Vivir, tener, amar

I always say I don’t get why people try to go to sleep cuddling, to be sweet or romantic, even though it is completely uncomfortable. Today he told me, last night we fell asleep holding each other. With a grin on his face.

And then I thought, maybe it is not that terrible if I fall into sleep next to this person for many more nights. I felt like I can finally relate to those pop song lyrics. I want to go to sleep feeling his heartbeat after a long day. I want to wake up next to him in the morning sun. Maybe we can even grow old together. We can be vulnerable, be silly, be confused in front of each other. We can be true to each other. Together. We can dance to Bailando under the bright Spanish daylight with window wide open. We can cook instant green curry and be so proud of our fruit of labor. We can practice languages. We can hacer amor.

The tackiest, most cliche question is, is this love? People ask all the time, but usually confusing “Do I love her/him?” with “Should I tell her/him I love her/him?”. Cosmopolitan has articles and articles talking about when is the right timing to tell your partner the three words, but it does not tell you when you know that you are in love. Surely voicing it out loud somehow makes it more real. But is it love?

And then again, are bubbles fascinating because they break within seconds? As Japanese philosophy sees the most beautiful moment of cherry blossom is when the pedals fall in the spring air? Are we capable of having something real while constantly hopping around the world trying to discover ourselves? Either way, it is always exciting to start off somewhere new, even though it does not get easier to say goodbye to old ones. May our paths cross again. The world is not so big after all.


The morning after without a night

I woke up with a cute French guy next to me. I could barely open my eyes, but I felt his smile as he gently stroked my hair. When I got out of shower, he was sitting on the couch, with two cups of tea and some fruits.

It was a classic ‘morning after’. Except that there was no night.

I met him for a couple times at a tennis court. The night before, after playing tennis, we had a very late dinner (Ugh, Europe!) and finished at 1:30am. It was pouring hard, and he was biking, so he crashed at my place. We talked for a while. No alcohol, no kissing, no touching, no flirting. Just tea, blankets and some life-story sharing. He told me about his childhood moving around the world, med school and his mildly wild adventures (recently he swam in the flooded La Seine and got chased by police in the river, with cheering audiences on the banks). I told him about law and policies, life in Asia, and my definitely wild dreams. And then we went to sleep lying next to each other like two kids taking a nap at the kindergarten.

Under the Parisian morning light, everything was so real yet surprisingly not awkward at all. In fact, it felt perfect. So we kissed, and it was indeed perfect.