieces of scrap paper waiting to be tossed in the recycling bin, but she noticed there was something drawn in in faded gray pencil, and this drew her attention. Sentimental by nature, she usually enjoyed random, unplanned trips down memory lane - especially when cleaning out closets, chests, attics and such for objects with sentimental value. 

She suddenly felt drawn to the sketches by a warm, unexplainable familiarity. A closer look revealed a cartoon-style sketch with scenes and characters that she knew all too well. These were sketches and artwork from her artist ex-boyfriend who she had broken up with ten years before. His style was still very distinct to her - the attention to facial details and expressions; the soft edges; the singular, solid pencil strokes.

The first sheet of paper - and the one that her eyes lingered on the longest - was a drawing of a family living room at Christmas time. She recognized the sketched version of her ex-boyfriend, seemingly older with a slight pot belly, a stubble-ridden jawline and longer hair tied up in a ponytail, sat comfortably in an armchair, wearing a tank top and loose jeans. He was holding a smiling, chubby infant of unknown gender, who was clad only in a slightly oversized cloth diaper, on his lap. A Christmas tree with wrapped presents scattered underneath stood in the background. It was a self-portrait of his future self.

He sat facing the TV, and the news was on. A familiar wavy-haired female news anchor was giving the six o' clock update. That's me, she remembered, running a finger over the small caricature of her own face.

This was more than just a doodle by a bored, young artist drawn to pass the time. This was a picture of a simple dream that she shared with him more than twelve years before. They were young and had been each other's first love, and had believed that high school romances could withstand the test of time and change. Dreams came a dime a dozen, and their love was headstrong, reckless, seeing no impossibilities, as most first loves are.

Several times they had actually discussed marriage. The first time it came up, they were high school seniors and were barely two months into their relationship. They were snuggled up against each other in a movie theater, waiting for the film to start. He had kissed her on the cheek, and instead of settling back in his seat, he kept his face close to hers, looking at her so intently that it made her blush a little.

"What?" she sheepishly asked, pushing gently back against his shoulder to make space.

"I think in about five years, I'll be ready to marry you," he answered, smiling. "We'll be done with college. You'll be a news reporter, I'll be an artist. We'll be all set. We'll have a little girl and move into our own place maybe...say...after a couple more years."

He had spoken matter-of-factly, as though it were so simple, as though it could happen tomorrow. And alas, it was not. He had her for three more rollercoaster years, then she had to move thousands of miles away with her family. And, try as they would, they could not make their love last across the miles.

That moment in the movie theater happened thirteen years before, and she was surprised and embarrassed at how clearly and quickly the memory came to her. Why now? she asked herself, now that she was happily married, with a husband and a child, and thousands of miles away from where she was a teenager who had fallen in love? The memory felt awkward and out of place in the here and now; she pushed it away with a slight tinge of guilt.

She chuckled as she looked down at the drawing in her hands, realizing that she wasn't a news reporter - even though that was what she had wanted to become all throughout high school. Now, she had a college degree, a well-paying job and a desk of her own at a law firm, but had never once appeared on TV to deliver as much as a weather update. Yet, she realized, she was more than okay with that.

And, she realized further with a smile, the man who currently sat in her living room holding her baby was a far cry from the kind of man her first love was. His complete opposite, in fact. Her husband was no artist like the man in the drawing, but he was solid, dependable, loving and selfless. The kind of man whose love withstands the test of time and change. A man who was real, not imagined.

She glanced down again at the sketched dream on paper. Some things looked beautiful on paper, she thought. But some things are beautiful just because they are real, and tangible. Like the life she had now. The life she lived without him - even though, once, long ago, he had dreamed of sharing it with her.

She took one last look at the drawing, and shook her head to force herself out of her reverie. This drawing - and this old, obsolete dream - didn't belong here. She crumpled it with one hand and threw it into a nearby wastebasket. Then she walked out of the room to where her husband and child were waiting.

Transition to motherhood.

Since my last post (or at least, the phase of life I was in during the posting), a lot has changed in my life. Certain, lasting love happened. Marriage and settling down happened. Grad school happened. Pregnancy happened, and finally, childbirth & motherhood. Definitely enough milestones to change a person's perspective, and, consequently, her writing style.

I admit that all these major life changes have resulted in me having little, if any, time left over to write creatively on a regular basis. And yet, the urge to write - to document my life story through either prose or poetry, especially now when there is so much to write about - tugs at my heart, because at the end of the day, I am and always will be a writer and a poet. There's an incessant need for me to express myself through written word, especially these days when my day job and my daily routine as a wife and mom allows very little room for that.

So I am resurrecting this blog in hopes of giving myself a creative outlet, and giving the ones I love something to remember me by.

True Love Snapshot #4.

How else can I define love other than through that beautiful evening in April?

It was just another night in my spring semester, junior year of college. We were sitting inside your car, which was parked by one of our favorite spots in San Francisco at the end of another one of my long days, talking about everything and nothing and finishing off a late fast food dinner.

Outside, a cool evening breeze was blowing, ruffling the grass on this rocky cliff that sloped gently downwards, just a few feet away, into the dark waters of the Bay, whose waves I could faintly hear through your closed windows. Above us, the moon and a sparse scattering of stars peeked through the thin veil of fog.

I was in a particularly good mood that night, despite my exhaustion, happy that the weekly meeting of the Christian organization I had founded on campus – with your help – had gone well and had yielded a good turnout.

"Thanks again so much for coming tonight to play music and help set up," I said, feeling warm gratitude swell up within me. "I couldn't have done it without you."

You glanced up at me briefly and smiled as you stashed the remnants of our dinner into a brown bag. "Of course. I'm always here to help."

