When I first posted my pictures onto the website, I didn't know how many lives would be changed. I really didn't. I guess for me, it was simply to suit the weekend amusement mode. There were only two pictures. My athletic lopsided smile when I was in college, and the other one with the bowling-sized belly - taken only last week, fours years after marrying Emma.
The comments were mostly hinted at how round my body proportion in the second picture, as compared from the one in my college days. From my bulging belly all the way to my puffy cheeks. As I was skimming those comments, I stopped myself. And no, not because my television screen just showed Messi made yet another legendary winning goal, though that would have stopped me before. I stopped because I simply understand that none of them gets it. And it's not even their fault.
It's not their fault that they think my sudden body expansion was due to my happiness of having a wife. It's not their fault that they think I gained weight because I am a married man. That a man with a wife is entitled to being happy, hence the bulging belly. Before going further, let me first tell you about Emma.
I met Emma in high school, back when my heart kept urging me that she was the one. And being Emma, she typically kept running away from me. But also being me, I never stopped chasing her. And boy, what a sprinter she was. Somewhere towards the crossing line, I managed to somehow run with her side by side. And to my amazement, she slowed down and let me take over. A woman can't run too fast without getting tired, that's what she said. I took that as a yes. Five years later, she did say yes to my marriage proposal.
Now Emma the sprinter, and Emma the wife are two different people, I tell you. There must be some misprinted manual of Emma somewhere, with several chapters missing when I married her. She wasn't the best cook. But she certainly is the worst. She couldn't fathom why salt cannot and will never be able to replace sugar. That's the only thing I can think of while eating salty dinner. And lunch. And sometimes even tea. Emma would spend hours in the kitchen preparing them. And afterwards, she'll come up to me and said, "Let's eat outside today." And that either means she burnt her food or burnt her fingers.
Emma can't, for the life of god - drive a car. She gets freaked out and started talking about evil driving instructor who failed her thrice. She has irrational fears over animals and insects, except for ants, mosquitoes and flies. She loves literature but studied linguistics instead. She would purposely change sides in an argument just so she could start a bantering session with me. Emma even though she never admits it, suffers from an obsessive compulsive disorder, I must say. I tried to prove my point by purposely facing a photo frame slightly to the left. In the evening, she reminded me that the frame must be positioned in a way that it directly faces the stairs approximately 270 degrees to the left. I don't think a normal husband would want to carry a protractor in his own house.
Despite all these, I've never seen Emma cry. Except the one time when I was outside the labour room, when her cry was a mashed-up of hers and our baby. Other than that, never. When I came home carrying the office problems into the house, she never force me to open up. Not because she was oblivious, but because she knows me well enough to know that I need the time to allow myself to discard my ego before breaking down in front of her. And she won't try to pretend that she gets it, because she doesn't. Banking isn't really her strongest point, you see. She won't try to solve problems that she knew she couldn't, but instead she makes me laugh. She always had this eccentric way that can conjure up my sanity, up to the point that I don't even mind the problems anymore, as long as I have her. And that is enough to remind me that problems would eventually leave, but she will stay with me, by me, for me. Forever and eternal.
And that's why those pictures I posted would never be understood. Even if you sent them all over the world, and they came right back to you, still the whole world doesn't get it. I did gain (some) weight. And I am happy with my life. But it's not because I am a married man. Not because I have a wife.
It's because I am married to Emma. Because my wife is Emma. You see, if it's not Emma, it cannot be. It has to be Emma. Marriage alone does not have the key to make me happy. Any other wives would not get me the way Emma does. It has to come with a package of Emma - with her misprinted missing chapters manual and all. Anybody can learn to cook, drive a car or be insanely filial. But nobody can learn to be Emma.
This is how I love you.
0213 hours.
22.12.2011.
University of Malaya.
