Parental Love

Love is an earthquake. It arrives unexpectedly, and shakes your world.

We knew what pregnancy meant: that there would be a baby. We loved them even before they were born. But nothing could have prepared us for the surge of love we felt when we first saw our babies in the flesh. Not even the prior experience of the birth of our first child prepared us for the emotional surge we would feel with the birth of our second. It was all new, as if our lives had just begun.

A friend I'd reconnected with after a twenty five year gap told me she had no children, and therefore, no headaches. I replied that, yes, kids are a pain in the arse, except for when they're not.

All the heartaches and heartbreaks, all the apprehension, and frustrations and anger and teeth-grinding, the sleepless nights and worries and smelly diapers and financial burdens—We would gladly go through again and again for the two earthquakes that shook our world when they arrived, and have kept it shaking ever since.

On Old Friends

On old friends

It's funny how old friends make you feel young.

I met some old friends today. Friends from forty years ago. People who shaped my life. At first, I couldn't remember some names, and I couldn't remember some faces. As the eventing wore on, and with the help of some wine, it all came flooding back. 

These wonderful people made me who I am. I was the only Indian in a Chinese school, yet, for the most part, and by most of the students, I was embraced as part of the student family.

To my shame, I had forgotten this. Tonight, with hugs and smiles and back-slapping, I was reminded that I am still part of that family. The years melted away, and I was fifteen again. We were all fifteen again. Fifteen and grand parents, some of us.

There is no scent fresher, or younger and more vivacious than the scent of old friends.