Things about VC that I never want to forget #7
VC is a man of few words
As is probably obvious, if you know us in person, I more than make up for his lack of words, by always having a lot to say about everything. One incident that I will probably never forget, is one (of many such) night when I was elbow deep in the angst and woes of my last job. I was propped up in bed and VC lay beside me, reading or something. I was furiously typing away on my blog, like my life depended on it, while he just lay there doing his thing, with the annoying tip-tapping of keys playing background score. And he uttered just a few simple words, which he didn’t know then, would later make a huge difference.
There were many nights like that, when I couldn’t wait to wrap up work and get away from the office into the yellow haze of my home, into bed to finally relax and sort my thoughts out to put them into words. It was deeply cathartic to just be able to write in a way that made sense to me. And it brought me a sort of silent bliss that little else did at the time.
Writing aimlessly, toying with my mind, tying shapeless thoughts down with the threads of syntax and words was the only challenge I was willing to set myself up for. One that I felt confident of tiding through, every night. No matter what and how terribly things went at work, it was strangely comforting to know that despite everything, there was still that once space where I could let my mind wander, and know I won’t be lost.
“I wish someone would just pay me to blog,” I said, recklessly, “sometimes I think it’s all I want to do.”
“Then do it. Don’t worry about the money,” he said. And he went back to his book almost as casually as he had looked up from it.
VC has a surprising way of saying the simplest things that make the most sense in the moment. I was at my angriest, cynical best at the time. Constantly frothing at the mouth, visibly agitated about everything at large. It was quite easy to forget, and not bother to understand. When I would choose to spend a weekend tucked at home, nobody understood why. When I would go home alone, rather than out with friends, nobody understood why. And when I felt a sense of contentment with a finished blog post, nobody understood why. But when I wished out loud that, blogging was probably the only one thing that kept me going, and all I wanted to do, VC understood.
Sometimes support comes in loud declarations, in wild, impulsive moves, in elaborate and outlandish actions. But VC has always been subtle and understated. So much so, that I take his silent being for granted a lot of the time. His acts of support have always been quiet, lacking grandeur and almost hard to notice.
Like that night. It is quite an apt representation of how things work with us. Of how despite me, with me erratic and often hard-to-understand moods and whims, he has always found it in him to silently stand by. To try and understand. To live and let live.
Writing, especially of the kind I have discovered I enjoy over the last year, is a quiet and sometimes reflective exercise. It takes hours of going back to a single post, tending to it, chiseling away at it, and slowly, lovingly bending it to shape. It is an individualistic act. One that isolated me more than I already was. And in that solitude, it was nice to have that one person, who didn’t abandon me and leave me to my lonesome, unsociable ways.
In eerily quiet and lonesome moments, when I sometime thinks about where I will end up, when I wonder if this kind of writing will take me somewhere, when I toss about the idea of living the isolated life of a writer, its nice to know that I will never really be alone. VC will probably always watch from a safe distance. Sometimes sidelined. Sometimes confused. Mostly taken for granted. But always supportive.
Sometimes support comes in loud declarations. And sometimes it creeps up on you almost silently.
Don’t be fooled. Aside from his rather taciturn demeanour, and Zen-like husband qualities, VC is quite the riot. For more ridiculous stories from our marriage look here.