The Story of a Long Distance Romance

How much can you miss a person before seeing them doesn’t make it worth it? Are you allowed to hurt this much – is the next meeting going to justify the pain you feel now? I can’t tell if, as the number gets smaller and fewer hours separate our meeting, it gets any easier. The weight of expectation is pricking holes down my arteries and it’s getting harder to breathe. If I see you and you can’t fix me, I’m going to fall apart.

I’ve weaved myself into a trap of cliched writing. The stereotypical debate is as follows: Is it easier to let go or to hold on. And I can’t let go – I don’t want to. But this pent up frustration and anger, like a wasp stinging me every time some semblance of hope crops up on the horizon; I’m not sure how long more I can take.

So I grip onto the silken thread you’ve left for me to hold onto. They say a spider’s web is stronger than you could ever expect from something so delicate you know? I’ll drag myself up, time and time again, a divide cracking me in half and I’m not sure if it’s physical or my own shortcomings.

Your happiness wraps me up like a warm bath that keeps getting hotter, searing my skin and I’m burnt. Charcoal flakes off me and in the morning I’m new for an imaginary instance.

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Weddings

I went to my cousin’s wedding this past weekend. Not to my surprise, nor to the surprise of others, I managed to forgot the last hour of the night. Champagne is my kryptonite – what can I say? I’m a spoilt, light-weight cheap drunk. Nevertheless, prior to this wonderful bubbly induced oblivion. I realized a lot, although it was clouded over by a haze of joyous banter and unrestrained dancing to Billy Jean (who is most certainly not my lover).

I was surrounded by couples; genuinely a maze of relationships, all of which, ridiculously enough, had lasted longer than 6 years. Even my 21 year old cousin had been seeing his girlfriend since he was 14 – I never realized it before this weekend, but my family has a tendency for long relationships. My parents have been married for 23 years now (their anniversary was on the first of this month, strangely enough), and before that, my mum was in a 10 year relationship. 

Despite the obvious fact I had a boyfriend, my aunts and uncles joked around (I hope!) and offered to set me up with a rather good looking friend of our entire extended family. I may be as committed as any girlfriend could be, but let’s be honest, I can appreciate a fine specimen when I see them. It was funny – I bummed a cig off of him behind by relatives backs, we stole ice-cream from the children’s’ room and downed the last two glasses of white wine (yes, a little variety in my alcoholic diet).

Nevertheless, the only person on my mind was Joe. I called him, from Malaysia, to the USA. I hardly remember it, but even when considering how bloody expensive that call is going to be, I regret nothing. I’m quite sure that I was happiest when listening to the sound of his voice – obviously my first realization of the night was how much I missed him. I missed him while I dressed up, while I made my way through ten courses, when I was foolishly dancing. I had no one there that meant enough to me for me to want to impress them, nobody to laugh at my food baby, no one to give me kisses when I stumbled back into my hotel room.

When people weren’t trying to set me up, they were asking me when I was going to get married. Would the wedding be in Hong Kong? Singapore? Malaysia? Canada? Ridiculous questions to ask a seventeen year old, who hasn’t even been to university yet. A little strange, and very stifling. The next realization that I came to was about my family – they didn’t expect fleeting relationships, and they didn’t see this as a fleeting relationship at all. I’m a little bit scared now.

But most of all, I suppose I’m a little bit happy. I love weddings – I want a big one, white gown, church, getting walked down the aisle, a full banquet and all the people I love in the world around me. This weekend just emphasized that. I don’t care if you can get a divorce readily these days, I don’t care if people think weddings are social constructs that mean nothing. I love weddings because you won’t find more love anywhere else in the world. I love weddings because everyone there, divorced, widowed, single, engaged – no matter what they are, is recognizing the presence of love. Maybe this doesn’t apply to arranged marriages, but let’s assume that those aren’t included here. The main reasons I love weddings is because, in a world that can be so cold, weddings are like a brick framed fireplace, a mug of hot chocolate, an electric blanket or a snuggie. I wrap myself up in weddings – I wrap myself up in the idealistic fantasy that I too will one day experience a day of which its purpose is simply love. 

rambles/

Today was such a great day, despite the huge amount of work I received. I’m so incredibly happy right now.

Today:

  • I got a 7 on my philosophy essay
  • My chemistry teacher was in a super mood
  • I handed in my World Lit plan
  • The debate in history was pretty easy because no one really knew what was happening
  • I had chocolates at the Shangrila
  • I ran 6.5km in under 38 minutes (new best time!)
  • I Had pan seared scallops and a poached egg on a bed of arugula with truffle oil
  • I Talked to a new friend
  • I Skyped with my favourite boy for an hour
  • I Cooked pasta salad and quinoa
  • More than half of my philosophy reading was finished

And now I’m eating greek yoghurt and vanilla granola in bed. Also I have lost 1.5kg in the last 3 weeks and I am feeling significantly fitter and happier with myself.

Off to sleep for me now! Just had to ramble on about my newfound happiness. And for anyone who reads this, 55 days left until Christmas!

(And just for me, 53 days until I get my first present)

eternal return

It matters not to anyone,

or anything at all.

As fleeting as a strobe light in a club,

and shining just as brightly.

 

I offered you a shoulder,

You responded with a word.

If everything were to happen again,

Would anything appear at all?

 

Perfectly in time, a

Crescendo, some blinking alarms

Too obvious to miss.

It may not have happened, but it did.

 

And it keeps happening, 

A new crescendo, a new return.

Infinite repetitions, 

 

Jars

I collect jars – see through, lightweight and almost impossible to hold. I fill them up with anything find, poking holes in the top of the lids, just to make sure the lights buzzing inside don’t die out. I’m not really sure what these lights are, or I guess what I mean to say is they’re not any particular one thing. They’re your sock wrapped up in my sheets, so lost that you have to go home with one bare leg under your pants. No one knows that, except for me.

That’s the best part about these jars – they look pretty from the outside, but they’re just for me to understand. Oh, the light that’s glowing a little dimmer over there? That’s the lollipop the dentist gave me when I was six, that actually chipped by tooth, which sent me straight back into his chair. Greatest marketing scheme ever, I have to say.

I collect jars – they line the shelves of my mind, arranged chronologically. Usually the ones furthest away can hardly be seen anymore, but everything is relative. Some of those that are almost out of reach burn the brightest. Strangely enough, one of those is when you tore my favourite blanket in half when I was 5. A little nearer is one when I accidentally spilt water on your laptop. And most the brightest one of all is when you left me/when I lost you.