I used to be sappy and love a good cry over tragic heartbreaks in love stories. Probably remnants of my Malaysian childhood growing up on an unhealthy dose of Taiwanese series where it’s usually impossible for the heroine and hero to be together unless they died together.
Last night however, we made a trip to the West End and watched Miss Saigon. Now, I was aware it was a love story between an American soldier and a local Vietnamese girl, but I wasn’t prepared to be as confronted by the prostitution of the girls in the beginning scene in Dreamland, a place where they promised girls the slim chance they could find love and thus find their way out of war-torn Saigon into America.
Now I won’t give the story away too much but suffice to say, I know this Miss Saigon story. It’s a tale as old as time and it isn’t a bad one but I was surprised by how little it moved me. Call me a cynic now, but having gone through what Mr HEA and I have gone through, I no longer believe in that heady passionate lust in the loins kind of love to be true love.
I think of love now in a different context and love to me is kind, caring and mutually nurturing. We love each other therefore we want to be better parts of ourselves, to do what’s right for the other party and to be there, just be present for when the other needs you. I feel guilt when I think about how I shan’t be fully devoted to loving just MrHEA once we have a child, and I think that is my deep love for him that is bringing on this guilt. I feel stronger with this than I ever did with our 9 years of dating and the first year of marriage. And I know this because I used to always toy with the idea that I could leave him and that I would be fine. That I could live without him and be complete still.
But now, it’s been a whole year where I have not uttered a single threat of leaving him. Yes, I know, I haven’t been PMSing so it’s not quite the same situation as before, but as we grow this child in me, it’s fostered this seal between us where I cannot imagine us apart ever again. I cannot be complete without him and know we couldn’t live apart from here on. This now has made me a total cynic in love stories. I much rather believe in a love where two people actually live through each other’s eyes and are constantly present (now this doesn’t mean glued at the hips, but I refer to being focused on each other when communicating with each other) and watching out for each other’s wellbeing.
Having that love will be my Valentine. I don’t need no sexy lingerie ( can’t fit into them presently anyways) or a bunch of flowers ( but a heart shaped confection or any shape confection really will still be accepted) to romance me. Just a kind word and loads of patience (and cuddles and back rubs) with me as I waddle my way along behind him as he parts the London crowds, navigating us through our London life together.
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