I was about 7 years old when a well-meaning adult said to me, “There is no such thing as magic.”

He said this in response to my story of how a teacher had mysteriously conjured chocolates from the air and given them to me. I think I stopped speaking to this adult after the incident, because he had subconsciously called me a liar when I was certain that the chocolates in my hand were a product of magic.

But I know that magic is real.

You see, these days, I would sometimes wake up with a full cup of water next to my side of the bed. I didn’t put the cup of water there. In fact, I had finished the water the night before and left an empty cup sitting exposed on the table. There was no way that the empty cup would have been filled up by morning. My wife had just woken up too, surely she had nothing to do with it. Why would someone in her tiredness make a special effort to fetch me water? It must be magic.

One day, as I soothed my morning throat with the cup of water, its sweet taste an obvious refreshment to the staleness and dryness of my mouth, I began to reflect upon the reality of other similar ‘magical’ moments that have punctuated my growing up years.

While studies and work became the elements that occupied most of my time, the rubbish bins in my room would get cleared by itself and snacks would magically appear on the dining table. The dishes (that I had left behind after my meals) in the sink would be left in a sparkle on the drying rack whilst the air-conditioning that I had left on would be switched off by what I assume to be some sort of sorcery. My clothes too, started to wash themselves, find their own way into the dryer, and then smoothen its own wrinkles before dangling themselves in my wardrobe.

Surely my parents did not have anything to do with it, for they too were filled to the brim in the hustle and bustle of their careers, even more so than I was. And if it was them, I'm dead sure that they would have chided me for my 'laziness' and inaction, but there never was once that they 'nagged' me.

Anyway, Mum would leave the house at 6.00a.m for her morning shifts and return by evening, so she would have been too exhausted by then to have done all that too. It must be magic.

Dad would wake up early to send Mum to work and usually return only after dinner at around 10.00pm. Where would he have found the energy to clear the bin or wash the dishes? Yes, the only logical conclusion was that magic is real.

But even though I say that my parents and my wife had nothing to do with these magical occurrences around the house, I have started to realise that this is not entirely true either. This is because I have also noticed that the magic would happen only in their presence, as if magic could only be coaxed into existence by them and them alone. Maybe my parents and my wife are themselves, magic. One evening, I looked up the dictionary and learnt that one the definitions of Magic is, ‘a quality of being beautiful and delightful in a way that seems remote from daily life’ (I googled).

This was true about my parents and my wife, for I would witness that beauty and delight would penetrate the apparent dull moments wherever they went. Surely then, they are magical.

And so this has taught me that there is real magic in this world, we just call it by a different name – love.

Love is a magical thing, and I have learnt that we should never take this magic for granted, because if you want to keep the magic alive in your marriage and relationships, you have to make sure that love never dies.

Love is Magic.


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