Let’s rewrite our story tonight.

​Dear X, today was rough. I think you saw what I went through emotionally. I have so much pain right now that I want to do just one thing tonight—I want to rewrite my story with you.

11 years ago, one month into our dating, I really wanted to see you on that Saturday, because we couldn’t see each other during the week as we had opposite work schedules. However it was a typhoon day and businesses were told to shut down. So I called you and say, “come on, it’s not a big deal. Let’s still meet up.” You first told me it wasn’t safe for me, but after seeing how much I wanted to see you that day, you decided to call a cab and get to my place on your own in a cab. It was not easy to get a cab that day and the ride was long (about 20km), but you managed to tip the driver enough so that they were willing to give you a ride. You said to me, “babe you’re crazy, but I’m crazier about protecting you.” (Angel stayed in his apartment the whole time while I was stuck in the storm and had to return home after getting halfway there and got completely soaked and defeated.)

At our wedding in Bali, we chose to write our vows on our own (as opposed to using an online template like Angel and I did). We didn’t let each other know what was in our vows because it was a surprise. I wrote in my vows: that night you came to me in the storm on your own, simply because I wanted to see you so badly and you didn’t want me to take any risks, so you took the risks instead. I feel utterly safe and certain with you. With you, I’m not scared of anything anymore. 

After my first c-section, you were paying close attention to my pain the whole time. You barely spent time on your iPhone. Instead, everytime when I woke up from fentanyl fading out, you’d turn to me right away, waiting in silence. When I tried to get off the bed to use the bathroom, you’d come right away to support my body and walk with me glacially to the bathroom that seemed like 100 meters away. 

After our second pregnancy, you’d always take time off from work to go to each pregnancy exam with me. (As opposed to Angel going to a couple with me only when it was a public holiday from work.) You decided to buy a car (as opposed to me begging and crying to Angel telling him that we couldn’t keep living a life where our kids kept getting humiliated by cab drivers) and to transport my heavy body everywhere. (As opposed to me driving myself and everyone all the time.) Driving in the City of Rain is chaotic, but you’ve managed it because you told me, “I’m crazier about protecting you.”

The night before my second c-section, you tucked Little O in bed at home and arranged people to take care of him. Then you came back to the hospital to spend the night with me (as opposed to me being alone at the hospital). You were quiet and entered the room gently because I was already asleep, but I didn’t sleep well because I was scared of the surgery. You told me “I’m right here and I’ll be here the whole time with you.” You cuddled me back to sleep.

At the c-section, the doctors let you into the operation room. The moment they got Little N out, I heard him cry and I cried. I was under anesthesia and sedation, but I felt so vulnerable hearing him cry nonstop because Little O stopped crying quickly after being comforted. It turned out Little N had too much amniotic water in his lungs and the nurses kept trying to suck out as much water as possible. You (as opposed to Angel kept filming Little N the whole time) put down your phone and came back to me and touched my face gently, telling me Little N was strong and you were there for me; both of you were there for me.

After Little N was sent to NICU, I had terrible post-partum depression. I took the ambulance for the first time in my life, but you drove with the ambulance the whole way (as opposed to Angel staying at home with Little O the whole time). It was only the third day after my c-section. You wouldn’t let me be alone at the hospital with Little N. You arranged people to take care of Little O so that you could be with us. At the hospital you could communicate with the staff there, because you’d worked hard to learn the local language. I was so anxious and depressed and crying so much, but you’d gently rub my back and hold me tight. You told me Little N is a fighter and he will turn out fine. You told me the universe was on our side and his VSD would heal on its own.

Every day you’d drive me to the hospital twice to see Little N for 30 minutes each time due to COVID restrictions (as opposed to me driving myself only 3 days after my c-section until I got too tired). You were tired but you still told me to rest more and you’d take care of Little O, and you’ve arranged helpers to share the workload too. You told me as long as me and the kids are safe, all the exhaustion would be worth it.

Life is not perfect. Little O got his autism diagnosis. You told me that’s not a big deal because when we decided to have kids, we’d welcome any life that chose us (as opposed to Angel saying that we’d need an abortion if the Down’s syndrome test came back positive). You were even fine with adoption (as opposed to Angel feeling zero desire to raise other people’s kids) because like me, you believe all children are innocent; you believe nobody could choose their circumstances, but you also believe that Little O and Little N chose us because we are the best parents for them. You told me Little O chose me because he knew I could protect him and raise him well despite his autism. You told me to trust him and trust the universe (as opposed to Angel feeling anxious and not knowing what to do and not doing much reading either) because life has a plan everyone.

Whenever there were strangers complaining about our kids to me, you’d always walk forward and talk to those people and tell them not to communicate with me only (as opposed to Angel hiding behind my back). You want to stand between me and the harmful people in the world. I don’t mean all the time, but during a  few important time, you’d always show up.

When Little O had trouble at school, you started documenting all the evidence and you wanted to make a case with the decision makers. You failed, but I could see how hard you’ve tried and how persuasive you’ve been. You never gave up and you started to push for movements in the organization.

This is our happy ending.