When I was 21, I met a boy with light eyes that turn gray under the sun, golden hair and lashes that lights up beautifully when we sat in traffic, he would hold my hand when we hit the red lights, kiss my knuckles gently, and proceed to sing boyfriend country music on top of his lungs. He had infectious energy, and the wildest versions of myself came out. We danced together in different cities, and I fell inlove, deeply.
Physically, we were attached by the hip. Mentally, we had a connection where we know what each other thinks, feel, and need. Spiritually, we were devoted. Emotionally, we were all in. In short, we were codependent.
We bonded in all those ways, that it felt like removing him out of my system is a long process of rehabilitation. I was going in and out of the heartbreak and pre-frontal cortex development center for the past 1 1/2 years almost every month, every week, every three days even.
Fast forward to two months ago, I was on my second third date of the year. Somehow after a nice meal and failing miserably on stand up paddle due to a windy Dubai weather (rare) —I uttered the words "I would like a slow burn." He politely said "gotcha" and our conversation kept going. Confused with how slow really looks like, I was more confused if he was just lazy or respecting what I said. I reckon it's the former (at least for a while).
So the question is, do I really want a slow burn? How do I do that if I keep comparing every romance in my life to the romance I experienced before? How do I untangle this and become myself when showing up to these dates than being closed off? Why am I afraid to be myself, this intense, loving, and caring person —where did she go and why am i reserving it for a fictional character that I wish would sweep me off my feet? I live in reality, and most importantly, why am I wasting my life waiting. When I can just give with no expectations, and then leave when it's no longer reciprocated? After all, love never goes to waste right? All of these questions, still, anything close to romance made my gut bubble.
Slow burn is a concept that feels so alien to me. After such a whirlwind of romance, big milestones, highs, and amazing sex all over the world —any acts of slow burn feels like a rejection that makes my gut scream regardless if they're consistently present in my life. Somehow in the past five years, obsession registered in my system as love. How does one untangle itself from that system when it's so tightly embedded in?
Yesterday morning, I sobbed onto my mother's lap.
"Im going on a date tonight mom"
"with who?"
"eh same dude from October"
"how did that happen?"
I'm torn. I know how it happened, I just don't want to verbalize my vulnerability. I also don't want to admit that I’ve been simply craving attention (or that I might have been developing a soft spot for someone new)
"I don't know, I'm frustrated with myself, I don't know what love (or attraction) is like outside of ****"
"I feel like I'm on a withdrawal, I feel like I felt amazing at a party last night, and by 5 am, I'm feeling this low that will drag on for the whole week" I added on.
That’s exactly how I felt. I feel my guts bubble when I worry I'm being ignored. I feel anxious when I'm being desired, but it's not as obsessive as before. I feel the pits of my stomach twist, or to be even more “dramatique”, I feel an ice pick stabbed into my gut being twisted during the first time he kissed and leaned onto my shoulder. When this happens, the first instinct is to retreat from the uncomfortable.
“for what it’s worth, if it was love, it would continue to exist” nine in the morning —my mom chose to drop bars. I had to take a second to digest it. “you have to be present, and carry on without thinking too much of the future, of the possibility of being abandoned”
“but that’s hard”
“there is nothing easy when it comes to building relationships with people, even with me as your parent, even with your roommates, even with your friends” she continued to remind me about how human we all can be, how there will always be a difference and it’s simply up to us to dictate who we keep and not.
She’s right though, love continues to exist even if we try to put a stop on it. Regardless if it’s romantic or platonic, if it's real love, even if it ends, it will continue in grief. If it's real, it will continue to yearn and pursue. If it’s real, it will be present.
That’s the answer to my question. Relearning love in a form of slow burn is about being in the present, and creating conscious efforts to not overthink nor compare. If things are real, i’d feel it without allowing excuses. People who want to make things happen, will do so without bombing you with attention. If things are real, I’ll be assured enough.
Unfortunately at 7:45 a.m. on a Sunday, I’m not. I’m still confused.
Regardless, I was happy to put myself out there and this time not making the same mistakes of limiting my affection the way I used to in October. Still, it’s growth.