When I Think of War Brides

I know, I know. It sucks. Totally. Having your boyfriend live across the country bites. It’s lame. It’s all the shitty adjectives you can think of. Sad, lonely, taxing, exhausting.

            But. There are some not so shitty things, too. Things that he and I’ve acknowledged are maybe not blessings, but are certainly part of our relationship because we live so far apart.

            And we use those things. Use them to carry us to the next visit. Use them to reconcile the pain at our separation, and our love and yearning to stay together.

           

We talk so much more. If we lived in the same house, we’d spend a lot of time snuggling on the couch – which is AWESOME – but we wouldn’t maybe be getting to know each other as much. Now we talk about his past, my past, religion, traditions, culture, language, sexuality, friendship, love, spirituality, healthy lifestyle issues, parenting, finances, music, movies, photography, artistry, and travel.

Strangely enough, our sexual connection is actually stronger. How? Well, I already mentioned the talking. And talking about sex is pretty sexy. We sext, we have Skype sex, we make videos for each other and send them over Skype (the files are too big to email). And when we are together, we video ourselves. Shamelessly. It’s superb. And we watch those videos, over and over. It’s like we have our own porn channel. Whenever we miss each other, or get horny, there we are. In full color. Moaning.

            S.U.P.E.R.B.

There’s room for more personal growth. At least for me. He’s lived on his own for a decade. But this year marks my first year ever of living by myself. I’m at an age where, if I don’t fully understand my own needs and wants now, I might not have another chance to be in the type of relationship I want.

What I mean is, there has been a pattern to a lot of my relationships – not all of them – where I stay in them much longer than is healthy for me. I settle. Well …  he’s not hurting me. He’s nice. I’m in a comfortable place here. And frankly, at 37 (Ok, 38 next month) I don’t want to get involved anymore in long term relationships where there isn’t love and passion and purpose embedded in our souls. “He’s nice” doesn’t do it for me anymore.

Living apart enables me to have the space and time to explore my inner-self and discover who I am, what I need, how to feed myself. What are my passions? How can I be in a romantic relationship and keep myself intact and not lose myself?

Also, in my unique case, I have another thing to wonder about. I affectionately refer to myself as an Indophile. I love all things Indian. The food, the music, the language, the colors. (The movies, too, but don’t tell anyone.) Because this is a natural passion for me – some may say obsession – I include this idiosyncrasy in the make-up of who I am. But, it just so happens that my boyfriend is Indian, too. And while I drooled over Bollywood and bhangra music before I met him, being in love with him has definitely fed my, ok, ok, obsession. So … am I losing myself into his world? Or am I reveling in my own interests and passions? Food for thought.

And another piece for my personal growth is discovering those things that move me. I already know that art, photography, writing, and dancing do those for me. But setting boundaries for myself and making space for those things in my life is another thing altogether. 

Our imagination is certainly getting a run for its money. We imagine everything. Him teaching my son cricket, him one day telling his family about me, us living together, us having a baby together, us traveling India, me caring for him when he’s sick … even more sexual positions to try…

We encourage each other to do more. I don’t know if this would actually happen less often if we were living in the same place. But it does make sense that in living together we would eventually trickle into some complacency. Who doesn’t? Routine is a beautiful thing, after all. I imagine cooking together, and folding laundry while we watch a foreign film on Netflix – running errands together. And I even crave that complacency, I truly do. But, I think that because we don’t do those things together now, we encourage each other to do things that sometimes pull us out of our comfort zone.

For instance, he encourages me to apply for online writing jobs, and advertise for my editing services. Things I would never have the focus to do if he wasn’t checking in with me every day to see if I’d done them yet. And I ask him if he’s done his kriya for the day, if he’s written in his blog recently, and what kind of exercise he’s done that week. If we were living together, we’d know none of that stuff was done, we wouldn’t ask about it, and we wouldn’t do it.

Maybe.

There’s more I could add, like we’re working hard on battling this distance and staying strong for each other (and for ourselves), and that creates a resilient energetic bond that we wouldn’t have if we weren’t experiencing this situation now.

And you know how they say that you don’t really know a person until you live with them? Well, I believe that’s true, yes, but I also think there’s something to be said for seeing each other in and under these extreme circumstances.

We’re apart for so long, and our time together is so short, and we have urges and yearnings and disappointments and needs and tantrums. I think we definitely see a part of each other that we wouldn’t if we lived together. And it’s important to see this part. I want to know what my man is going to do under fire. Because, unfortunately – I’m sorry to say – I will at some point (and already have a couple of times) put my baby under fire. And he will reciprocate, I’m sure. Not out of retaliation, of course, but just in the course of our time together. We call each other on our shit. It’s bound to happen.

These are all things I get to experience in this long-distance relationship.

These are things I can be thankful for.

