Also known as: A mushy post on love and hand holding
Whenever I am commuting, I tend to observe people as much as I can as I walk. There comes a time in all this observing that I find myself watching out for couples, watching for how the guy treats the girl or how the girl holds on to her guy. Mostly, though, I look at how they hold each other’s hands. There’s something just so comfortable In seeing couples holding hands. Sometimes with swinging ((In short, HHWWPSSP – Holding hands while walking, pa-sway-sway pa)). An outward declaration of love, if you may, that isn’t as uncomfortable as seeing them kiss in public.
Maybe it’s the influence of that part in Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist when one of Nick’s friends tell him that The Beatles got it right about love that makes me observe that. Wait, let me quote it for you instead (pardon the language, though):
You know the reason The Beatles made it so big?…‘I Wanna Hold Your Hand.‘ First single. F*cking brilliant. Perhaps the most f*cking brilliant song ever written. Because they nailed it. That’s what everyone wants. Not 24/7 hot wet sex. Not a marriage that lasts a hundred years. Not a Porsche…or a million-dollar crib. No. They wanna hold your hand. They have such a feeling that they can’t hide. Every single successful song of the past fifty years can be traced back to ‘I Wanna Hold Your Hand.’ And every single successful love story has those unbearable and unbearably exciting moments of hand-holding.
I have no experience to speak of, of course. Except maybe for that dream I had one time…but that was just a dream. What do I know, right?
There was a time when my family and I were in Hong Kong. It was the first time my now sister-in-law joined us on a trip outside the country. We were walking down one road in the city when my brother took his then-girlfriend’s hand in his and walked ahead of me. I looked behind me and saw my parents doing the same thing. Two couples, lost in their own reveries, and I was there, right smack in the middle of it all.
I remember whenever I would recall this particular anecdote with other friends, I’d end the story with a laugh and tell them I did this:
I laugh at this story often, but at the back of my mind, sometimes I wonder if I looked as pathetic as I felt. I wonder if people noticed that I seemed to be the odd one out of the group. I wonder if other people felt sorry for me when they realize that I’m the third/fifth/seventh wheel, the only single girl among a group of couples. The only one who isn’t holding someone’s hand.
I wonder how that feels. You know, when your fingers are intertwined with someone else’s. Sure, other people have held my hand, and by “other people”, I meant my mom and my dad. I know my hand fits theirs comfortably because I came from them…but I wonder how it feels with someone else. I wonder how it feels to feel your hand fit securely in another’s, to automatically reach for that hand when you’re walking together or eating or sitting or talking.
I wonder how it feels when someone holds your hand for the first time. That tentativeness, the hesitation of reaching for the hand and wondering if it would be okay, and preparing yourself for the embarrassment in case the other person pulls back. Or just the opposite, the thrill and the heart-pounding sensation when the other person accepts your hand and allows you to hold theirs.
Then the awkwardness and the questions, “What now? What does this mean?” come in soon after. Harhar. :P
But seriously. I wonder how it feels. Not just the actual hand holding, but the entire thing, including the awkwardness and the excitement. And eventually the comfort in knowing that my hand will find another comfortable place in someone, who hopefully finds the same kind of feeling in mine.
And for the umpteenth time, I wonder: when?
A last question: am I being shallow by thinking of all these things?