Valentine’s Day was supposed to be for lovers, but its larger interpretation as well as its commercial aspects make it a day to express your love for just about anybody.
Many express it with gifts. It is yet another day, other than a birthday or anniversary, to give and receive gifts. Giving gifts isn’t restricted only to a certain time of the year, although gifting is made special on those days.
Many express it with gifts. It is yet another day, other than a birthday or anniversary, to give and receive gifts. Giving gifts isn’t restricted only to a certain time of the year, although gifting is made special on those days.
The best kinds of gift are those from the heart, given freely and sincerely. It sounds simple, but it is really one of the most challenging.
The real gift of love comes in many guises — kind words, support, respect, unbroken promises, and last but not least, love.
Many of us have grown up with the notion that saying “I love you” is corny and that it is Hollywood balderdash. In some instances, it is so overused that the real meaning becomes quite trite.
Many of us have grown up with the notion that saying “I love you” is corny and that it is Hollywood balderdash. In some instances, it is so overused that the real meaning becomes quite trite.
If Valentine’s Day is about love and the ways one can express it, I say, let’s pause and reflect.
Have we ever gone back on our words with our loved ones, perhaps breaking a promise or not fulfilling our word?
Have we ever told someone, “I’ll call you back” and don’t, for whatever reason?
Have we ever said to a child, “I’ll bring you your favourite chocolate (or something)”, and forgot?
Have you recently hugged someone sincerely and with feeling, rather than one of those perfunctory “bump shoulder to shoulder”? Or even really kissed someone rather than the superficial “muah, muah”?
There are indeed many ways to show love. When a friend or someone in the family is sick, this will be the perfect time to show them how much you care.
When I first learnt to make cream of spinach soup, I promptly packed some for my late parents. They loved soup and whatever experiments that came from my kitchen. They loved to rate them and tell me whether or not I should bring that dish again to their house. Mum, especially, enjoyed tweaking my recipes to her taste.
Some months later, my mother was in the hospital. I spoke to her on the phone saying that I’ll visit her later in the evening. She told me the hospital food was “yuck” and asked for my cream of spinach soup, and I said: “Of course.” But it was one of those long days at work and I went straight to the hospital without going home first.
Mum brightened up when she saw me walking in, and her eyes travelled to my hands. I had brought some mushroom soup from the cafeteria. Her smile evaporated like the steam from the soup cup.
“Is that my cream of spinach soup?” she asked. “Did you make this?”
I was rather sheepish but tried to explain to her, apologising that it had been a busy day at work and that I had not had the time to go home and make it.
She said it was all right. She knew how busy I was. She obligingly attempted to taste some of the mushroom soup, but not before I caught the disappointment in her eyes, and the catch in her voice.
I felt bad. I felt small. Suddenly all my memories of my mother doing everything for me came to the fore. Nothing was ever too much for her children. I felt like I’d let her down.
Now years after her passing, I still hear her words: A mother can take care of her children, no matter how many there are. But it isn't certain yet if any one of them can take care of her in the same manner.
It isn’t about demands or expectations. It is about gestures prompted by the heart, the love you feel for a person, whoever they may be, with or without blood ties. It is about doing something because you are prompted by love, not by obligations.
It is more fragile when one is sick. When you are lying there on the bed because you are unwell, when even watching television is challenging, all you are left with are thoughts, which have a way of straying, usually lingering in the past, a quick stop at the present, and then into the uncertain future.
Sometimes, it can make one insecure. Sometimes, one can go into panic or anxiety attacks when the situation is overwhelming.
I remember one night when my father was in the intensive care unit and the nurse rang me at 2am. I thought something had gone wrong. Instead, it was the nurse telling me that my father wanted some toast and marmalade. He had not had an appetite for a few days. We had an agreement that since I was not allowed to sleep in the ICU to keep my father company, the hospital would call me, if he needed me, at any hour.
