experience counts

Late twenties was scary to me. All these huge life-changing things were supposed to happen. I told myself I had to be married at 27, because that was the age my mom was married. I'm getting closer to 27, and this arbitrary deadline had slipped away.

I hear no ticking of my biological clock. My own mother had me at 41, in Vietnam no less, and everything thus far has gone swimmingly. (Close friends may disagree, but to most people, I am mentally and physically healthy.)  I've seen too many women give birth past their mid-thirties to beautiful babies to be truly worried about possible health risks of delaying childbearing. 

I worry less about "the one," marriage, or babies. With that freedom, I am not so worried about protecting my heart. I never wanted to fall for anyone in the past. I was always worried that if a relationship didn't work out, then I would have wasted my time. The years spent in the relationship could have been years looking for "the one." I spent roughly 7 years of my teenage/adult life in relationships (7 years in the aggregate). There were times when I kind of knew things were not going to work out, but the moment of truth hadn't actually happened. I agonized over ending it as soon as I knew or using the old wait-and-see method. Many men preferred the second way. I was all about efficiency and time.

Experience is worth more than time. I don't mean "experience" in the hackneyed way of learning through living, or taking something away from the relationship. I mean experience in the actual day-to-day life of being in love and feeling intimacy with another person. Before I learned how to enjoy the day-to-day experience, I treated dating and relationships as screening mechanisms. I wanted to "know" as soon as possible, so I can rule out one more person and move on. In a way, I was shielding my heart. I didn't want be disappointed. I didn't want to get my hopes up. I didn't want to feel too deeply for anyone. .

I still am that way (sort of, kind of) but giving up on time, efficiency, and deadlines allows me to enjoy the process. I think to myself, "Okay, so maybe so-and-so isn't 'the one' (or the one I end up with), but for years, he made me so happy." That time wasn't wasted. That time was spent cuddling, laughing, and being so close that it was inconceivable we would ever drift apart. It doesn't matter if I have dozen of these "failed" relationships, because I would have spent all those years in love. 

"A story can end sadly in that the storyteller doesn't get what he or she wants, but those aren't "depressing" endings to me as long as the person learns and can express that beautifully. Sometimes it's harder to learn and accept a hard truth than it is to find new love. Sometimes it's more valuable too."- Modern Love page

"Love is so short, forgetting is so long."- Pablo Neruda

"Love doesn't just sit there like a stone: it has to be made, like bread, remade all the time, made new....love is a verb - something I do, not something that can be given once and stored forever."

conversation with Yves about love

I guess to understand the context, you would have to understand us. We're snarky. We're cynical. We're lawyers. 

Yves: I don't even know what being in a relationship feels like anymore.

Me: Good. It's dumb. Infatuation is the best stage.
Yves: What about true love, Anh? (She said this ironically, not really meaning it.)

Me: I don't believe in true love, never have, never will. 

Yves: But you've been in love?
Me: Yes.
Yves: What does that mean, true love?
Me: What DOES that mean? If it means just one love, then no, I don't buy that. I think Mindy Kaling described it pretty well in her book. She says people treat love like a noun when it should be a verb. It's not something you find; it's something you do. Conceptually, I like that. I love Kevin. I think Kevin is worthy and deserving of my love, even if he's not the perfect guy. 

poof

Maybe my old friend had it right afterall. She ended a 7 year relationship with nary a word. Just stopped talking to the guy. He messaged her to confirm a month later that they were broken up. They were.

The break up talk is always so heartwrenching. It's hard to commit to a break up talk, because risk aversion starts to kick in. I start to chicken out when I think of the break up talk. This seems much better. No contrived reason as to why it's not working out.

 Maybe I just need to disappear. 

dunzo

I wanted things to work out with J. because he seemed like a nice guy, but after that terrible kiss last week, I started feeling more and more repulsion towards him. By the time I saw him again on Friday (well at lot happened between Monday and Friday), I was done. I wasn't attracted to him. He said, "Kiss me," before the musical started and flashbacks of excessive tongue made me nauseous. I made it through the musical and didn't try to make an excuse to go home. We went to my friend's apartment party afterward. I invited him earlier during the week, and I wasn't annoyed enough at this point to call it a night. I could tell he was trying really hard to be everyone's friend at the party and if I had liked him, it would have been endearing. Since I didn't, it was embarrassing.

I swung open the door to a fairly small party. About ten to fifteen people were in Shawn's living room, most of whom I didn't know. J. walked in and proceeded to introduce himself to everyone in the room. He tried to tell people I don't drink, in this matter-of-fact way, as if he's known me for years. Also, he made an inappropriate comment when I told Melissa about this terrible asylum case that I read about in the course of working on my own asylum case (brother while driving drunk got into a car accident that killed his sister, brother is now being deported because he committed manslaughter and is violating his conditional visa, family loses both children). J. chimed in, "It's like Jerry Springer. An Asian Jerry Springer."
I turned towards him, "No it's not."

He took me home around midnight. I thanked him for the date and he asked if he was invited in. I said I was tired. I told myself I would send a thanks for everything, but I don't see this going any further text. I haven't, because I suck at this. I think he got the message though when I didn't call or text him back after that date.

I feel relieved that it's done, but mostly I feel guilt. I let it go on a lot longer than it should have because I enjoyed the dates. I should have known after that terrible kiss that it just wasn't going to happen. I should have trusted my intuition. I dreaded the musical date, but I made myself go anyway, really hoping that it wouldn't be so bad.

And maybe it would have gone further if P. hadn't reappeared in my life. P. was the #2 kiss in my previous entry. I know he doesn't read this, so I thought it was a strange coincidence that right after I wrote the entry he texted me. We saw each other again on Wednesday and I remembered that I could have a pretty boy. I could have kisses that spark that dizzy feeling in the back of my head. I'm twenty-three---why on earth am I settling now?

Back to the drawing board.

counterfeit love

A long time ago, as I was lamenting the lost relationship with H., my friend Christina said to me, "You realize that you don't need those grand gestures to know that someone loves you, right? You don't need someone to come rushing over with a milkshake at 3 AM just because you asked for it."

I repeated this bit of wisdom to Annie as we drove through Hollywood on a way to a friend's grad party. Sometimes, we get so caught up in the idea of being swept off our feet that we lose sight of the fact that love is much quieter than the man that yells it from the rooftops. I thought back to the last time I saw H. We visited his grandmother in the hospital. He wanted to stay with her until visiting hours were up. I watched him lean in to talk to her and touch her face. He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek when he left. On our last vacation together, we went to the Polynesian Cultural Center. He occasionally handed me a bottle of water to make sure I was well-hydrated throughout the day.

I never really understood why some people wanted small weddings or skip out on Valentine's Day altogether. As I grow older though, I see how that can be counterfeit love. Following the rituals doesn't mean that it's love or that it'll last. That kind of showboating love distracts you. You count the expensive gifts as tokens of affections and forget how he treats you from day to day. Maybe he's a kind man, but you see the other bf who took his gf to Fiji or something and forget the 364 other day of the year that he remembers to do all the things you forget. Or maybe he's a terrible cad, but that LV bag makes you forget those shady text messages from his legion of "platonic" female friends. You wilfully turn a blind eye as long as your expenses are taken care of. And like all material things, you're always looking for an upgrade.

I write this mostly for myself, because I want that tall, handsome, captain of industry to come calling although the most fulfilling relationship I've had was with a kind man who taught me how be patient. I met someone that makes me laugh and that I really like, but in the back of my head I'm still waiting for that counterfeit lover.