Part VII: Love Story [and beyond]

Last part after too long.

SO DONE WITH SOPHOMORE YEAR.

(Previous parts: i, ii, iii, iv, v, iv.)

Manny feels very deeply.

He just doesn’t show it.

Enter me, who is dumb and ignorant and can’t read atmospheres and vomits words.  Because of this, I hurt him often, always unintentionally and without realizing it until too late. I still do this.

So for some reason, telling him that we should cut off all communication for a while had hurt him far more than it should have, i.e. not at all. I probably should have explained my reasoning better. Oh well. I could only bear three days of this before caving.

(During this time I also idiotically started the list that would ultimately become this because, you know, that is exactly what you do when you’re trying to forget someone.)

He didn’t respond well. To word it gently, he told me to leave him alone.

“Leave me alone” is one of the worst things you can say to me ever. No matter what the context, it immediately fills me with guilt and self-loathing. You hate me and everything is my fault, and so I will immediately stop talking to you. I have a pretty avoidant personality, in which I will run and run and run the moment there is a conflict of any sort. (Example: Expecting a really important negative email = DO NOT CHECK EMAIL FOR WEEKS.) It’s really selfish to feel like this and to do these things, but I can’t help it. It’s become an automatic coping mechanism.

After having that dagger plunged between my ribs, I should have run. Like usual. I should have been weak and given up on ever earning back his friendship.

I don’t why I didn’t do that this time. Instead, I kept trying to talk to him. Not too insistently, of course — initially I did leave him alone as he asked. Then I would fall into a pattern of sending a friendly, neutral text reminding him of my existence, and then stepping back to give him some space. Eventually, my “testing the waters” thing must have worked, because he Skype called me while I was fooling around in my room with friends one night. We didn’t talk with my friends present, but he smiled when I smiled and alluded to me on his Twitter, and we had a pleasant chat after my friends departed from my room.

Then, when the topic of my anxiety about performing in my dance group’s spring show came up, he asked for the date of the show and said he would come to watch.

I replied with surprise and concealed giddiness. He had said months before that he would be here to support me. This meant we were completely all right again… as friends.

BUT. We were just “all right.” At least, in my mind we were. It would be silly to assume that we were on again as a couple, just because he came to my performance. I mean, my friends also came to my performance and I sure wasn’t dating all of them. Since communication issues ran rampant in our relationship at this point (they still do at times), things between us remained ambiguous.

He would come again the week after that, for one last time. That was when I began to write the 50 Things for him on the actual card, and made a silent deal: if during that final visit he would somehow show that he still loved me, I would slip this letter into his bag. If not, well, that’s just how things were meant to be and I wasn’t going to force anything, even if it will hurt me to stay quiet.

The letter would make for some nice kindling.

It’s been so long that I don’t quite remember how that day went, whoops. We talked a lot. Er, a lot for us, that is. We’re both not big talkers. It was a lovely a spring day and so we decided to take a walk along a winding woodland path near the lake. Um, the woods are not my thing. Because spiders.

Back in my room, an hour or two before his mom would come to pick him up, I do remember he said he figured out that he loved me after all.

I slipped the love letter into his pocket while he was in the restroom.

And… that was it. Summer break started for him, I would be immersed in final exams, and there would likely be no seeing each other until September. (FOUR MONTHS. DDD:) But at least our relationship was stable and defined again, which was good because I wouldn’t have to spend all summer wondering about us.

(I still did, though. Because I relapsed briefly and spent three days crying on the bathroom floor for no reason and questioned everything about myself and pulled a knife to my wrist and it was a really bad, unexplainable time. But that’s a story for another day, should I ever feel like writing about morbid things.)

I’ll just describe some of the noteworthy things about the summer time up to now.

Summer: Through careful planning and sneaking around, we WERE able to see each other a couple of times! :Db Aside from getting to see him at work on occasion, we organized two meetings. The first was while I was taking that summer English class. It met from 6-8:45pm three days a week, and since I couldn’t come home after every class, it wasn’t too difficult to take a few hours out of my time and spend it on a traditional date in the park~

Here I will offer a sincere apology to all parkgoers disturbed by our hungry make-out sessions on that day.

