I didn’t sleep well the first night. Don’t get me wrong, I was exhausted: I’d left the house over 12 hours before I had finally arrived at Wildcard’s home. And there’s no doubt the maelstrom of emotions of a trip like that take its toll. I just couldn’t sleep as I often can’t in a new place but more so because I was longing for him.
On a previous trip, also unable to sleep, he’d come to my room at 2am for cuddles and intimacy. I knew he wouldn’t as he had been grey with exhaustion, but I hoped he would. I woke a few times from deep sleep, groggy but somehow internally alert, just hoping.
Eventually, I woke at 7am and brushed my teeth, washed my face and applied some mascara so I felt presentable. Not long after 8am – early for him ❤️ – he came to my room and we quickly cuddled under the thick blankets, sheltering together from the cold of the room. Finally, finally, we had the intimacy I’d craved for hours..days…months. I lay with my face in his the warmth of his neck and I could feel his pulse on my lips. You can’t get much more sensual than that.
As he was working, I was ever conscious or the time and the fact he would have to leave me soon. But 9am came…9.30am came…10am came…and he was still there. He eventually got up to see whether breakfast was ready and we went to eat with his parents. And again, I just felt so happy. They’re my family now and I love them all so much.
Soon after though, he had to leave. I got changed and applied the rest of my makeup and then sat in the lounge. I painted, I read and watched a film. I ate beautiful, flavour -bursting sweet apples and waited. His mum asked whether I wanted dinner but smiled warmly when I said I wanted to wait for Wildcard to return home.
Again, surprisingly, he was home by 4.30 – much earlier than I anticipated. We had a beautiful dinner – his mum had gone all out with small herb and lemon fish, ‘meatballs’ made with fish and a gorgeous tomato sauce, salad, fresh bread and a vegetable side dish full of garlic and lemon juice.
After dinner, we went back to his room and he suggested a film. Funnily enough, from making that suggestion as he walked into the room to getting to bed he’d changed his mind. He was tired again. He got comfortable and started to play his game ans I attempted to lie next to him, but I kept making him cold or pulled the covers to tight etc. He wasn’t unpleasant or sharp or anything other than pointing out his discomfort, but I guess my own tiredness made me emotional: I exclaimed that I couldn’t do anything right and a few angry tears escaped. He patiently explained that he was just telling me and encouraged me to get close again, unaware of my silly tears but probably knowing I was sulking.
Before long, his game abandoned, he held me close and we made love: tender and gentle and beautiful.
In the evening he went to the gym and I slept a little. On his return I showered, and then his mum presented the delicious New Year’s cake she had made. We ate huge slices with tea and Wildcard exclaimed that at only 8.30pm, we had started the New Year’s tradition a few hours too early and we all laughed but continued to eat the delicious cake. His mum, exhausted no doubt from the mammoth feast she’d prepared, retired to bed early.
I had a feeling New Year’s Eve would be quiet and I was correct. It was an ordinary night with the addition of best wishes and good cake. By 9.30pm, he was also ready to sleep.
This isn’t what had bothered me when I went to my/his room, stomach churning with anxiety and head clashing with anxious and obsessive thoughts. I can of course say this now, a day later, now those feelings were allowed to be aired and purged from my stupid head.
Day three wobbles have now officially become day two wobbles. I am certain that the overwhelm of emotions, the excitement, anticipation, travelling and -unfortunately- expectations no matter how much I try to ignore them – play their part. I’ve talked before about how our brain is programed to search for evidence of what we are thinking. ..
So his silence to my ‘I love you’ earlier…the way he’d pulled away too quickly from my kiss, not holding my hand when I tried to hold his, not returning the pure delight on my face when he came home from work…all of that had festered and built up all day. (See the sensible translation below)
My brain was now on high alert, I felt sick and I’d opened the floodgates to every fear I’ve continued to have for three years. I’m not good enough. He doesn’t find me attractive. He doesn’t love me like I love him. I’m annoying him with my constant need for physical touch.
Once he’d made his bed in his room, he came in to find me sat in bed with a full blown strop. Ooo I tried. I was determined not to start a row. I was certain I could avoid a Day three two wobble. I’d just keep quiet.
I think this was the longest I had ever held out. I said ‘nothing’, ‘I’m good’, ‘I’m fine’ over and over and over. I didn’t cry. Problem is, I couldn’t look him in the face, and my hands were wringing when they weren’t holding me together.
He was insistent, persistent and patient. Eventually, feeling sick to the stomach, I simply asked for a hug. He tried to barter for answers, but then got up and held me. And then made me tell him.
I explained the overwhelm, the confusion – am I too clingy, needy touchy-feely?
He told me he loved me kneeling on the bed so our faces were inches apart. He told me he loved me a lot. He told me he loved all my hugs and kisses but reminded me that this was very different for him as it’s not in his culture and also, he was just like that – joking and being awkward. Did I not know that?
I told him I did, explained some more, and he just kissed me and said he was sorry. We hugged and kissed some more before he was ready to sleep. Once in his own bed, he messaged again to say he loved me and to wish me Happy New Year and goodnight. I still cried of course. By this point I was angry with myself for getting in that state and causing yet another issue. But, after some soul searching and journal writing, I finally slept.
Sensible translation:
So his silence to my ‘I love you’ earlier he’d said it many, many times by that point. …the way he’d pulled away too quickly from my kiss, we were stood in the doorway, right in potential view of his parents. not holding my hand when I tried to hold his, he was joking and moments after refusing, had grabbed my hand in his and kissed it. not returning the pure delight on my face when he came home from work… this one is just stupid.
Starting from the Middle 