Topic started by Nora on Thu Aug 12 23:36:55 .
All times in EST +10:30 for IST.
When you marry, you hope the marriage will last until you are both old and grey. At 26, I was hardly a naive little girl when I got married. It was not love at first sight but feelings that grew and were nurtured while we were both away in a foreign land.
He wasn't tall, nor romantic. But I saw qualities that I admired and decided that those were the ones that would last.
He was undemonstrative but I was free with my expressions of affection. How I embarrassed him when we were newly wed and I kissed him in public. I thought that maybe, by being expressive, he would get an inkling of how I would like to be treated. I was determined that our children would grow up in an environment where physical expressions of affection was the norm. In time, he did return and initiate these little spontaneous gestures.
I would send him little cards regardless of the occasion; notes to say "I'm sorry" or "I'm
glad" which I slipped into his briefcase. I'd surprise him with love notes in the fax. I even
had a bouquet of roses delivered to his office.
But he never sent any of these to me. I consoled myself that I knew he was not a romantic man when I married him 11 years ago. I conceded failure in turning him around, but how I wished he would make the effort to reciprocate. I know that it is selfish of me to think I could get everything that I wished for. I should be happy and thankful for what I have.
Despite being a professional career woman, I manage my home the 'traditional' way. I tried to be home before my husband, cooked if he was eating in or during weekends. This I learnt from my mother, a true 'fighter'. When she and my father quarrelled, she would follow him from one room to another in a continuous verbal onslaught.
I would cower in my room, wishing she would stay silent so that my father would be less fired up and the fighting would cease. From this, I learnt verbal restraint. When my husband and I disagreed, we would talk about it. There were never scenes from my childhood repeated in my house in front of the children.
I learnt a lesson from my mother-in-law too. She is a 'clinger'. Without my father-in-law, she would be lost. He did all the household errands. Though meek and gentle with her children, she is abrupt, nags and always finds fault with her husband. From her, I learnt to be independent. I don't rely on my husband to do everything. I get things done when he is away and do not nag. I've never raised my voice at my husband, much less shout. But then again, there never seemed to be any occasion for such things.
As my husband climbed the corporate ladder, he started coming back late; 8pm is early, 10pm the rule and past midnight is no big deal. There were clients to be entertained, business deals to close and of course, the nightly round of golf. However much I disliked him coming back late, I was assured that it was for our future.
Though I was suspicious that his late nights may not be as above board as he claimed, I did not question him and instead, trusted him implicitly. I loved him unconditionally.
When he had time, he spent it with the family. A gentle, caring father and responsible family man, we did not lack for anything. Wasn't that all that mattered?
Sometimes I felt superior to other women who had marital problems. It couldn't happen to me. Those were weak, uninformed women. I was strong; an avid reader. I read books on relationships, child development and what-have-you. I was proud of who I was and what I had done. I was proud of my three lovely children and my loving husband. In short, I was proud of my perfect little world.
Then recently, my perfect world was shattered. The unimaginable happened. I chanced upon an incriminating message on my husband's mobile phone, sent by his colleague, a lady I knew. "I luv u 2, don't worry about me/us. We'll go thru' life together." There were other love messages indicating that the affair had been going on for quite some time.
When I saw the message, I felt like I had been struck by a bolt of lightning. My hands grew cold and clammy, I froze on the spot, my heart stopped, and then beat so fast I heard it like thunder. My knees felt so weak I had to kneel and I didn't realise a searing cry had escaped my lips.
My suspicions were confirmed -- the most bitter of betrayals.
How the mighty fell! In a flash, he crushed my hopes, smashed my dreams, battered my
self-esteem, destroyed my confidence as a woman and killed my trust. I felt that I had done all that I could to be a good wife, mother and partner. Yet why do I feel as if I was to be blamed, that somehow it was my fault he had an affair? Why should I feel this way even though he was the one who strayed? His explanations of "I don't know how it happened" ripped me to the core. His sworn repentance sounded hollow. His tears of remorse can't take away the hurt. The knife cut too deep.
I'm still in shock and mourning. Mourning for the 'death' of the man I married. Who is this
terrific actor who professes to be my husband and to love me? Where is the intelligent, witty, expressive, rational woman when I need her now? I don't want to be reduced to this numbed, crumbling, weepy mess. I'm made of sterner stuff. I know that underneath the ashes of present despair, she's still there. I'll find her. God, give me strength. In the meantime, I feel like hiding in a dark corner and licking my bleeding wounds.
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