The first person that’s gonna scold me after reading this is most likely my wife Lan. She’s advised me time after time, not boast, especially about my marriage. And you know, she’s right. For the most part, I’ve stopped. That said, this is my first time writing about my marriage. Sorry.
Point being – this message is not approved or endorsed by Lannie Lê. (You’re off the hook honey bunny).
Check’n out my wife
Here I am on a hot Thursday evening with one too many beers in me to be writing anything worthy of being published/public. I’m sure I’l regret this, but whatever. I’m sure those who get it, will get where I’m coming from.
Below are my thoughts about marriage. And being lucky enough to have an awesome one – at least for now. Fingers crossed. Knock on wood. Etc. Etc.
Thanks Mahmood
I have three people to thank for helping me select the right life partner. The first is my dad, God bless his wonderful soul in heaven. Fuck you if you don’t believe in heaven. I’m telling you, he’s up above, in the clouds smoking doobs, bang’n hot angels.
I always believed my parents had a great marriage. They hardly ever fought, were the best of friends, and I believe had a good sex life. This, based on the few times I was up later than I should have (so much more weird when you’re like ten years old – not drunk). But it never occured to me how rare good marriages are, let alone great ones. At least not until that one day. It was the day my dad presented me with a life challenge. He said, “Son, I feel bad for you. There’s not a lot of good women in the world. It’s very unlikely that you’ll have a marriage as good as mine. So, good luck. We’ll see how you do…”
Fuck. That’s what I said to myself.
It wasn’t until that moment that I took a step back as an outside observer and not a son, and witnessed clearly how awesome their marriage was.
So dad – here I am, and I thank you for the challenge. I can confidently say, with a gangsta head-nod from mom – I did well. Booyaka.
Thanks Huma
The second person I have to thank, is of course – my mom. Why? Because she’s a fucking powerhouse of a person, in a small little cute frame. She gave birth to me in Kabul, Afghanistan, at the age of sixteen (1980). Decided (1981) that her son will get a Canadian education, and smuggled me out of the country during the soviet invasion, on a camel. A two week trip from Kabul into Pakistan during wartimes. Yes, on a fucking camel. Within a month time in Pakistan, Huma got us on a plane to Rome, Italy, where the good Pope greeted me. See picture below.
Left = Pop. Right = me.
She immediately took to learning Italian, left my biological father, and hustled between work and motherly duties. By my third birthday (1983), I was safely in Vancouver, BC – getting a Canadian education. I remember her working, studying, and loving me. Not much room for anything else. I don’t remember parties or other men – just absolute devotion to her three year old son. Please keep mind, at this point, my mom was 19 and pretty goddamn hot. Many young single girls her age today would probably be on Tinder.
Eventually, she remarried my dad (step-father), and lived happily ever after. Until he died. But that’s another story.
Note: This message was not approved by Huma. Sorry mom!
Thanks Rob
Lastly, I’d like to thank Robert. God bless his soul – and may he live forever and be healthy and happy. If you’re wondering who Rob is, you may know him through his work. Robert writes children books. Some of the notable books from my memory include 50 Below Zero (1985), Mud Puddle (1979), and Paper Bag Princess (1980). The latter being my inspiration for a wife.
In Paper Bag Princess, a whiny loser prince named Ronald gets kidnapped by a dragon. In the process, princess Elizabeth’s castle, including her clothes gets burnt into smithereens.
With no delay, Elizabeth puts on a paper bag, ventures out, meets the dragon, swindles him, and eventually saves the prince. Let me ruin the plot for you if I haven’t already: Ronald complains that she looks like shit (personally, I thought she looked hot). Elizabeth on the other hand, realizes he is shit. Elizabeth walks off with a kick in her step, independent, and living happily ever after, without the prince.
I remember the first time this was read to me as a child of five years of age. I fell in love. (Thanks Michael Martchenko for the awesome illustrations). I vowed I will marry a paper bag princess. A hottie in a paper bag, more concerned about the mission than about her manicure. A real ride or die chick. Just like mom.
While Elizabeth was a hottie blonde, caucasian – my paper bag princess is a hottie brunette, Vietnamese. No complaints here. 🙂
When I read the book now to my kids, I see things with even more depth. Mostly because I’m getting old and looking for depth where there may not be, but whatever. Here’s what I see. Ronald is you and I. A whiny complainer, not appreciative of God’s opportunities and blessings. The Dragon is life. It captures us, and is going to devour us whole as an appetizer before dinner. Elizabeth represents our partners in life, who are dedicated, work tirelessly, and our heroes and heroines. The question is: will I be like Ronald and take for granted my loving spouse in a paper bag? Or will I learn from Munsch’s story, and be thankful for being saved – mostly from my own idiocy?
And with that said, my beers are done, and I’m pretty burnt out.
Again, this a rant to myself. If you’ve gotten any value out of this – that’l delight my heart
With love,
Kal – the forever 5 year old dreamer.
Moments before publishing
“Since when does it first have to be published before I can ‘internally’ review it?” said Lannie, chuckling nervously.