OF course, I already knew that. I knew that you, my best friend, would jump up and help anyone who needed it, especially me. It was your relentless "helpfulness" that got me into the predicament I was in…you always driving to pick me up late at night from theatre rehearsals and college parties, or take me to interviews for the articles I wrote. Yes, you "helping" by always picking up the phone or coming over to my apartment whenever I needed to talk to someone because I was homesick or having a bad day…you praying with me, singing with me, laughing with me, just being there.

We had been best friends for almost a year now, since I moved to the Bay. But over the past few months, after our countless drives around the city and late-night dinners and sometimes random, sometimes profound conversations, somewhere in between all of that, I had fallen in love with you.

I smiled back, popped my last French fry into my mouth and looked over at you, wondering if you had any idea at all that up until a few days before, I had been fighting those feelings off as hard as I could, not wanting to change or threaten a genuinely good friendship with these stupid emotions.

But then, you had danced with me at that fancy birthday party we attended together. Slow-danced, of all things! I let my mind replay that moment when you walked over to where I was standing, goofing around with my friends, took my hand and led me to the dance floor, choosing to ignore all the hooting and teasing of our friends (who thought they knew better than to think we were really still just best friends) all around us. It was then when I threw caution to the wind and allowed my heart to hope…

"Hello? Are you okay?" Your voice snapped me back to reality. You were trying not to laugh because I had spaced out again.

I nodded. "Yeah, I'm just really tired."

You gave me this pensive look, as though you were studying my face, a half-smile on your lips. Lately, you'd been doing that more and more often, and it made me uncomfortable, because I felt like you could read my thoughts and find out my secret.

"What?" I asked, almost defensively.

"Nothing," you answered. "I'm just thinking…and I'm also really tired, actually. Can I rest a bit before I drive you home?"

"Sure," I said, moving closer to you and offering my shoulder so that you could lean on it and take a quick nap.

But, to my surprise, instead of just resting your head on my shoulder. as you were inclined to do, you turned around completely and reclined against me, your head nestling just under my chin. Then you reached for my hands and pulled my arms around you, nestling them on your belly.

And, here's me, pleasantly surprised, wondering what's going on, but enjoying the moment too much to complain. After all, what was wrong with the scenario? Absolutely nothing. We were just two best friends, hanging out - well, practically cuddling.

We stayed in this position, outwardly comfortable, but inwardly, my heart and my head were in a tug-of-war. My sensible self was scolding me. You're not supposed to fall in love, remember? So push him away, pronto! But my heart was smiling, smiling so broadly that I could have sworn it made my lips do the same.

So I let you stay there, snuggled against my belly, seemingly relaxed and content.

And then you spoke. Once you did, there was absolutely no turning back.

"I like you." It was soft, almost a whisper, almost drowned out by the sound of the waves and the hum of cars moving past.

You straightened up, turned in your seat to face me, to actually look me in the eye, fondly, affectionately. I was shaking inside, disbelieving, but willed myself to return your gaze. You took my hand and spoke again.

"I like you. I really like you."

So....what do I say to that?

The truth?

I decided, yes, I'll go with the truth. "I like you too."

And there we were, sounding like two awkward teenagers who'd never dated before, when in reality we were two twenty-somethings with our fair share of past relationships. And yet, there was no awkwardness in the moment. There was only relief, and sincerity. Finally, I did not have to keep any more secrets from my best friend.

I can never end this story with a true sense of finality. Because in reality, it has not ended. Because in reality, we are still living it out, now as husband and wife, and still as best friends, a little over a decade later.

I will always look back on that night. Picture-perfect, a scene out of a chick flick. You in my arms and your words forever changing the course of our friendship. Because of that night, I now know what the rest of my life will look like, and who I will be spending it with. I'm very glad that it's you.

Not quite just friends.

*written March 2008.

You shared a moment with me.

You whispered in my ear.

You told me all the words

That women like me long to hear.

But what's wrong with this picture

If you viewed it from afar

Is that it's only shared by friends,
And that is all we are.

I would like to move closer

But I'm scared of what I'd find

That maybe this affection

Is only in my mind.

For if I fall in love with you

Should you choose not to catch me

This fragile heart would surely break

And would not mend so quickly.

So maybe for a moment

To avoid this friendship's end

We might as well steer clear of love

And just remain good friends.

Rollercoaster.

*written April 27, 2005


You held my hand and took me on a rollercoaster ride
I didn't want to go at first; I felt so scared inside.
But once we were inside the car, you held me close and tight,
And so I thought that I'd be safe, with you I'd be all right.


The ride was calm and smooth at first. The wind blew in my hair.
The loops loomed in the distance, but I simply didn't care.
I closed my eyes and leaned on you and everything was fine.
The car had gently picked up speed, rolled up a steep incline.


And all at once you took me up to a dizzying height.
My heart was pounding in my chest, my head felt very light.
Thrill and joy pervaded me; you sealed it with a kiss.
I looked at all the world below, my heart so full of bliss.


Then suddenly the car lurched and went quickly plunging down.
I reach for you and suddenly you're nowhere to be found.
You didn't seem to hear me when your name I tried to call,
So I just went crashing down, and no one broke my fall.


Hurt, I wanted to get out. I wanted it to end,
But then I turned around, and you were in the car again.
You asked me to hold on and give the ride just one more try,
And so again, together, we rode up into the sky.


Round and round the loops, up and the down the slopes so steep
I felt both fear and thrill, and many times a pain so deep.
One second you'd be next to me, the next you'd just be gone
I tried to stop the car, but it kept going on and on...


Our love is like a rollercoaster, as I look behind.
The endless circles we've been through have left me hurt and blind.
Unless you let me out the door and end this crazy game,
I'll always ride this rollercoaster into love and pain.