You can tell that I’m an only child because no matter how much I love my hubby and love to be with him, I value the time I have alone when he’s gone, which is the case today. He’s off to Copenhagen with some friends/colleagues until tomorrow and I’m stuck at home… and I love it!
My love for space and time alone, has been a part of me for as long as I can remember and, if my mother is to be believed, even earlier. I remember her telling me how I was as a little 5-year old, living with my parents in a gated community in Vietnam. Apparently I would disappear for a little over an hour during the evenings every now and then and my mom would have no clue what I was up to during that time. She just knew that I leave home and return after an hour. Living in a gated community she never seemed to worry, but she got curious as to what a 5-year old could be up to during that hour. So one time she followed me, and got more than a little surprised when she realised that I went to the nearby pool area and just sat there enjoying the peace and quite, in silence, for about 45 minutes, before heading back home.
The need to just have some space to just be, may not have changed very much as I got older, but I get a little surprised at how much everything else has. Especially in the past few years since meeting B. I used to be that emo kid, a wanna-be goth, and with (according to B) dark rings under my eyes, and a lot of anger and sadness behind them. I didn’t really have any interests and I watched tv all day. My idea of food was a meal a day consisting of frozen meatballs chucked in the microwave with some ketchup (or something else that worked with just ketchup, melted cheese or, if I was feeling fancy, some pasta) and a pack of cigarettes. Wind forward a few years and you instead have someone who’s wardrobe has all the colours of the rainbow, has no dark rings under her eyes, eats breakfast lunch and dinner (even has freshly pressed carrot juice for breakfast!), quit drinking and smoking, has signed up for a one-mile run through town, and hasn’t owned a tv for over 3 years.
To be honest, I think I’ve wanted some kind of change for so long, which is probably why I kept changing friends, saw each move as a new beginning (which I guess I still do), and dated a completely kind of guy with each “round”. B, I think, was the same. I shouldn’t, of course, speak for him, but I think that he was instead that good solid guy that people liked, behaved the right way, and did his best to fit in. Basically the opposite of me in all aspects other than also wanting change, looking for something better, and be a better version of what he was. From the start we complimented each other and became intertwined with each other as a result us constantly helping the other be a better version of ourselves and strive to be everything we can be. I’ve already written my “love letter” to my parents. This, I guess, is my love letter to my hubby.
Apparently the story my mum told me (or the way I remembered it) was a little faulty as I moved from Vietnam at 4. As such, I’m not sure which part of the story is true or not, or which country I was in if it is. Oh well, it would’ve made sense if it had been true, considering my state of being since.