I can identify with this heartwarming article on Inquirer.
Mr. P and I have this kind of love- quiet and very private. We’re not the type of couple who will profess and show our affection in public. We don’t need the crowd to validate the depth of our love. We simply knew that our love is real, pure and true and no amount of public declaration can add to it.
Our upcoming wedding will be one of the rarest times where we’ll publicly declare our commitment to each other. More than anything, I’m praying that the people who will witness our union will be blessed and will believe in an enduring love.
I didn’t grow up in an openly sweet household. I don’t recall my parents saying “I love you” to each other on a daily basis, nor do I remember seeing them hug and kiss in front of other people. There was no abundance of flowers during anniversaries, no attention-grabbing cards and teddy bears, no elaborate surprises engineered with friends.
This lack of romance might seem baffling and unacceptable to a generation whose idea of love involves flash mobs and viral videos and a deluge of couple selfies on Facebook. Nowadays it seems that if you don’t express your love loudly enough, it doesn’t count.
But if there’s one thing I learned from my parents, it’s the beauty of quiet love. One that focuses on depth, not volume, and is unmindful of the crowd. Love that is expressed not through grand gestures or eloquent pronouncements, but through quiet service.
I saw it whenever Papa woke up in the middle of the night to massage Mama’s lower back to try to ease the pain caused by colon cancer.
It was love that gave my bedridden mother the strength to leave their room and perilously make her way down the stairs every afternoon, just to make sure our helper was preparing a decent meal for our family.
It was love that drove Papa to spend what little spare time he had to design and build a vehicle that had enough space to accommodate Mama’s botaka chair.
Theirs was a love that didn’t trumpet itself and didn’t crave an audience.