The art of choosing
There’s something indescribably sweet about someone being curious about you: someone who wants to know every little detail, even the ones you think are insignificant. Like why you always choose this café over that one. What is your go to place. The story behind that tiny scar on your hand. Or your take on something as simple as a bogenvillea. To be loved is to be known. To love, in return, is to invite someone into your little world. It’s a choice, no matter how challenging. It’s giving endless chances, being patient even when it’s the 100th time. Love is like caring for something fragile yet unfamiliar; filled with newness, requiring constant learning and unlearning. I’ve seen love in small habits. My grandpa working through sudokus with a pencil, never a pen. My grandma turning on the radio while cooking. Something my mother does too. Her calendar filled with everyday notes: when the gas cylinder was installed, when the milkman missed a visit. My dad sneaking a piece of dark cho...