But.

I still would rather have him with me.

And when things get particularly bad, I watch Anne of Green Gables: The Continuing Story where Anne travels to Europe looking for her MIA husband in WWI. She finds him. Like two years later.

Yeah. When I think about war brides … I know I can wait the year it will take for my man to get to me. I remember that I can text him anytime I want during the day, and he’ll answer. I remember I can Skype with him every day and see his face, hear his voice. And I can visit him whenever money and time allow. War brides couldn’t. But I can.

Yeah. When I think about war brides … I know I can wait the year it will take for my man to get to me.

Name That Emotion

I'm trying to figure out what emotion I'm feeling right now. It's not shame. It's not sadness or exasperation -- though there are hints of that in it. It's more that feeling you get when you don't think you'll ever get it right. You're always messing up without even knowing it. And then when you do realize that someone thinks you've just made a mistake (or done something "totally unnecessary"), you feel .... that feeling you get when you just want to crawl back under the covers and not come out of bed. Until.... until it would be obvious to your children that you were missing and you needed to come out from the darkness of the blankets and brush your teeth and brush your hair and smile with your mouth but not your eyes and go to them on Christmas Day at their dad's house so they'll think everything is all right.

Decisions Backed By Fear and Desire Breed Uncertainty

I don't want to make any decisions out of fear anymore -- a mask to authenticity.
But here's my dilemma:

I don't want to give up on the dream of marrying Zi -- and all I have to do to attain that dream is wait a year. Maybe even less than a year. And then it's mine. Ours. Mine and Zi's. Together, at last.

And that sounds both easy -- and the hardest thing I'll ever have to do.

In the meantime we can plan a trip to India, long weekend visits from coast to coast, movie parties with my friends, rituals with my kids, ecstatic dance with a new community, energy sessions with B, and building up my massage business. Willamette Writers work and pitching my memoir. After another re-write.

I can definitely keep myself distracted with that.

I can do it.

And then -- other times -- the task seems menacing. And I look at it all askew, like: No touch for a year. (Totally not true, of course. Not with: conjugal visits to NJ and vacations together. Plus snuggle visits with my friends, and healthy professional touch with my massage clients. And nice hugs from the not-quite-snuggable friends.)

Though even still, I'm afraid. And I worry about not being able to sustain it. For reals, what if I have another meltdown in four months? Even knowing at that point I'll only have eight months to wait.

I don't want to put Zi through that pain. Again.

But.

But.

How can I make a decision that separates us and changes the direction of our beautiful relationship based on the fear that I might change my mind later? Isn't us together as a couple worth that risk?


And still at other times, I think of the benefits of moving on ... with the realization (and utter relief) that, no matter what, Zi and I will always be linked. We will always have each other and our rich history.

And without the constant "lack" factor, the loneliness and depression won't plague so much, and there will be lighter spirits and more laughter between us. In the relationship we do have.

We'll both have our physical needs met, and while it probably wouldn't be overly healthy to hold on to this thought: it might just be that in a years time -- if neither of us have found a satisfying relationship to be in -- Zi could move here after all and we could still get together in the end.

It'll be like the movie "A Lot Like Love."

maybe it's not mine after all

despair. a good day turned black fog.
Julia Stone's This Love
brings panic, a scrambling and nostalgia for a time
barely dead.

rising above the smog to the pristine crispness of your face and the firmness of your jaw
I reach for your soul
my own salvation
and turn off the lights to my hope.
maybe it's not mine after all.
maybe I'm hurting us anew.

from dark to light to dark again
my spirit fluctuates
dims and brightens with the sound of your voice
over the miles.

exhaustion is the plain unromantic truth
and sustainability is a mirage.

tsunami and drought
butterflies and grubs
mt. everest and the grand canyon
water and clay.

crushing vascillations,
doubt reproducing like
cell division.

rising above the smog to the pristine crispness of your face and the firmness of your jaw

I reach for your soul

my own salvation

and turn off the lights to my hope.

maybe it's not mine after all.

maybe I'm hurting us anew.

I'm Here With You

Hiding under dupatta

Listening to jingles when I walk

Echoes of laughter

Wonderment

Memories

Coming alive

I wish

I want

I learn

I cry

I feel

I swim

I drown

I rise to the surface.

Sleepless nights

Phone calls in darkness

After nightmares.

I’m here with you.

I’m here with you.

I’m here with you.

I’m here with you.

Bouncing on toes

Barefeet

Fingers in the air

Sweating

And spinning

And love

And yearning

And hope

For more days

For better days

For neverending days

With you, with you, with you.

Incense billows and fills in the cracks

Ganesha smiles and reassures

Pink quartz and Namascar

Floating through it all

The room

The bodies

The anxiety

And even pain

It won’t last

It’s transient

Like all other things

Joy and peace

And contentment

With reality

The reality I’ve chosen

The one with you in it

Are coming my way

I’m here with you.

