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November 25, 2011

I Did Not Marry a Writer

Since I was a little kid, I’ve always dreamt of marrying a writer someday. I’ve always thought that writers are the most romantic people on earth. I mean, who wouldn’t want to wake up each day with a note on the headboard saying “I love you” in the most grandeur way? Perhaps my young heart was deeply moved by words that even in my childhood, I wanted to embrace those who weave them.

While I was growing, my dream of marrying a great writer never faded. In fact, I’ve always admired those who express their love in the form of letters and poems . When I was in high school, I secretly wished I’d be able to receive a carefully crafted poem especially written for me someday. I wanted to have somebody like Edgar Allan Poe who would write for me his own version of “Anabelle Lee” (but not that tragic, of course hehe) . Yes, I’ve always been in love with love and with words.

And then Alex came into my life. Yet he came to me neither on a scented, nicely folded love note nor with a carefully crafted poem. He came to me in his simplest, most unromantic form. Who would ever know that that casual lunch in that tiny restaurant eight years after our graduation in high school would spark a lifetime commitment? Alex and I were schoolmates since high school but we never had a chance to talk. Maybe because we were too young and I guess too shy. It took us eight long years to say our first “hi. “

I must say that Alex and I are very different. He is the most unromantic person I’ve ever met as he talks about the most unromantic things. While I am that person who believes in fairy tales and all the greatness and goodness and perhaps even in the magic of love. Say when I talk about my fairytale dreams and fantasies, he would share about the 7-year-old dumped car he was able to fix in high school. And when I would talk about my fluffs and sweet- nothings, he would talk about the satellite dish that he fixes in the Smart tower , and the tools and things he uses which I never understood.

But when Alex told me that he prayed for God to give me to him, I felt something special because that was also my prayer. It’s really strange that as months and months passed by, I’ve slowly learned to appreciate the things that he loves doing like fixing set-up boxes, playing basketball and so on.   And then  I have recognized in my heart how much I care for him. Realizing how much I love him came to me in a very odd way. I’ve realized how much I love him that moment when he stooped down the floor to tie his shoelace while we were strolling in the mall one ordinary day.


The feeling of love is indeed magical. Strange yet special. I realized that I love him because he understands me better than anyone I’ve ever known. I realized that I love him because he can make me laugh my heart out in simplest things. I realized that I love him because our differences make us grow together. I realized that I love him because of the dreams we’re building together and the ones we’ll dream up years from now. 

I am married with someone who would never write to express his love for me. I am married with someone who would never wake me up with posters of love quotes and poetry on my bedroom wall. I am married with someone who would just softly whisper in my ears, without the complexity of words, in his simplest and purest way, how much he cares for me.

I am not married with a writer. I am married with Alex, the simple man who loves me and the man that I am also honestly in love with. And this is the start of our love story I will endlessly write.



Writer’s Note: 
 The article was written in 2009, a few days after our wedding and was posted on Melting Chocolate blog.


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