it was october 21st, a saturday, our first night in paris (and marlon's first in europe). after a warm welcome at the philippine embassy (marlon opened the door for me with a bouquet of pink roses) and washing off the horrid experience of traveling for nearly two days without moisturizer or toothpaste, we set off for dinner. marlon, having arrived in paris a few hours earlier than i, had made reservations at a restaurant in the gardens of the palais-royal, a few blocks from our hotel and from the louvre.
after minor quibbles about getting almost-lost, we found the restaurant. it was intimate and lovely -- deep red walls, candlelight, and more silverware on the table than i knew what to do with. marlon and i were the youngest diners in the place, and the only asians too.
dinner was lovely. the food was delicious, but what i savored most of all was the surreal feeling of being in a real restaurant in paris with marlon.
(real as opposed to, say, meals at hosts' houses or embassies or parish halls or out of plastic bags, which is where i had meals in all of my paris trips with the glee club. i actually told marlon prior to the trip that i couldn't imagine how on earth we would eat in paris, simply because i couldn't fathom the idea of eating in an actual restaurant.)
and so we enjoyed some salmon carpaccio, and lamb, and some very good foie gras on toasted raisin bread (if i ever serve foie gras at home, that's how i'll serve it), and some red wine that, working in tandem with the exhaustion of the long flight and of tragging my maleta halfway across paris, nearly knocked me out after the last bite of carpaccio. just when i was about to fall asleep on the dessert menu, marlon looked at me with this full and happy look in his eyes i'll never forget, and said:
"if i give you something now, will you be too sleepy to appreciate it?"
kabog. kabog. kabog.
is. this. it?
"er," i mumbled, as my heart thudded as fast as fatigue could let it. "it depends. what is it?"
"i picked up some trinkets for you around paris," he replied.
"oh, okay," i said, wildly relieved. he couldn't possibly have bought me the ring in paris. that would be ridiculous. babatukan ko siya kung ganun. ang mahal kaya.
and he reached into his bag? pocket? and presented me with this:
"it's lovely!" i sighed, turning it around and around in my hands. i was so afraid to open it, that i kept on turning it over in my hands, running my fingertips over it, and trying to pretend that it wasn't something that could be opened.
and then he said it, and i knew.
"open it." so i did.
"will you...?" he said.
"of course," i replied.
then he came over to my side of the table to hug me and kiss me and put the ring on my finger.
he told me how far in advance he had planned everything, how he had changed some of his plans to go with the perfect moment the restaurant had serendipitously provided, how his entire office had cheered him on before he left for paris on friday, how meticulously he had worked with a jeweler for the custom-made ring (he selected the stones himself), how he had carried it around his neck the entire day, and how he had traipsed around paris in search of the perfect box.
dessert was a happy, candlelit blur, punctuated by flashes of light from our cameras, bouncing off the silver and crystal on the table. walking back to the hotel, close to midnight, we stopped by a small square with a stone fountain.
i finally cried there on a bench there -- overwhelmed by everything the ring on my finger meant, by the end of our long-distance relationship in sight, by a new chapter in my life that had begun when i opened a little enameled pillbox, and by how lucky i was to have this man and this moment.
i still look at the ring sometimes (often, actually) now that i'm on my own -- marlon has gone back to singapore and i've gone back to being a choir girl on tour, and i think about those things. people ooh and aah over the ring (even strangers i meet at festivals and competitions), and i supposedly have an "engaged glow" about me now -- but what lies ahead shines even brighter.
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