Eileen Lian

What My Parents Taught Me About Love
 
My parents taught me that love
means sleeping separately
in two different  bedrooms
They taught me that love is
            Being angry with each other
95 per cent of the time
 
My parents taught me that love
is throwing your chopsticks
on the dining table in disgust
when you do not like the food you have been served
 
They taught me that love
            is speaking badly
            of the other to
            random strangers and acquaintances
 
And love
            is asking your children
over and over
who they love more
And that love
            is strengthened by your children answering
            “You, I love you more!”
            whoever the you is who happens to be asking
 
My parents taught me that love
            is shouting Chinese bad words
            and calling each other
nasty Chinese names
So loudly that your
            children studying in the next room
            are able to hear every detail
            as they tremble over their Physics text book
 
My parents taught me that love is the silence that covers everything:
            the bamboo lounge set with the square cushions,
the hanging pendant lights,
            the carpet bought from the Arab trader in Batu Road,
the Formica dining table and six wooden stools,
            the Sansui hi-fi that started many fights,
the picture of Jesus with a halo that hangs over the entrance,
            the dust-encrusted window panes,
the dirty plastic flowers from Petaling Street,
the dinky crocheted coasters from Peping Lace,
and me
 
My parents taught me that love
            is the pause that leaves
            all the supporting players in an
            uncomfortable and painful
            state of suspension
That life if it stands still
            would likely crack into a trillion bits
            so fragile is its constitution
 
My parents taught me that love
            asks the other for money all the time
That love means
            having a car that constantly breaks down
            needing a mechanic’s hand which costs hundreds
 
They taught me that love
            demands that one pays for the other’s indulgences
            that hi-fi systems do not come cheap
            and adding to the number of floor-standing
            speakers are an absolute must
 
My parents taught me that love
            sometimes cares for the other too
            love sometimes searches out
            a healer known to have cured shingles
And that same love
            drives the other to the healer at five in the evening
            with a devil-may-care attitude towards who
            will be at home to prepare dinner

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Eileen Lian is stay-at-home mum whose works have been published in anthologies by Fixi Novo, MPH Publications, the Asian Centre Anthology of Malaysian Poetry in English and WordWorks.