A Walk to Remember

First love is real hard to forget if it was real. Feelings that is. Might feel now and then that it was kiddish, but then it had to be intense too, that's why maybe it becomes difficult to forget.. First love is first love. Special. First love need not be defined as "the first person you fell in love with". In my definition, it is when you first truly fell in love with.

I am not a religious kind of person. Not the kind who would read Bible or Bhagwadgita. Spiritual, maybe yes, still have to explore that. But then this one part from Bible moved me, even though I wrote a sarcastic poem on it or make cynic comments; but actually it does mean something in the end.

Love is always patient and kind. It is never jealous. Love is never boastful or conceited. It is never rude or selfish. It does not take offense and is not resentful. Love takes no pleasure in other people's sins, but delights in the truth. It is always ready to excuse, to trust, to hope, and to endure whatever comes.

There may or may not be someone. But I do dream of someone. Someone special. Difficult to forget sometimes yes, but then there is something called as faith. And hope. Sounds eugh kind, but then deep inside, everyone holds on to that; sometimes.

I was reading A Walk to Remember by Nicholas Sparks. A wonderful movie too. Different from book, but holds its essence. I could never understand why it was called "A Walk to Remember", until I read the book. I type my favorite scenes from the book: (It moved me and gave me goosebumps.. Some book!! Felt this after a long time! )

Eastern North Carolina is a beautiful and special part of the country, blessed with temperate weather and, for the most part, wonderful geography. Nowhere is this more evident that Bogue Banks, an island right off the coast, near the place we grew up. Twenty-four miles long and nearly a mile wide, this island is a fluke of nature, running from east to west, hugging the coastline a half mile offshore.

Those who live there can witness spectacular sunrises and sunsets every day of the year, both taking place over the expanse of the mighty Atlantic Ocean.

Jamie was bundled up heavily, standing beside me on the edge of the Iron Streamer Pier as this perfect southern evening descended. I pointed off into the distance and told her to wait. I could see our breaths, two of hers to every one of mine. I had to support Jamie as we stood there- she seemed lighter than the leaves of a tree that had fallen in autumn - but I knew that it would be worth it.


In time the glowing, cratered moon began its seeming rise from the sea, casting a prism of light across the slowly darkening water, splitting itself into a thousand different parts, each more beautiful than the last. At exactly the same moment, the sun was meeting the horizon in the opposite direction, turning the sky red and orange and yellow, as if heaven above had suddenly opened its gates and let all its beauty escape its holy confines. The ocean turned golden silver as the shifting colors reflected off it, waters rippling and sparkling with the changing light, the vision glorious, almost like the beginning of time. The sun continued to lower itself, casting its glow as far as the eye could see, before finally, slowly, vanishing beneath the waves. The moon continued its slow drift upward, shimmering as it turned a thousand different shades of yellow, each paler than the last, before finally becoming the color of the stars.

Jamie watched all this in silence, my arm tight around her, her breathing shallow and weak. As the sky was finally turning to black and the first twinkling lights began to appear in the distant southern sky, I took her in my arms. I gently kissed both her cheeks and then, finally, her lips.

“That”, I said, “is exactly how I feel about you.”

The second favorite part was this one:

“I’m proud of you, son”
I nodded. “I’m proud of you, too, Dad.”
It was the first time I’d ever said those words to him.

My mom was in the front row, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief when the “Wedding March” began. The doors opened and I saw Jamie, seated in her wheelchair, a nurse by her side. With all the strength she had left, Jamie stood shakily as her father supported her. Then Jamie and Hegbert slowly made their way down the aisle, while everyone in the church sat silently in wonder. Halfway down the aisle, Jamie suddenly seemed to tire, and they stopped while she caught her breath. Her eyes closed, and for a moment I didn’t think she could go on. I know that no more than ten of twelve seconds elapsed, but it seemed much longer, and finally she nodded slightly. With that, Jamie and Hegbert started moving again, and I felt my heart surge with pride.

It was, I remembered thinking, the most difficult walk anyone ever had to make.

In every way, a walk to remember.

The nurse had rolled the wheelchair up front as Jamie and her father made their way toward me. When she finally reached my side, there were gasps of joy and everyone spontaneously began to clap. The nurse rolled the wheelchair into position, and Jamie sat down again, spent. With a smile I lowered myself to my knees so that I would be level with her.
My father did the same.

Hegbert, after kissing Jamie on the cheek, retrieved his bible in order to being the ceremony. All business now, he seemed to have abandoned his role as Jaime’s father to something more distant, where he could keep his emotions in check. Yet I could see him struggling as he stood before us. He perched his glasses on his nose and opened the bible, then looked at Jamie and me. Hegbert towered over us, and I could tell that he hadn’t anticipated our being so much lower. For a moment he stood before us, almost confused, then surprisingly decided to kneel as well Jamie smiled an reached for his free hand, then reached for mine, linking us together.

…

And finally the end:

It is now forty years later, and I can still remember everything from that day. I maby be older and wiser, I may have lived another life since then, but I know that when my time eventually comes, the memories of that day will be the final images that float through my mind. I still love her, you see, I’ve never removed my ring. In all these years I’ve never felt the desire to do so.
...


This is what I meant by intense. She didn’t ask him to do anything. Nor did he do it for her. It’s just how they felt. Intense and natural. Love never dies, and it never fades. Love is patient. If it was not, then that was not love at all. Love never gets tired or sick of anything about a person. It’s the beauty of the person and the essence you fell for. You know the person so well that one mess about him/her won’t shake your feelings. That intense. It sure is exciting in the beginning and if you think that was love, then you never were in love. Love is constant. Exponentially grows. Its excitement is not to be compared to the excitement a kid has for a new toy. That excitement fades. And love is always not about excitement.

This can be felt in various ways. A very very strong feeling. A happy one too.

"Love is like the wind. I cannot see it, but feel it"
This does keep my faith alive.

That is how exactly it is. Beautiful and wonderful.
I dedicate the song "Only Hope" to that someone. Lovely song. :)