It’s 3 a.m. and I still don’t know what to write about for today’s deadline. I had originally written, “You must remember this, a kiss is still a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh. The fundamental things apply as time goes by…” As I scribbled more sentences to immortalize a kiss I couldn’t get past the second paragraph, after realizing how giving women are with affection; after a kiss what follows is quite naturally the unexpected because a kiss is never just a kiss.
In 1996, Life magazine wrote that Thomas Edison gave Hollywood its first 30 seconds of silent footage with a kiss that critics called disgusting. Photographer Stephen Wilkes captured the moment with 200 pictures. Given that technology, a movie kiss that required a nose in its proper would have been the least of Wilkes’ worries on the set of Romeo and Juliet starring Claire Danes and Leonardo DiCarpio. Danes whispered to DiCarpio, “This is so bizarre.” Because 23 kisses were required by the camera. DiCarpio would giggle and Danes would feel his lips trembling, so she’d laugh, too. In fact she commented, “When you really kiss someone you never know where it’s going to go. But if it’s scripted at some point the director calls ‘Cut’ and it’s the end of the kiss.” In Hollywood a kiss that looks amorous could be just a professional kiss, another day at the office. Apparently it confirms what Shakespeare said: “Everything is more about language.” And kissing on the lips is a craft, meaning striking an aesthetic pose without getting one’s nose in the way.
I kiss the petal of a red rose. My touch can’t be gentler than the dew but I feel its tenderness and brush it against my cheek; it’s softer than the brush I use for my blusher, and I place it in my hair for some romantic allure. Its smoothness reminds me of silk fiber, Chinese silk, constructed by worms from their kisses that made cocoons for a concubine’s robe. Her loose, wide silk sleeves fall just below her shoulders ready for two kisses on her barest white shoulders.
A kiss? You shouldn’t be surprised that in India just to touch the nose, mouth or cheek of another and inhale is a unique customary kiss in their southern areas. That’s the way some elder women from Paniqui, Tarlac kiss me. Also in India, from ancient writings one reads that the practice of kissing begun as early as 200 BC. Herodotus, the early Greek historian, revealed that among Persians of equal rank men would kiss one another on the mouth. The “Unequals” greeted each other on both cheeks. Hebrew history refers to “Esan falling on the neck(!) of his brother Jacob and kissing him.”
There’s a kiss of death and a kiss of peace. The kiss of death was a term attached to a fatal relationship. Presumably it originated from Judas Iscariot, Christ’s apostle who kissed Christ to identify him before that infamous arrest. But there is also a holy Kiss of Peace that early Christians used to salute fellow Christians. The gesture has become part of our Holy Mass as we greet strangers with “Peace be with you.”
A kiss. The eyes begin to say it all — but my eyes are shut trying to take in sleep as I build castles in the air. When you’re day- or night-dreaming it’s safer to keep your eyes shut to leave everybody clueless about what’s on your mind. When I was unconsciously more demonstrative while thinking, I wound my hair between my fingertips and Peping would say, “You’re thinking again.” So I shut my eyes instead. I’ve thought about redecorating the house but that’s taboo with Peping, who wants to save it for my single daughter’s future, innovative learning lessons in college.
Tonight it’s an image of a gentle touch on a person’s face that could be more tender than a sexual kiss. Can you imagine two galaxies meeting and locked in a cosmic waltz? The dormant exposed; the irresistible turns into a gravitational force; and the galaxies merge to become one in a dance of celebration. Those are just random thoughts because I want men to realize a woman needs tenderness there; but after all, it’s a two-way street. “A man must have his mate, that no one can deny… It’s still the same old story, a fight for love and glory, a case of do or die… The world will always welcome lovers as time goes by…”
Whether it be a sniff of the cheek, a kiss on two cheeks or a smack on two lips, kissing a baby’s skin is ever so tempting and easy to abuse. My two-year-old grandson Renzo, before he began to walk gingerly away from me and learned to shake his head to signify “no,” could be easily cuddled. I could turn his neck backward and fill his throat with kisses. I can’t do that now, as he runs away; so I lunge at him for a swift grab — never too gentle, of course, because he’s strong and rejects my embraces. I manage though to give him a hard-pressed smack and all too soon he’s struggling away from my hold with a loud cry for help (“Mommy!”) that ends my kisses and leaves my hair disheveled. I go back to fixing it to make sure the red rose is still in its place after that reluctant kiss. It would seemingly be more appropriate for Renzo to say, in a tone of rejection, “Wawa, kiss off.” When Alec was a five-year-old I would kiss his ear and he’d say “Sarap.” I kissed off, and often.
Sometimes kisses come without a warning like unforeseen gales and heavy seas, fog and rain, low temperature and blizzards. Be glad; they’re better than none. But kissing is indeed a lady’s choice. The man should wait for his cue.
I like kisses. They reverberate with everlasting memories of attachment and satisfaction. A kiss is like a grandfather’s clock with a pendulum that swings back and forth, reminding me of my childhood — from a hurting scrape on my knee and running to Daddy; or complaining about a boyfriend’s call that never came and sharing it with Mommy; to a wedding day’s kiss when a groom makes a bride his; to old age when a kiss can mean security — all these kisses I’d like to hold on my cheeks and feel forever.
I’d like my children to remember this trick I played on them when they were younger; you can try it, too. I put a thick layer of lipstick on and I kissed them goodbye while they were asleep every morning. When they would wake up to wash their faces they would laugh to see lipstick marks on their cheeks. They knew then that Mommy kissed them before work.
It’s 5:25 in the morning and I’m not yet done, but it’s the best time to communicate with Mai in Florence and send her a kiss via text. Her reply is rather amusing and enlightening: “Thanks, Mommy! We always find a way to justify our birthdays! If I convert to pesos what I buy here in Italy I will starve, stay home, and end up naked and shoeless! I bought a shoe that’s so, so, so simple and so stylish. It’s the eye candy Louboutin. The shoe is called Circus so you can imagine! It’s leather with suede and mesh! Black and gold! I’m 33 today. Almost as old as you! Demi is a Taurus like you and also has a temper! So expressive and likes shiny things too like gold. Like Wawa. She stares at the jewelry that I wear and eats my necklaces!!”
It’s 7 a.m. and this is the most time-consuming article I’ve ever written just because of a kiss. When language is a barrier, a kiss can settle everything bleak.