the famous four

In a relationship, there are countless four-letter words in the English language that never cease to excite, please, and amuse. The most popular one is undoubtedly the one beginning with L, but there's too much controversy and predicament associated with that one. It relies upon the delicate measure of time, place, the individual delivering it, reciprocated affection, and mood. Sparkling in the right context, but hard to easily enjoy.

My personal favourite would have to be S-A-L-E. I love how it can jump out at me without warning. It is candy to my eyes; the beautiful, bold red four-letter word hanging on a clothing store window is like red wine to my lips. I can indulge in this one without stressing about the ramifications. Impulsive, uncomplicated, no consequences. Though, my bank balance begs to differ.

Due to some company restructuring, my position was made redundant. It was a blessing in disguise because I needed a reason to move on with my career, to branch out and find something more challenging and rewarding. Thankfully, I've found myself a new job that offers both, and I start in mid-March. Since these work changes were unexpected, I didn't have time to organise a short vacation to cover the next couple of weeks. Consequently, the only trips I'm taking are to the shopping mall, where the siren call of S-A-L-E lures me in. If I’m not careful, I’ll end up tangled in every shopper’s nightmare: the dreaded four-letter word, debt.

pebbles

Our church is located right across from my old primary school. With the morning service delayed by half an hour, RD and I decided to take a trip down memory lane and visit the school. It had been nearly a decade since I last set foot on the premises.

I gave RD a grand tour, showing him my classrooms from Kindergarten to sixth grade. We stood in front of my Kindergarten class, and I peered inside, reminiscing about my very first day and all my teachers' names. Everything looked so tiny now, and RD couldn't resist a cheeky remark.

"Look, Jules! The chairs are your size." Clearly, a good sense of humour is one of my boyfriend's stronger suits. Well, excuse me for not being genetically gifted with his height! I made a face at him, but I was secretly amused.

I took him to my favourite spot - the school library. I wondered if Mrs. Brown, the lovely librarian, was still there. We walked hand in hand around the playground as I regaled him with tales of my childhood, naming all the games I played at recess and lunch. I explained the rules of Budgie, and we built up quite a sweat playing it. We strolled past the canteen, the special computer room, the tiny bubblers, and the ever-popular handball squares.

RD wanted to meet the "friends" I talked to during my first month of Kindergarten. He meant the pebbles on the pavement of the assembly area. Yes, I used to talk to rocks.

Fresh off the boat and speaking no English, I had no friends. Despite the raw rejection and the years of therapy that awaited me, I never blamed those children; I blamed my tomboy haircut for causing confusion. The boys didn’t know whether to play with me because I looked like one of them, except I sounded too squeaky. The girls played it safe and steered clear, paranoid about catching boy germs. There was no polite way to ask someone what gender they were, and I couldn’t volunteer the information due to the language barrier. I wished the kids would spy on me to see which toilets I used, but none were bright or interested enough to think of that tactic. 

RD asked me what my pebbles' names were, and I couldn't remember, but I'm sure I gave them beautiful Vietnamese names. It was a lonely start to my academic journey. I was a certified loner. Thanks to my traumatic Kindergarten experience, where I felt neglected and unacknowledged, I vowed to master the English language so that no one could be deprived of my company and intellect.

just a glimpse

It's wonderful how God has planned everything ahead of our time, and you never quite grasp when it all began or where it would go, what it could eventuate into, and the significance it would hold. That one particular moment when he rushed past me on the train didn't count, since we were strangers who just happened to catch the same train every now and then. That description could fit dozens of people I know.

It seemed so casual then, so silly when it is anything but that now. He was the highlight of my mornings, my eye candy, and the reason I saved money on petrol, as public transport suddenly became convenient. He was my biggest crush, the subject of my daily text to my best friend about that handsome guy on the train. No big deal.

Things got interesting when I handed that stranger my phone number. It was a momentary decision without any follow-up plans. The ball left my court, and I was confident it would bounce back. Maybe I was optimistic and romantic or just deluded and egotistical - whatever the reason, I was right to count on my instincts. We clicked on the very first phone call; our chemistry radiated through the mobile line, and I didn't hesitate when he asked to meet up the next day.

Two and a half years later, when we catch the train together now, my mind spins like a vintage movie reel, winding back the months and years to that initial encounter. It always strikes me as a little crazy, in a positive sense, that my spontaneous act had scripted the creation of something that would shape my life so dramatically down the track, like a speeding train. 

We’ve been dating for 18 months and while that’s not enough time to know with certainty that we want to spend the rest of our lives together, it has been enough for us to start considering it. We’ve come to understand our differences, get along famously, and I’ve had the privilege of meeting his family and falling in love with them too.

These days, I crave his mother’s cooking and can happily sit and watch television with his parents even when he’s not there. It’s also been enough time for me to realise that the first moment I laid eyes on him was the opening chapter of a wonderful story that, God willing, we may one day tell our children, and one day, their children.