Because celebrations are healthy (or are they?)

Monday, July 11, 2016 Stef dela Cruz 0 Comments

Last week, I was a little crazier than usual.

I wanted to go to Jamba Juice to buy a fruit shake with a caffeine booster. I was coughing like a dog and I had ten deadlines – I knew I needed something natural yet chemically spiked (yep, loved ‘em paradoxes) to get me through the day. It was raining but, the hero that Stanley Chi was, he volunteered to go get my drink for me.

After thirty minutes, he was back. I heard his footsteps, then a splashing sound followed by a really succinct series of cusswords.

It dawned on me that he just dropped it. He dropped whatever it was that he bought for me, the magic juice supposed to make me feel well enough to work.

I didn’t know what came over me but I exploded like a bomb long overdue for detonation.

I screamed. I cried. I threw a major fit.

 

The insanity

I was hungry, I had my period, I was sick – brewing inside me were exactly the right ingredients to make an upsized serving of crazy. No, those were not good excuses for my utterly abysmal behavior. I knew it and he knew it, which was why I expected him to scream back in retaliation. I thought he would recoil in horror at the very least.

He didn’t. He kissed me on the forehead (and believe me, I tried to push him away as best as I could like a little bitch) and he said, “Sorry. Let me go back and get you another drink.”

And there he went, still wet from when he last braved the rain, ready to head out and brave the rain anew to repeat everything he had just gone through thirty minutes ago. Out went the guy who was bigger than me, bigger than my life, perfectly accepting the unacceptable level of insanity I had shown.

He capitalized on humor for a living so in the past – I’ve heard him jest more than once about how he was God’s gift to women. I would roll my eyes then. But on that day when my fruit-shake plans went pear-shaped, I realized he was right, sort of. In a twisted way sans the self-centered shade, his presence in my life was God’s gift to me. It was as if He took a look at my wiring, knew exactly what kind of bug existed in my software, and installed a partner program that would save me.

Save. Not fix. Because I was beyond fixing. And he was more than just a fix, more than some band-aid solution. He was the ultimate answer, the rescue program that made such a buggy human app like me function with a semblance of normalcy.

Ladies and gentlemen, my boyfriend.

 

The epiphany

I knew I did not deserve him but I was grateful he was there, anyway. I would have been happy without him, but with him, I was happy even when I was angry. I was happy even when I was sad. I was happy even when I was my most inanely, stupendously irrational, quasi-damaged self.

Today, we celebrate our fifth year as a couple. Part of me is still waiting for the other shoe to drop – when will it get into that thick head of his that my spare parts are defective? – but the rest of me somehow knows he won’t be leaving anytime soon.

How chill is he?

Stanley and Stef

Here’s to blessings we don’t deserve. Here’s to the man in my life that makes it a little – no, a lot – easier to stomach, especially when it threatens to come apart at the seams.

#MenAreFromQcWomenAreFromAlabang #2017Movie

Oh, and in case you were wondering, I’m not kidding. There will be a movie! Not of our life story – hahaha, no way – but of Stanley’s bestselling book. Coming soon! #Abangan

Stef dela CruzAbout the blogger
Stef dela Cruz is a doctor and writer. She received the 2013 Award for Health Media from the Department of Health. She maintains a health column in Health.Care Magazine and a cat welfare column in The Manila Bulletin's Animal Scene. Add her to your circles.

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