Month: August 2011

  • The Seven Year Itch.

     

    Just the other day The Franksabunch™ was talking to someone about the seven year itch, a discussion more salient because last weekend was my fourth wedding anniversary.  *Pauses for applause*  For the unfamiliar, the seven year itch is a relationship colloquialism stating that after seven years of matrimony, one or both partners will get bored and seek out the company of another.  Most people use the itch in reference to sex, but in truth it is broader than that.  Whenever you hear someone talking about how the butterflies are no more or how love eventually goes away and you are left only with companionship, they are talking about that seven year itch.

     

    The great fallacy of love is that it is considered or treated as if it were an emotion.  It is not uncommon to hear a friend say, “Oh, I’m so in love with him” when said friend receives a gift or has a great time on a date but not so much if he turns out to be a cheapskate or a banal boyfriend.  We have all heard someone say, “I fell out of love with her when I found out about [insert misinterpreted issue here]!!!” but not when the girl turns out to be the best thing since a Chipotle burrito after 3 hours of basketball.  

     

    Love is not at the mercy of addition or subtraction, neither is it subject to manipulation by the events of the past or one’s hope for the future.  Love is no more the opposite of hate than it is the maturation of like.  It is as intangible as it is tangible, as preternatural as it is natural.  It is an either/or, not a continuum.  That is the reason why you can love someone but despise them; the reason why a parent can love a child who is driving him/her insane; and the reason why you can love someone for years after they have passed on from this earth.  (But do not get me wrong, love does not always equal happiness.  There are many people in this world that you can love but whose reciprocation would make you absolutely miserable.)

     

    I do not get the butterflies as much these days when I wake up every morning and see my Wife™ sleeping next to me compared to when we were dating and I would have to wait until the weekend to see her.  However, though butterflies are fun to experience, the metaphorical matches the entomological in that they are fleeting in nature.  

     

    It is easy to define what love is not rather than grasp what it is, but I can say that knowing that—come hell or high water, butterflies or no butterflies—I will always wake up with her next to me is definitely more the latter than the former.

     

    So bring on the seventh anniversary.  I won’t be worried because I may have 99 problems but an itch ain’t one.

  • Thin line between love and weight.

    My Wife™ has a love/hate relationship with me.  Or to be more specific…my weight.  Any ancient reader of this blog (still out there? holla!) is well aware that when it comes to body habitus, on the spectrum between Ally McBeal and a Tolkien cave troll I fall somewhere in between the West Indian manatee and Andre the Giant.  Being an Apple II plus-sized man in an iPad world does have its benefits, however.  When I ventured to the mainland for college, I didn’t endure as many racial pejoratives as other Asian guys probably because I was still bigger than 90% of the non-athlete students on campus.  During my brief clubbing days I was always popular because of my height.  Well, sort of.  When everyone got separated they would always “look for Frank” in the crowd to find everyone else.  (The most action I would ever get is my female friends holding onto my arms to keep from getting swallowed by the crowd.)

    But as a married man?  My wife wants me to be smaller so that I can live longer and so she’ll have an easier time helping me transfer from bed to potty when my aged self becomes riddled with infirmities.  Well, at least that’s what the party line is.  The real reason, I suspect?  She wants a hot husband that she can show off.  Don’t lie, ladies, I know having a hot man at your side boosts your morale and social standing more than chicken cutlets in your bra.  I knew a girl whose non-negotiables included her man being so hot that when he walked into a room everyone would stop and stare (but not hotter than her, of course).  

    The problem is that whenever I get into my working out/dieting phase and drop 5 lbs. my Wife™ starts making comments about how she’s scared.  She apparently worries that in my slightly more svelte state that some girl is going to make a play for a piece of The Franksabunch™.  (She obviously doesn’t know me as well as she should, because I’ve never had that kind of  ”problem” my whole life.)

