Today, I sprained my ankle while rushing down the stairs. I didn't feel bones crack, which is a good sign, but there's that urge to salve the pain with mefenamic acid. It's hurting, I can't place weight on my left foot, which makes me compensate by placing my weight on my right leg. In turn both sides hurt. It doesn't help that I need to hold a different angle to just have a semblance of comfort. 

Today too, we spend the evening with dinner and rounds of mahjong at a friend's house. My husband cooked tteokbokki - he loves to cook, and feeds on people's feedback. 

My husband parked the car on our friend's garden driveway which meant that there was about 10-15 meters walk. I waited for him to unload the food. I waited for him to settle inside - hoping that there was an instinct for him to come back for me, or even at the slight bit, check if I needed help. 

None came. 

It feels like grief. 

And when I aired out my frustration, he merely said "Eh hindi ka naman nagsabi. Dinala ko yung pagkain. Ang labo mo."

My husband and I are good on most days. But on days of crisis like this, the textures reveal on the surface. The rough ones, especially.

It's me after all. 

We feel the grief for what we thought or hoped they were, but are not. It is my fault that I expected my husband to be more sensitive and gentlemanly.

But it isn't a bad hope, isn't it? 

We are in pain when reality falsifies our humble and genuine hopes. When reality can't give us the inexpensive, but best experiences of our lives. 

Take it as it is. I need to hope less.