Mark,

I know you hate that name. Of course you would. It’s too normal, too proper, too common. You like TOP. It sounds gangster-like and tough. It makes you sound ready to take over the world. What meaning did Teddy give it? The Official Pimp? I’m sorry kid. Cry more. I like Mark. I think it’s decent, nice and simple. It’s awesome. And if you and I manage to make this work with the whole nine yards and have crazy kids, I’ll name our boys Mark. Or if it’s a girl, I’ll name her Market. Oh wait, that doesn’t sound right. Maybe I’ll add a –te. Markette, it sounds cute. We’ll see. The short of it is I like Mark. So deal.

Anyway, I digress. I didn’t write this letter to tell you about your name. I wrote this to answer your question last night. I thought you were teasing me. You were using those eyes of yours to get me to confess. That wasn’t fair, I tell you. I didn’t mean it when I said that I can’t really tell if you actually loved me. I was joking. But you just walked away in a huff. And no matter how much I appreciate the sight of your , it isn’t at all flattering when you turn your back on me.

I’m not that good at verbalizing my feelings. We can’t all be lyrical like you. I can’t write in metaphors about love being some masterpiece or Seoul being a desolate desert.  I leave that up to you. And besides, we’re not really the type to say things out loud. You’re you and I’m me. Don’t people call us alien couple?  They say we’re random and just do things via telepathy. Though honestly, I've always thought it was because of those green suits you wore. I mean, it can't be me. I'm perfect.

So, let me tell you about the day I knew you loved me.

This might be a little dramatic so I'm expecting you to cry. I want tearstains on this letter, ok?

Here goes.

I knew you loved me the day you made that grand gesture - with the flowers, the wine, the candlelight. How could I not? You said you loved me. Words are cheap, I told myself. I can’t count the times you’ve told me saranghae noona when you were trying to weasel  out from something and you needed me to cover for you. But you looked sincere. I didn’t know what hearts in his eyes meant until I saw you that night. So I was swept away. You have a way of doing that. But just a word of advice. Even though you think it’s cool to re-live that music video you did with all the coconut and strawberries, next time please leave out the snake. Trust me, it kills the mood.

I knew you loved me the day you bought me tampons in the middle of the night and gave in to my PMS craving for candies and chocolates.  You told me I was getting fat. And I told you to off and go home.  But you stayed, rubbed my back and ate all the peanut butter and jelly in my cupboard. I know you didn’t mean it - calling me fat not you eating my pbj. I know you liked me just the way I am. Besides, you can't complain. You like to touch those fats. And while we’re on the subject, let me tell you a little secret: those two things you call s - they’re 90% fat.

I knew you loved me the day you found me in the bathroom, throwing up. You didn’t walk away. You touched my forehead, gathered my hair and patted my back. Then, you promptly told me that I shouldn’t have eaten your snack. 

I knew you loved me the day you argued with me because I was taking on too much, too soon. I remember that I was beyond exhausted .My lipstick was smudged, my mascara was running and an IV was stuck in my skin. You stood there by the hospital bed, lecturing me on do’s and don’ts. I wanted to gag you. My head was pounding and I wanted to sleep but you kept on talking. I think the nurse wanted to kick you out too.  When you finally shut up, I fell asleep. But the next day, I woke up and you were still holding my hand.

I knew you loved me the day of our anniversary when I made you wait in the restaurant for hours. It was raining that day you see and I couldn’t get out of a shoot. The roads weren’t cooperating and I might have dozed at the backseat of the cab for a moment or two. But I swear til my last breath that I didn't mean to be late. You were calling me every five minutes , ten minutes or so.  You were agitated but all the while your voice remained calm. When I came, you were just sitting there. And when you saw me, with the coat that you gave me destroyed by the rain and my hair looking like something could crawl out of it, you laughed. Then you smiled that smile which drives me crazy and told me ‘You look wonderful.’

I lied.

This letter isn’t about the day when I knew you loved me. It’s about those million little moments of laughter, tears and shame. It’s about those thousands of tiny gestures of kindness, sincerity and yes, even anger. It’s about EVERYTHING. Everything that makes you you. Everything that makes me me. Everything that makes us us.

See, this is why I couldn’t answer last night. There wasn’t  a way to tell you exactly when I knew you loved me. Because I felt it everytime we made love, everytime we fought. I felt it even when we didn’t talk to each other for days because I annoyed you or you annoyed me. It would take us the entirety of today and a lot of tomorrows if I talked about all the days when I knew you loved me.

So now that I’ve told you all these things, let me end my letter with this:

Minzy once asked me what love is and I couldn’t answer. How do I answer a question like that? I’m not a dictionary, an encyclopedia or a slam book. But today, if she asked me the same question I can give her what she needs.

For those who know how it is to love and be loved,

For those who don’t because they’re afraid to try,

For those who wonder what it’s like,

The only explanation I have of love is this:

Love is simple.

Love is YOU.

Sgd.

The most beautiful woman in the universe,

Bom