My anger and my hurt, resulting from an idle mind, mostly are always directed towards the individuals I love. Them, who will listen to me rant and rage without so much as a tweep, but even they burst out sometimes, their patience cannot hold out against my pathetic outlet all the time.
This happened after a weekend when T went with his friends to a symposium in another state, to a renowned beach, which was a great excuse for them to be entertaining the occasional addictions the men manage to cultivate. However much I try not to be "the nagging wife", I am a woman with a woman's instincts and feel for things, and however much ever I may loathe reacting emotionally about it, I do, sometimes.
The bone of contention was the increased frequency of these occasional rendezvous. I will put my foot down when it starts getting out of hand, and not after it already has. And as much as a man needs mothering all his life, he really detests the word itself.
A fight ensued. And against his quiet, reserved and unbending will, I shouted in a not-so reserved manner.
Contrition comes to me fast, as I am not one who is happy shouting. Realization, though late, also makes its way into my hard head eventually.
I almost let him go away on his five-day trip with us angry with each other. With me angry with him. I didn't apologize. It wasn't as if we didn't talk to each other but I made sure he knew I was upset with him, especially knowing that, that it hurt him. I am not proud of what I did, wasn't then. I would confess to being conniving and hurtful, but in my poor, lame defense I can only say, I did it for him. If my hurt would transform into him refraining.
But if men don't understand women, women also don't always do a great job of understanding men.
I missed him when he was not with me.
He had his share of fun. We share. He told me of all that had transpired, filmy fights, broken bones, rough sea, bathing escapades, upset stomachs and knowing me, he only skimmed over the drunk and high nights, to which at least, I was matured enough not to harp on or show my blatant disapproval in the most roundabout manner.
And the issue was forgotten. (A simple thing becomes serious, only when you let it)
I was still angry at him, hurt because did I matter so less? Typical woman, isn't it?
I met him almost a week after he came back, both of us caught up in our respective jobs, from morning till night. We had a great time.
As we were about to leave, he pressed into my hand something misshapen, wrapped in plain white paper, tied with a rubber band, hardly two inches long and one inch wide. He smiled and told me to open it only when I got home, for him please? He knows how curious I can be. And with the instruction, don't squeeze it, a'right?
And I unwrapped it, the first thing I did when I got back home,
And in my palm lay the sea-shells.
"Have a great time, and travel safe! See if you remember to call me!"
"Guria!!"
"Okay, okay, try and call me! In all excitement, don't forget me, a'rite!"
"Guria, stop being ridiculous."
"Don't do those dratted things.... please!"
"I dunno... I might."
"You really don't care about me, do you?!!"
"How is that one thing related to the other?"
"I can't ask you not to indulge. You will never listen to me. You just don't give a damn about me."
"It's a guys' trip, Guria... one weekend doesn't make any of us an addict. And stop equating everything to what you are to me. Anyway, you know I'm going because I have never gone there before and it was you who told me that it is wonderful."
"That's my favourite beach in the world. Last time I had gone, hmm, can't even remember when, long back... when we were not jumping in the sea, I used to have the best time collecting sea-shells... If you can't really listen to me, at least do me a favour, don't go into the sea drunk, okay?"
"Guria...!!"
Those sea-shells are the best gift I ever got.
I stared at them for a long time, my hands were shivering with guilt. And with love and the happiness seeping through, as I remembered.
With those precious little sea-shells in my hand, I cried.
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