HOLD HANDS by Bo Sanchez

Boy and girl.

Sweet young things.

Around their late teens.

Both walking in front of me, lost in their world of cute cupids, beating hearts, and chocolate cream cakes with caramel toppings.

They walk as if walking on air, hand in hand.

Hip to hip.

Shoulder to shoulder.

Eye to eye.

Nose to nose.

Bad breath to bad breath.

But do they mind?

Of course not. They're in luv.

I watch this scene with amusement one night, while going home from one prayer meeting.

At my side was another couple walking home.

Friends of mine.

Not so young.

With three kids. (The eldest is twenty-three years old.)

Grandparents in the making, really.

In fact, the guy's balding. There's nothing on top except a few overstaying weeds. Airplanes can land in and out without a problem. He can sing, "Shine Jesus shine," with superb visual effects. He compensates by his bushy eyebrows, combing them upwards as far as possible.

The woman on the other hand is gifted, endowed, and abundant. Through her, the vastness of the Kingdom is displayed. She has cellulite deposits with interest compounded daily. Indeed, she receives all that life has to offer her. But to her embarrassment, people always ask her, "When are you giving birth?"

But this fiftyish couple does something that blows my mind.

They walk hand in hand as well.

And their handholding is so different from the way the young lovebirds in front of me hold hands.

This time, I know it isn't just a cutey-sweety symbol.

It's proven. Full. Real. Unquestionable. Pregnant! (With meaning!) Backed up by twenty-five years of cooking meals, washing dishes, doing the laundry, and raising bratty kids.

Stop reading. And hold the hand of your spouse. Your mom. Your dad. Your friend. And prove it for the next twenty-five years.

And beyond.

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