I’m here with you.

I’m here with you.

I’m here with you.

Transition Sounds Better Than Breaking Up

Zi is always reminding me to breathe deeply when I'm in pain or upset. And he's been talking a lot more about fate, kismet, destiny, and The Universe lately. I think it brings him peace. A sort-of explanation for this 'transition' we're now in.

For, on Tuesday, I told him the distance was too much. That it didn't feel healthy for me to be in this relationship like it was anymore. I "broke up" with him. And then the next day, when I cried with him again, he wanted to be clear that in no way was he mad or bitter. That he was even sharing this responsibility with me. He felt that, in a way (totally indirectly and not to blame, of course), he put us in this long-distance situation in the first place with his job loss and subsequent move. And that he ALSO didn't want me to be in an unhealthy place.

He believes then that we both have come to this conclusion -- that he didn't really see it as a break up, but more as a transition. And I, of course, clung to that because I felt better (read: less guilty) with those words. Transition sounded better than breaking up.

Something I told him recently (since our ... transition): "If there's any chance we can still be together I want to wait for you. I don't want to start seeing anyone else. But. I can't wait a year. If you could tell me you were moving here in six months -- I'd wait."

And then I promptly widened that to six months to a year. He said, "Then what was the point of the break-up?"

Hmm.

I don't want to dig myself a hole here. After three and half months of "good days and bad days" oscillating back and forth until it became a daily up and down swing, like I was on some kind of upper/downer drug frenzy, I called it quits. I threw my hands up in surrender (which by the way is why I felt so guilty -- "If I was only stronger" -- wreaking havoc on my work ethic and my idea of loyalty.)


It's not that he's not good for me, or that we're not good for each other. It's that the distance has beaten us down. I was going to say beaten me down, but even Zi wants to have sex with others to tide him over between our visits. And I know the distance is getting to him, too. It's true that he'd keep going in the relationship -- most likely indefinitely -- but he needs the stability of a steady girlfriend in New Jersey as much as I need companionship and touch here.

The truth is we've both been living without crucial human needs being met. For months. And it's taken its toll on us. On our minds, on our hearts, on our bodies. It's hurting us.

And there it is. The stalemate.

On the one hand, we love each other. And have for a year. Deep love that grows in our marrow. And despite staggering challenges: first my marriage, then my search and quest within to determine whether I was monogamous or polyamorous, Zi's job loss, his moving away, the whole J thing, and all the months apart. Not to mention the "little" things like: I'm not Indian or Muslim, that he's more conservative than I am, that I'm divorced twice, (and widowed for God's sake), have two half-grown children, and am ambivalent about having more. (Though at times I am completely and utterly obsessed by the idea.)

And despite all that -- there is love and worship and obsession and sex and play and laughter and culture and language and trust. There is tenderness and protectiveness. There is nurturing and comfort. There is pride and -- Sweet Jesus -- a rocking awesome brown cock.

I love the exotic, I love the differences between us, I love his accent and the way he laughs and pushes his glasses up on his nose. The way he wiggles his foot unconsciously, and wears the same outfit every day when he's not at work or going out. Blue sweatshirt, blue hat, white tee-shirt, pajama pants, black slippers.

I love his tongue and his hands. I love his words and the sound of his voice -- calming and grounding. Even when we're disagreeing.

That's all on the one hand.

On the other, we're in pain. Sometimes it rages like a slashing cut at our core, and other times a dull ache, like a low-grade headache that won't go away. We're not alive right now. We're living a shadow life. One where we only come alive when we sext each other, or when we see each other on Skype, or talk on the phone. Or plan our next visits and watch our porn videos. At those times we are manically high. Euphoric. Stronger than the Earth's gravitational pull.

But the worst part? Is sometimes, even those very things that make me feel alive -- the Skyping, the phone calls -- Don't. They make me feel worse. Because it's not happening here in body. It's only real in cyber-world.

So where does that leave us?

And, actually, I should be saying 'me.' Where does that leave me? Because these are my thoughts. My feelings. My pain. I need to own them and not project them onto Zi. He has his own and I hope he'll write them down here, too. So I can witness them, as he is witnessing mine. And then this space can be what we intended: Bare And Raw, both of us.

In conclusion (as if this were some college essay), we are in this weird transitional space. We love each other. We aren't bitter about this new place -- whatever it turns out to be. And we'll always be in each other's lives -- whatever those turn out to be. We don't know how our relationship will change -- but I think it must -- unless a miracle happens and Zi moves to Eugene within the next year.

And by year I mean closer to eight months.

