I Want To Hold Your Hand
I always have songs (or quotes from a movie) in my head for silly little moments. My favorite silly moment tune is Stay by Maurice Williams & The Zodiac. Second to that is probably I Want To Hold Your Hand by The Beatles. Occasionally I blurt out "nobody said it was easy" (The Scientist by Coldplay) when sh*t goes down. At times I wonder if I could string together an entire conversation using lyrics in songs. Someone I knew once joked and said I ought to write a song about going to shop at Target.
It's more fun to sing it than to say words sometimes. If only we could burst into real life musicals (like in 500 Days of Summer) whenever we want to, this world would be a much friendlier place.
Speaking of I Want To Hold Your Hand, it was mentioned in a book I recently finished and love: Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist. E was right. The book was so much better than the movie. Although I had loved the movie before I read the book. It almost kind of suck now that I don't like the movie half as much after having read the book.
In Chapter 13, Nick's friend Dev said to him that The Beatles had it right the whole time:
I remember the first time I felt the importance of hand-holding was not in a romantic context. When I was just pre-teen, I came to learn that I had half-brothers and sisters. It was a strange thing for both the families. My father had a marriage prior to the one with my mother, and his oldest daughter had worked for him at his office for a period of time. I had only known her as my father's secretary, until my father properly introduced us while he was divorcing my mother. My half-siblings tried their best to accept my brother and I. My father's inappropriateness (in more dimensions than one) was somewhat of an outrage in traditional Chinese society (like-father-like-daughter, I suppose). But they knew it wasn't our fault, and they were nice to us.
My sisters started to take me out. We would go shopping or eat every now and then. One year on my birthday, without my father's approval, my sisters even took me to the mall and got my ears pierced, and got me a pair of gold little loops as my birthday present. My father was so upset; but there was nothing he could do at that point. My sisters had often told me how strict our father was when they were young; it was like they took revenge by doing things with me he would never have approved of when they were my age.
Whenever I went out with my oldest sister, Lisa, she would hold my hand in the most nonchalant fashion. Her hand would hang there as I tried to grab on tight. I always wondered why she didn't hold my hand back, but expected me to hold on to hers at the same time. I think at one point I asked her, and she said something in the manner of, "As long as our hands are touching, that's what matters, right?" I had to agree, but judging from the fact that at this day and age, that memory is still somewhat haunting me, there was definitely more to it than a simple physical frustration - I bet she doesn't hold her daughter's hand the same way. Or her husband's. But I was only a half-sister.
The act itself didn't upset me in a sense that I felt inadequate. But it taught me something important. We touch to show affection and care. A hand on a shoulder; a kiss on the forehead; an extended embrace; a baby wrapping its precious little fingers around yours.... But the receiver feels something, too. Comfort. Warmth. Peace. Security. Sensations that more than words and music and images combined could ever express. What I was trying to grab onto so dearly was affection and security. In the right hands, you feel safe - something that I yearn for today, much more as a child.
Skipping forward a few years - I am now fifteen or sixteen, and I started dating. Sweet puppy love. Doing everything for the first time. Those were precious moments that I won't forget even though the relationship didn't end well. We're still friends, actually. We didn't talk right away. But we understood what it was. And although we didn't really know what love was, in a sense, it was the purest of love. He wasn't the smartest, or the richest, or one with a promising future. He wasn't the tallest, or the most athletic, or the most popular. But I definitely thought he was one of the cutest.
It was the sweetest thing when he held my hand as we walked the busy, narrow streets in the city. Whenever we were about to be separated by a pole or some barrier, he would reach out his other hand around the obstruction and grabbed my other hand until we passed it, and resume regular hand-holding. That way, our hands were always touching.
It's been over fifteen years. I have long since lost any romantic feelings toward him. But I never forget that.
A sense of security also tells you where you belong. We all need a sense of belonging, or we'd be lost.
Lately, as I laid in bed, I missed the warmth of a body laying next to mine. The scent of two bodies in a room. Someone's hair to comb through with my fingers, and mine with his. In the midst of this profound freedom of being one, I get spurts of loneliness, and I am lost in the dark.
