the story
It's about time I write it down.
We're in a little town just outside of Kanazawa. The date is June 23, 2008 - Day 12 of what has been the best holiday we've taken together. (We've been on a lot of holidays, actually: Sydney, HK, Taiwan - and that's just in the last 12 months.) The town is an onsen town, and there is nothing to do but onsen. Dutifully, we onsen. At least, I onsen, and Shiyao takes photos. Onsen onsen onsen, photo photo photo until dinnertime, whereupon we retire to our little room and I plonk myself down on the only real chair in the room. Everything else is tatami mat. I'm not a big fan of tatami mats. They leave lines on your butt.
Dinner arrives, a feast of fish so fresh it was wriggling five seconds ago. I happily stuff my face while Shiyao, as usual, takes photos. After dinner, there is nothing to do. Too roly-poly to move, I suggest we stay in and watch Fullmetal Alchemist on his laptop the whole night! Yay! But Shiyao has other plans. He wants to take a walk and catch the sunset. Slightly reluctantly, I say okay.
Thinking that we're walking around the block, I agree to stroll out dressed in nothing but our yukatas (dressing gowns) and slippers. Five blocks later, we're heading towards the pier with no doubling back in sight. Shiyao is on a photo roll - at first I'm game, but as it grows dark, it gets cold, and scary on the pier with sinister black sea merging into ominous black sky. For some reason, he keeps pointing to this luxury hotel next to the pier, with what must be stupendous waterfront views, and saying: "Aiyah we should have stayed there; there so nice!" After I reassure him several times that I love our little tatami-matted onsen hotel, I give him a kiss and head to a nearby, inland, well-lit bench, in what turns out to be "park" called Waku-waku.
It is, therefore, to Waku-waku Park that Shiyao returns from his photo excursion, and it is at Waku-waku Park that he takes out a ring. I've turned my back to pack up his camera, and from behind me he says: "There's one more thing." I turn around - and there it is, dazzling in the dark, sparkling with successful surprise. At this point my memory fails me. Reportedly I say: "Is this a joke?", followed by "Are you sure?" several times. Finally, slightly exasperated, he convinces me that he's serious (he'd bought the ring two weeks ago and asked my parents for permission the night before we left), and as he gets down on one knee I say a sniffly yes.
posted by zyn ::
10:20 AM ::
4 Comments ::
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