Now I will be overtly romantic, but please, hear me out. Yesterday, I was at a low ebb. I did not sleep well the previous night, waking, tossing, and dreaming incoherent, weird dreams. In addition, it is that time of the month for me. I floated the idea of spending the day at a coffee shop to my husband, something I realized we hadn’t done in quite a while. So today, that’s what we did.

I brought a Dostoyevsky with me, and he brought his laptop. We spent the afternoon quietly across from each other, exchanging glances and occasional jokes while I read and while he… well, laptop-ed. It was around 5:30 when we decided to have dinner before we went back to our place. Through the glass squares, we could see the blue sky—it was pale, but still blue. The sun was still out but nowhere to be found. The restaurant was just a block away, so we decided to walk. It was windy, and quite chilly even; it was hard to imagine how just last week we couldn’t sleep without turning the AC on because of the summer heat. We reached the place in just under 5 minutes, about the same time I realized just how much I love walking beside my husband.

I love feeling his hand while we walk. I love when we talk side by side, and we have to let go of each other’s hands, him letting me go first when the street is narrow, and I love reaching back to hold his hand again. I love when he has to duck his head a little when there’s a branch of a tree, low enough that it would hit him in the head had he not. I fucking love it. Any time of the day. Wherever we’re going. Whether we’re going to the beach, on a date, to the meat shop, to buy cigarettes (no, we do not buy cigarettes from the meat shop). I love his company, I love his presence, and I most definitely love how we get each other, finish each other’s sentences, say the same things at the same time. For the longest time, I thought that was just a made-up thing from the movies.

We ate spicy Indian food; it was unremarkable. But they surprisingly had good fish. After paying the bill, we headed out to wait for our ride. It was dark now. The first ride we booked canceled just before we were about to open the door to his car. Asshole. On a different day, that would have ruined our night, but we were in a good mood. While waiting for another driver to accept our booking, we just stood on the sidewalk, waiting.

It had been a long time since we last went out. I glanced up and it occurred to me that I’d never seen my husband with a backpack. He wore a short sleeved button-down and some slacks. It looked like he just got off work. I imagined us as ordinary office workers. What would that have looked like for us? What would it be like had I not had a business that I run from home, and he, not a freelancer working from home as well? I wondered if we’d be driving to work or still booking rides. He never quite learned how to drive on busy roads. Makati would traumatize him. I wondered what going home would look like for us. Would we eat lunch together? Would we have worked at the same company? The thought excited me. I imagined waiting for him to finish work and vice versa. I would’ve packed us both lunches. We would’ve kissed each other before we got out of the car. We would’ve been tired, but it would’ve been nice. I know it would’ve been.

As we waited for our ride, I made a mental note to myself. Remember, remember this, remember this is now, and now, and now. Live it, feel it, cling to it. I want to become acutely aware of all I've taken for granted, and I won’t let this be one of them. With the glowing orbs of the traffic lights, the reds, and greens, and yellows of it. The stripes of the crossing, the wind blowing, our shadows fastened at our feet, that damn backpack he’s wearing. This man, this man that I married. I would never let a day go by without thanking the world for letting me have the pleasure of getting to call him my husband.