The second main meeting was for his birthday party. Mannn, I had to lie so much in order for my parents to let me go. (I said it was a non-existent college friend’s birthday party.) That was probably the riskiest thing we’ve ever done regarding my parents, because The Old Man had to drive me to Manny’s house. 

I can’t tell if we’re ballsy or just idiots. We were so desperate to see each other, journal. ): We had to do it, however risky.

Sophomore year: I routinely spent my whole weekends (Friday evening to Sunday early afternoon) at his suite, compared to the lone nights I used to spend with him in my spring semester of my first year.

His mom has met me. His whole family has, over dinner at a restaurant. She interrogated me the entire time. TT-TT

He’s told her that he thinks I’m the one and now she probably hates me.

We’ve grown to be so close, much closer that I thought was even possible. It is incredibly rare for me to completely drop my guard around people and be loose and free and silly. For example, if I’m sitting at a lunch table with my closest friends  there’s that one person there who I don’t know too too well, I will likely sit there tight-lipped and stony faced. But he’s managed to break down that wall, every last brick of it.

He has clearly expressed that he wants to marry me. He even got down on one knee and mock-proposed. (I said no five times.)  Are young guys supposed to be like this? I thought they were afraid of commitment. .__. He especially tells me these things when he’s not at his most sober, which shows that he’s afraid of my reaction and he knows I don’t exactly reciprocate these sentiments.

He wants a baby when I’m 25.

THAT’S IN ONLY FIVE YEARS.

He once told me he never cries. Uh, I can’t even count how many times I’ve made him cry or he’s cried in my presence. Often it would be because we’re talking about things that would make him cry. I guess I get surprised every time because I don’t expect it given his usual composed exterior.

For example: My parents are a huge issue, and he knows this well. We were discussing it once while snuggled up under my covers with Ley listening to music nearby/pretending we don’t exist. He seemed to figure out that my dad and brother would likely accept him because those two guys care about my happiness. Mama, on the other hand, would probably never accept him because she thinks dark skin is ugly.

We spoke of it casually, our tones not too serious. Then I turned my head in time to see a tear squeezing out of the corner of his eye.

My roommate worries about us. She knows how unstable I am mentally, how all my emotions — if I can’t handle them — inevitably funnel into destructive sadness. I can even instantaneously tear up if you speak to me in a rough tone. It’s not like I’m using Manny as an emotional crutch, though, because according to Ley he is equally unstable. This translates to us leaning on each other, balancing a see-saw of sorts, and if one of us leaves, the other should come crashing to the ground.

You know how some married heterosexual Japanese couples call each other okaasan/otousan? Well. We’ve started doing that. Except we’d use mommy/daddy. Yeah, we are actually disgusting. Luckily for everyone we’re only like this when we’re not in public because ew why do couples do that in full display of the world.

Yesterday, during my last night at college before moving home, I was in the middle of packing (started at 1am, of course) when I received a notification from Manny via text that he would be coming to see me later that night. I thought it was the cruelest joke in the world.

Even though he was super sleepy, he left his house at 2:30am and drove 21 miles to my school just so he could give me a proper goodbye. Let me tell you this: earlier that day I was able to briefly see him on Skype and also talk to him over the phone. But nothing could beat the warmest feeling of warmth I got from getting to actually be in his arms and hold him in mine after so long.

Ahem. This “so long” that I’m talking about was only a week. Now I have to take this week and multiply it by however many weeks make up 3.5 months. (There’s no way I’m passing my summer calculus course with my lack of math skills.) Sometimes the honeymoon phase just sucks ballsssssssssss.

And, well, that’s it! That’s our story. I will definitely not be nearly as exhaustive in my entries for every boy I date in the future, but this relationship was special in that it’s my first and I’m quite content with it so far.

I really must let my parents know soon, even if we end up going separate ways eventually. Something tells me that they wouldn’t appreciate it very much if I let the two parties meet in the future and I announce my our engagement right then and there.

Erm.

I… have all summer to tell them. Doesn’t have to be now, right?

Until next time,

~ Mimi :D

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