Is thinking dangerous? Would I be happier if my thoughts were as simple as the life I led?
Or do we miss something by living in the moment? Do we fail to see the bigger picture, the rest of the puzzle, whilst we scrutinise the one piece, engrossed in all its colours and intricacies?
Now for honesty. At least to myself. You may have worked this out days ago.
I came here for many reasons. To escape my life and problems at home. To see my boyfriend after 16 months. And to confirm my future.
I’d hoped, that this second longer trip would clear the uncertainty, either way. Please do not assume that I excepted hearts and roses. I expected a frank and honest conversation. I expected to discuss issues and make a decision on how, and if, to proceed. I wasn’t expecting a proposal but I was expecting a discussion about its possibility.
Part of the difficulty comes from our different cultures, and the modern fluidity of his. On the one hand, me being there at all with him and his family is a sign of the seriousness of our relationship. He has said as much himself over the months. Whilst we have tried to be respectful, his parents must be aware that he sneaks in and out of my room morning and night. They leave us alone, albeit briefly, when they shop. They’ve seen him rest his legs in my lap, him tickle me, heard his playful slaps on my bottom. They’ve seen our glances and smiles and playful looks.
On the other, the fact I am there at all and they know these things show the modernity of their thinking. Are they accepting of the seriousness of our relationship or are they modern enough to accept that it might not be the case?
If Wildcard was of a different nationality or even religion, me being here after nearly two years together would mean less. I expect a serious discussion because of his culture.
For whatever reason, he can’t tell me the extent of how he feels. I know he loves me. I know he cares for me. But I don’t know how much. I sometimes think he is scared to admit his feelings. I sometimes wonder if his feelings are as deep as I would like.
Whilst his lack of in-depth discussion worries me, I am comforted by his touches and kisses and concern. Today, when he came home from work he was unwell. I sat with him as normal until it was clear he was asleep. I started writing this post and, realising I too was sleepy left him to rest whilst I retired to his room. Half an hour later he arrived. He shut the blinds, took off his shirt and legs entangled, we fell asleep together.
Putting his culture aside, surely by now he would know if he wants to be with me? And if he didn’t, given the opportunities our long-distance-covid-affected relationship has given, he could have moved on quite easily and painlessly. He hasn’t though. He has dealt with my fear and my tears and disappointments and he has stuck around. He has asked for nothing.
And yet, he has given nothing either. No insight into his heart or his feelings.
So maybe I have to accept that this man loves me, but not enough.