And by eight months I mean a scenario like this: he thinks for a couple months on how it can work, and then has a move-in date I can write on the calendar for six or so months after that. Or gets a job in the NW in next couple months. Maybe he'll find out that his green card process will be far enough along by, say, July, that he could move to Eugene and look for work around here without any marriage. Then we could just live together. No pressure.

I could wait until July.

If I had that month to focus on. An ending to this.
"I can wait. I can handle this distance. It's only for a few more months. And then I can be relaxed and happy and have my man back."

Yes. I could wait until the end of summer, if I was actively planning and preparing for his arrival. It's the not knowing and the indefinite-which-literally-feels-like-forever that I can't last through anymore.

And I still feel sorry for that. Like I've let us down. Let Zi down.

But it seems I've hit my limit. I didn't know I had one. I've never been good at boundaries -- but here is one erected almost all by itself.

Zi says this is an ultimatum -- but that it's fine that I've placed one on him.

But I don't think of this as an ultimatum. It's just a limitation that I've discovered I have.

I can only wait for something (even if it's the most important thing in my world) for a really long time, if I have an end date. Some idea of when it'll arrive. Otherwise, I simply can't fathom it happening. Ever.

I love you, Zi.
I'm still getting that tattoo.

Trust and Sex

I'm feeling pretty good in my relationship with Zi. We're in a good place. Well. I'm in a good place; I can't speak for Zi (and he never writes on here anymore). ;)

Just had Skype sex with him, so maybe my opinion is skewed right now.

At any rate, I'm feeling in a good place because of lots of reasons. Somewhere in the last two months I've reached a place where my trust in Zi has solidified. I know with all the cells in my body that he won't ever intentionally hurt me. I know that he loves me, that he wants me. I know that he wants to hear my truth -- and here's the kicker -- and that when he hears it (whatever it is) he'll accept it. He loves me unconditionally. Whatever I need to tell him, even if it might be painful, he wants to hear. And I finally get that. I trust him enough to get that. And that's huge for me. That's something I only have with my friend T. That's something I didn't have with my ex-husband. Or any of my other friends, ever.

And. I can almost pee in front of him.


So one of the things I felt comfortable telling him this morning was that in order for me to maintain this relationship, to sustain on what we have, I need to see him once a month. I clarified by saying, "If we aim for seeing each other every month, and once in a while it's not realistic and it stretches to two -- I can handle that. My joy at our relationship can carry me through to the next month. But if we aim for every three months and it stretches to four, I can't do it." I did preface the conversation with a question. I asked him if he thought it was feasible: financially, mentally, time-wise/schedule-wise to see each other once a month. He said if we plan ahead, sure. So I felt that saying what I did wasn't unreasonable. (And it just shows how far I've come in my self-confidence that I'm able to admit that even if what I said was an unreasonable request/statement, it still would've been ok to say. Oftentimes love, or life, is not reasonable.)

So our new intent is, before we part on one of our visits, we will pick out the dates for the next time we can get together and see each other. To smell each other. To fuck each other. To be naughty together. To walk down the street together.

He took my statements and our intention very seriously. And I appreciate that. Immensely. It takes a huge block of fear off my head, too. Before he got his apartment, every day I would wake up and think, "I don't know when I'll see Zi again. Will I ever?" Each day got more and more internally dramatic. And now, because Zi is respecting this "deal-breaker" as we've come to call it, I know that almost every day I wake up I'll know, "I get to see Zi in six weeks." "I get to see Zi in ten days." Or, more importantly, "Today sucks ass. I can't stand to live like this anymore. I'm spiraling down. I can't see the sky. .... Wait. Breathe. .... Tomorrow will be better. And I get to see Zi in four weeks. I can make it. We can make it."


Zi expressed some concern today (or maybe chagrin?) at his seeming focus on our sexual connection -- that that is what keeps him interested in our relationship through the time and distance of our forced separation. I tried to reassure him, though wasn't sure if I was successful. I like our sexual connection! It feeds me, too. It keeps me in this relationship despite the challenges we face, too.


When I feel like the lack of close companionship and lack of sensual and comforting touch is too strong for me to endure, when I feel like my needs are not being met in this relationship, I remember that one of my greatest fears in this remaining lifetime is not ever having this strong of kinky sexual connection with another person again. So when I feel like maybe it's time to move on ... I remember this huge fact in my life. This huge *important* fact. Yes, it may be shallow. Yes, it may be crass. But, .... it's ok to say that sex is vitally important to me. A great sexual relationship is a deal-breaker for me on my current path. I am in the sexual prime of my life. (So is Zi, and oh do we make beautiful music together...)


Speaking of sex ....
while I was visiting NJ in October, we had a pregnancy scare. For about two days and two hours.

I was two days late, so I took a pregnancy test. It came out negative and two hours later my period started.

This has started a series of other conversations for us.

But I'll save that for another blog post.