All the adjustments, all the quirks, idiosyncrasies, ticks, his loud music, your silent treatments and sarcasm (which can be translated into passive-aggressive by some people, the nerve of some fucking people, and this fucking gets you every time, this Western attitude, this Western belief of classifying, lumping, labeling things and reducing it into a psychological issue, something that must be treated, while you simply call it your Asian heritage), him not taking seriously of your trivial issues of your zits, your ass, your classmates, him wanting you to be free of inks and punctures and you thinking of getting your ears pierced.
You’re complicated enough when you’re alone, so many times you don’t know where you are, or where you belong, then you put another person in your life, and you realize that he is not a cat nor a dog nor a goldfish not even a cactus (why can’t he just be a cactus? some days you whine, surely a plant will be so much easier to maintain), and you stare and stare at your phone or your laptop’s monitor for that buzz of the app or the flash of that software you both use to communicate with each other but you bargain to be the first one, because, you think, you love him dearly and you are afraid that he doesn’t love you the way you do although he says it and some days you know he means it, but you’re afraid you’re going to go and do it go and do it go and do what you know but you don’t know because he’s so beautiful and you long for his touch, but your phone never buzzes, the chat software never pops up, and you question why you’re doing this to yourself, waiting, calculating, wondering if it’s possible to go back to that time when you first met when the sparks flew and the horrible restaurant didn’t stop you from kissing him or putting your hand on his thigh and his knee and caressing them.
After all, it concerns not only your heart, but also your head, and your whole body to be exact, and when it hurts your heart, it hurts your head, and your whole body, every organ, every limb, every appendage reacts to the pain and you, not knowing what else to do, shove things up your fucking mouth, cinnamon bun after cinnamon bun after cinnamon bun and wasn’t he the one who told you to stash spaghetti or mac and cheese just in case you want some hot food and break out of your hermetic confinement of tomato and carrot smoothie and no carb diet because you’re so proud of your chiseled abs that you’ve been working on for so long and yet he says he likes chunky boys so you think comfort eating will please him and therefore please you, and at the same time, you run, you dance, you burn sweat, you gain calluses on your soles, you run movies in the background on loop, so you won’t have to think, but you still think of your failed relationships, this boy did this that boy did that, and you think you may have a chance with this one because, again, because you love him, but sometimes it hurts and you don’t want to die and you can’t cry all you can do is suspend yourself in food limbo where sugar and honey try to balance the bitterness.
For some people, for some very lucky people, who happen to click after the first date, and live rather peacefully together, reaching some kind of a pact, a treaty, a negotiation, a truce, a cease fire, and yet for some, yet for some still, it is a dream, a pipe dream, or even a nightmare that they secretly wish could still happen to them, so they could tell themselves they’ve done it, they’ve tried, they’ve gone and done it, and maybe they’ll do it again, maybe they won’t, and it’s all fair because they’ll have accomplished it, but still, it is beautiful.
Because even if he’s more demanding than a cat a dog a goldfish or a cactus, even if he doesn’t get your drama, even if he apologizes by composing haiku after haiku, even if you sometimes question yourself, your love, your sanity, you get his smile, his face, his eyes, his scent, all these things that greet you that moment you wake up and grapple on the walls of consciousness and find him and you in your bed, an island surrounded by his ukulele, his laptop, your jewelry, your laptop, his shoes, your shoes, happiness and bliss are all you feel and the concept of sadness is as alien as that star you can’t see even when you try to get a peek through the most powerful telescope, it’s still there, but its lights cannot reach you, and you know that in that moment, without words, all is not lost, all is not forgotten, yet all is forgiven.