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Checking the Time in Mumbai

July 23, 2013

I wonder what he’s doing. What time is it there? I check my iphone. I have my world clock set for Chicago, which is my time zone, Jakarta, because I traveled there once, Honolulu, because my daughter is there, D.C., Tokyo, Atlanta, Phoenix and Mumbai. It’s the closest city I could find to where he is.

I check the time and think, “His day is just starting,” or “he’s probably asleep.”

Sometimes it’s been over 12 hours since he’s messaged me and I think I might not hear from him that day and then I hear that sweet little sound that tells me I have a facebook message and I smile.

We talk every day. Small talk, mainly. Or romantic overtures. He seduces me through facebook messages. The anticipation of being together again has been building for almost three months. It’s a bit frightening. Sometimes I think the fantasy of the reunion can’t possibly be fulfilled by the reality. Then I remember our first time together.

He has a plan. A plan defined by his culture, his religion and his family. He plans to finish his education, get a job in the states, work a few years, maybe get a second master’s in business administration, then go back to India and allow the women in his family to choose a suitable wife for him. This is not something he’s dreading or looking to with trepidation. This is what he wants. It’s his plan.

The weird thing is, this doesn’t really bother me. He’s young. He wants to get married and have kids. I’m not getting married again and I’m most definitely not having any more kids. I want him to plan a life with a family.

He says he’s in love with me. He says he wants to be happy with me for a couple of years.
Then move on.

We were together for all of four weeks before he left. Two weeks in, he was sure he would want to pick up where we left off after his three-month trip. I thought it was naive of him. I wasn’t sure. A lot can change in three months, I had told him. A lot did change. I changed. I guess part of that change was recognizing that there was no reason not to accept his love and return it if that’s what my heart was feeling. So I did. I told him I wanted to be with him again.

Now, I want to be with him again so badly it drives me crazy sometimes. I imagine him here. I think about his smile and his laugh and that little noise he unconsciously makes with his mouth. I think about his way of being. He’s so happy and easy. I think about the way he kissed me at the end of our first date. He had been a perfect gentleman. Quiet and shy, even. I had thanked him in his car outside my apartment and then asked, “Would you like to kiss me goodnight?”

“Yeah,” he had said with that accent and mischievous smile. We kissed for a long time in his car. He was so passionate. I started to pull away, saying goodnight again and he pulled me back kissing me longer, his hand caressing my neck.

He has this way of pushing my hair out of my face and then running his hand through my hair before he kisses me. God I love that.

“I want to be happy with you for at least two years,” he said. Who says things like that? I think about his youth and think he’s foolish. Then I think about my life at his age. I was married with two kids. I had already made major life decisions and was doing so everyday. It’s easy to look at him and think he’s a kid but he’s not. The people who figured out how to put a man on the moon were his age. Maybe he’s wiser than I give him credit for. Maybe I’m fooling myself.

There’s much lacking in our relationship, if you can call it that. When the conversation turns to anything serious, the subject is quickly abandoned. I’ve had longer, more intellectually stimulating conversations with his younger roommate, who’s into history and conspiracy theories. Will the fun, smiles, laughter, kisses and great sex be enough? For how long?

If I stay with him for two years am I just wasting time, not dating more long-term prospects? Eventually I do want to find someone to spend my life with. Not just kill a couple of years with.

I know I want to see him again. I know I want to experience what we are together again. I know I want to be the kind of person who is open, who says yes to love, who takes happiness in when it comes my way. I know I want to love and be loved.

I just don’t know how this is going to end.

I don’t know what I’m doing.

I guess sometimes, not doing what you’re doing can be bliss.


From → Rantings

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