    Of course I’m making it out to be more than it really is just for drama’s sake, but when you think about it, there really is a thin line between love and weight in every relationship.  She wants me to be skinnier, but not too skinny.  I supported her going to Korea to visit family in this time of need, but I also didn’t want her to go for too long for reasons that can only be described as selfish.  You, reading this right now.  I’m sure you want your spouse to thrive at work to be able to provide for your family, but not so much that s/he is never home.  I’m sure you want your partner to stop interrupting and instead be an avid and compassionate listener, but not so passive that s/he will never offer wisdom or thoughts.  You want your boyfriend to defend and support you, but not to the point where he’s so enthralled with outbursts of anger that he pushes everyone away from you.  You want your girlfriend to give you space when you are angry, but not so much that there is no room left for forgiveness.

    We all have our expectations, but instead of demanding that our loved ones be this or that, we should instead focus on simply who they are and why they are here.  The unspoken and elusive yet glaringly obvious secret to maintaining a relationship is holding your partner’s hand.  That way, whether you are backsliding, changing for the better, barely surviving or thriving, you are doing it together.  It is not so much finding common ground as it is standing your ground with the stronger person at the time supporting the weaker person.  Anyone not willing to take turns being the stronger or weaker person with you is not worth being with at all, regardless of how skinny, handsome, rich, funny or smart they may be.

    So will I keep off those extra pounds before she comes back?  I’ve come to realize that it won’t matter because when I see her across the airport after one month of being apart, I know that I will be the hottest man in the room to her and she the most beautiful woman simply because of who we are and why we are there.

    ——

    Hope all of you are doing well.  I thought I’d follow up my emo post yesterday with something a little more vintage Franksabunch™.    Hopefully I can be more committed to Xanga after a couple years off, but we’ll see.  Who’s still around?!

  • On death and dying…or just dying, really.

    They always say that it is the people that have nothing to lose that you should fear the most.  But is it also true that those with everything to lose are doomed to fear the most?

    After the requisite mourning period I went through after my dad passed away from cancer, I turned into a metaphysical snob of sorts, turning up my nose to those who would dare assume they knew what I was going through while giving advice to others experiencing loss with the swagger of a cocksure patrician of pathos.   

    And now?  I still find myself enshrouded in snobbery once in a while.  (Can’t help it when you think you are smarter than some of the people you encounter.  Just being honest.)  But while my head is in the clouds, my feet are ever so shifting in an attempt to stay upright.  Married to a wonderful woman, enjoying a new job, living in a new home and being blessed with a dog who goes potty 99% of the time on the “dongg” pads, one would think that I should be settled and getting metaphorically fat.  But instead I find my soul eviscerated that multiple relatives in the generation above me have been diagnosed with cancer in the past year and I find myself more in tune with my own mortality.  

    It is easy to give advice to others about loss, but what about dealing with the inevitable demise of yourself?  For a while now I have been afflicted with the nagging thought that maybe I am wrong.  Maybe God doesn’t exist, maybe I will not be able to see my dad again and maybe this is the best that it will ever be, it being that next month I will be reaching half the age that every single male in my family did not live past.  It is not so much an existential crisis as it is the simple realization that the person who first placed sand in an hourglass could not have been more correct.  

    My wife is in Korea right now, spending time with her parents after the sudden passing of her grandma and I find myself lying awake at night, willing myself to stay awake because I am afraid that I will not wake up in the morning and my beloved dog would starve to death, if a broken heart does not get her first.  Then my poor wife would return to America, waiting at the SFO baggage claim for a man who will never come.  

    I have been lollygagging for years despite the promise to myself that I would do some serious writing.  I do not have any delusions of Oprah Book Club grandeur.  I know that all my toils and trouble will still result in only a self-published vanity press and anonymity outside my home, but where I was thinking of writing just for fun before, I now have a real reason to.  

    Whether or not I will see my dad again I do not know, but I want something to pass down to the generations that follow so they can know who he was.  So they can know that he was here.  So they can know that I was here.   

    And in the end, that is the only way to live forever here on this earth.