Sometimes it's nice just to have someone's hand to hold. Like a ship, after having sailed on the horizon over time through all its adventures and glory, returning to the dock to sink its anchor once again.
I am patient. But I'm not.
I yearn, but I'll be okay.
Speaking of I Want To Hold Your Hand, it was mentioned in a book I recently finished and love: Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist. E was right. The book was so much better than the movie. Although I had loved the movie before I read the book. It almost kind of suck now that I don't like the movie half as much after having read the book.
In Chapter 13, Nick's friend Dev said to him that The Beatles had it right the whole time:
"'I Wanna Hold Your Hand.' First single. Fucking brilliant. Perhaps the most fucking 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 blow job or a million-dollar curb. No. They wanna hold your hand. They have such a feeling that they can't hide. Every single successful love 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 moments of hand-holding. Trust me. I've thought a lot about this."It's so true.
I remember the first time I felt the importance of hand-holding was not in a romantic context. When I was just pre-teen, I came to learn that I had half-brothers and sisters. It was a strange thing for both the families. My father had a marriage prior to the one with my mother, and his oldest daughter had worked for him at his office for a period of time. I had only known her as my father's secretary, until my father properly introduced us while he was divorcing my mother. My half-siblings tried their best to accept my brother and I. My father's inappropriateness (in more dimensions than one) was somewhat of an outrage in traditional Chinese society (like-father-like-daughter, I suppose). But they knew it wasn't our fault, and they were nice to us.
My sisters started to take me out. We would go shopping or eat every now and then. One year on my birthday, without my father's approval, my sisters even took me to the mall and got my ears pierced, and got me a pair of gold little loops as my birthday present. My father was so upset; but there was nothing he could do at that point. My sisters had often told me how strict our father was when they were young; it was like they took revenge by doing things with me he would never have approved of when they were my age.
Whenever I went out with my oldest sister, Lisa, she would hold my hand in the most nonchalant fashion. Her hand would hang there as I tried to grab on tight. I always wondered why she didn't hold my hand back, but expected me to hold on to hers at the same time. I think at one point I asked her, and she said something in the manner of, "As long as our hands are touching, that's what matters, right?" I had to agree, but judging from the fact that at this day and age, that memory is still somewhat haunting me, there was definitely more to it than a simple physical frustration - I bet she doesn't hold her daughter's hand the same way. Or her husband's. But I was only a half-sister.
The act itself didn't upset me in a sense that I felt inadequate. But it taught me something important. We touch to show affection and care. A hand on a shoulder; a kiss on the forehead; an extended embrace; a baby wrapping its precious little fingers around yours.... But the receiver feels something, too. Comfort. Warmth. Peace. Security. Sensations that more than words and music and images combined could ever express. What I was trying to grab onto so dearly was affection and security. In the right hands, you feel safe - something that I yearn for today, much more as a child.
Skipping forward a few years - I am now fifteen or sixteen, and I started dating. Sweet puppy love. Doing everything for the first time. Those were precious moments that I won't forget even though the relationship didn't end well. We're still friends, actually. We didn't talk right away. But we understood what it was. And although we didn't really know what love was, in a sense, it was the purest of love. He wasn't the smartest, or the richest, or one with a promising future. He wasn't the tallest, or the most athletic, or the most popular. But I definitely thought he was one of the cutest.
It was the sweetest thing when he held my hand as we walked the busy, narrow streets in the city. Whenever we were about to be separated by a pole or some barrier, he would reach out his other hand around the obstruction and grabbed my other hand until we passed it, and resume regular hand-holding. That way, our hands were always touching.
It's been over fifteen years. I have long since lost any romantic feelings toward him. But I never forget that.
A sense of security also tells you where you belong. We all need a sense of belonging, or we'd be lost.
Lately, as I laid in bed, I missed the warmth of a body laying next to mine. The scent of two bodies in a room. Someone's hair to comb through with my fingers, and mine with his. In the midst of this profound freedom of being one, I get spurts of loneliness, and I am lost in the dark.
Sometimes it's nice just to have someone's hand to hold. Like a ship, after having sailed on the horizon over time through all its adventures and glory, returning to the dock to sink its anchor once again.
I am patient. But I'm not.
I yearn, but I'll be okay.
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