I immediately packed the bread, butter, marmalade and toaster and brought it to the ICU. With permission from the hospital, I toasted the bread and prepared his favourite breakfast before him. I could see the anticipation in his eyes, the sheer delight at the smell of toast, melted butter and tang of marmalade.
I cut the toast into small pieces. He had the tiniest of bites, closed his eyes, relished the taste and said, "Thank you. That is the best marmalade toast in the world.
“You can go home now and get some rest,” Dad said. “I’ll see you later.” He promptly fell asleep, looking contented.
My father lost consciousness two days later and passed away the following week after being in ICU for about six weeks.
The language of love is not about saying the words “I love you”. It is how we live it and how we convey it to others. Action, as they say, speaks louder than words.
Have you recently hugged someone sincerely and with feeling, rather than one of those perfunctory “bump shoulder to shoulder”? Or even really kissed someone rather than the superficial “muah, muah”?
There are indeed many ways to show love. When a friend or someone in the family is sick, this will be the perfect time to show them how much you care.
When I first learnt to make cream of spinach soup, I promptly packed some for my late parents. They loved soup and whatever experiments that came from my kitchen. They loved to rate them and tell me whether or not I should bring that dish again to their house. Mum, especially, enjoyed tweaking my recipes to her taste.
Some months later, my mother was in the hospital. I spoke to her on the phone saying that I’ll visit her later in the evening. She told me the hospital food was “yuck” and asked for my cream of spinach soup, and I said: “Of course.” But it was one of those long days at work and I went straight to the hospital without going home first.
Mum brightened up when she saw me walking in, and her eyes travelled to my hands. I had brought some mushroom soup from the cafeteria. Her smile evaporated like the steam from the soup cup.
“Is that my cream of spinach soup?” she asked. “Did you make this?”
I was rather sheepish but tried to explain to her, apologising that it had been a busy day at work and that I had not had the time to go home and make it.
She said it was all right. She knew how busy I was. She obligingly attempted to taste some of the mushroom soup, but not before I caught the disappointment in her eyes, and the catch in her voice.
I felt bad. I felt small. Suddenly all my memories of my mother doing everything for me came to the fore. Nothing was ever too much for her children. I felt like I’d let her down.
Now years after her passing, I still hear her words: A mother can take care of her children, no matter how many there are. But it isn't certain yet if any one of them can take care of her in the same manner.
It isn’t about demands or expectations. It is about gestures prompted by the heart, the love you feel for a person, whoever they may be, with or without blood ties. It is about doing something because you are prompted by love, not by obligations.
It is more fragile when one is sick. When you are lying there on the bed because you are unwell, when even watching television is challenging, all you are left with are thoughts, which have a way of straying, usually lingering in the past, a quick stop at the present, and then into the uncertain future.
Sometimes, it can make one insecure. Sometimes, one can go into panic or anxiety attacks when the situation is overwhelming.
I remember one night when my father was in the intensive care unit and the nurse rang me at 2am. I thought something had gone wrong. Instead, it was the nurse telling me that my father wanted some toast and marmalade. He had not had an appetite for a few days. We had an agreement that since I was not allowed to sleep in the ICU to keep my father company, the hospital would call me, if he needed me, at any hour.
I immediately packed the bread, butter, marmalade and toaster and brought it to the ICU. With permission from the hospital, I toasted the bread and prepared his favourite breakfast before him. I could see the anticipation in his eyes, the sheer delight at the smell of toast, melted butter and tang of marmalade.
I cut the toast into small pieces. He had the tiniest of bites, closed his eyes, relished the taste and said, "Thank you. That is the best marmalade toast in the world.
“You can go home now and get some rest,” Dad said. “I’ll see you later.” He promptly fell asleep, looking contented.
My father lost consciousness two days later and passed away the following week after being in ICU for about six weeks.
The language of love is not about saying the words “I love you”. It is how we live it and how we convey it to others. Action, as they say, speaks louder than words.
Read more: I,caregiver: Language of love http://www.nst.com.my/nst/articles/I_caregiver_Languageoflove/Article#ixzz1DpVhvH5W
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