Lipstick Stains

love beginnings

They say love starts in many forms. That in life, we encounter so much of love that we have yet to know and recognize.

Some say it starts in the form of a gesture. However simple, however small. Some talk about love starting with a few words. Maybe not even a few; maybe it's just one. The best love stories in the world could have begun with a simple "Hi!" and you'd never expect it'd turn out to be like that.

At first, it doesn't seem much. It doesn't even look or feel like love at all. Until it does. And there's nothing more you can think other than: I had love all this time?

I've had my fair share of love beginning in many forms.

From my mother cooking breakfast for me and my siblings everyday before school, my father taking us to school and kissing the top of our heads before we head inside the gates. To my siblings dividing a piece of chocolate equally among ourselves, and my family getting together for Sunday Mass.

The simple beginning of love. Natural, nothing out of the blue. Soft and kind, gentle and caring.

Love began as soon as I learned how to read. Romance was my favorite genre, and the fairy tales I read made me believe that love starts with a dance at a ball, or being on a magic carpet to explore the world, or true love's kiss to break a curse.

The passionate love. Ever-seeking, ever-magical, and something that made me yearn for a love that could last me a lifetime.

Love, as a teenager, began with a few flowers and chocolates on valentines' day. With shy smiles and hesitant waves from people I only pass by in school.

The blossoming love. Unfamiliar and new, something I've only read in love stories or watched. I've never had it in this sense. But they say that's where it starts. The small beginnings of kilig and the moments of silence where you'll start to wonder...is this it? Is this what love is?

I didn't entertain much of that love as I was preoccupied with school and activism. But they say love can also begin as a surprise but at the same time, not a surprise. Something that you don't expect to happen but when it's there, you wish it does.

That's when love became letters exchanged with a soldier.

It was then that I knew — I wanted to carry that love with me for the rest of my life. Because not only did that love give me letters I'd never get tired of reading, as well as a husband who (amid having stark contrasts in views) loves me and cares for me, but four more embodiments of love in my life.

The first is the cry of a boy who looked so much like his father. The second, a girl who had his father's eyes. The third, another girl, who had his father's smile. And the youngest, whose laugh sounded like the feminine version of her dad's.

This love, in this form, is the kind which I'd die for. That which I would sacrifice everything I have to keep. Maternal, unchanging, accepting no matter what.

But life also gives you a love that ends just as soon as it begins.

It was too early for him to be taken from me. Too soon. Our kids were young, I was young. And so I thought, will a love like that ever begin for me again?

Sure, I've dated other people. Sue me for being a romantic; always optimistic for love. But I wanted that. I wanted to live life with someone, spend the rest of my days watching my kids grow up and live their lives with someone by my side. I want to sit next to someone, our hair gray and faces worn out by age.

Love didn't begin with a single person in the following years.

It became fighting for the country, speaking out against injustices, lobbying, and rallying for a future I wanted to have. It became trying once and failing. Trying again, and failing again. And trying for the third time, finally gaining a seat in the Magic 12.