The reason why I’m here

When I think of it, I realize that it’s been such a long time since I wrote to you. Or talked to you. Or even thought of you properly. My thought patterns these days are no longer coherent, intense, necessary and yet unrelated strings. They are merely scattered fragments, an attempt to make sense of a world that seems to have no "sense" left in it. I can almost see you laughing at the other end, telling me that things are not falling apart, as I think they are, but that I’ve just possibly looked at things from the wrong angle, taken them to be out of control when they are actually perfect.

I find it hard to accept that you can call this relationship perfect. For starters, you are there and I am here. Distance is a major determinant of success in relationships, or so I’ve always believed. But you seem to think that things will be fine, no matter what we do or where we are. How I wish it were that simple! How I wish I could just think that you were here and you’d be here! Distance, to you, is just a matter of perspective – it is the same, you tell me, whether you are here or there. Distance, to me, is like a pair of scissors on a fragile piece of paper, sooner or later bound to shatter the paper.

I have good days and bad days, jumbled thoughts and happy memories. More often than not, the good is hidden by the bad.

Lately, a new pattern has formed – a different kind of  "days". The indifferent days, I call them. Days when I do not feel a thing for you. Days when I am neither happy nor sad that you are not here. Days when you could be just any other ordinary person, not someone special. Days when the mention of you does not make me jump with excitement, but instead makes me think, "All right. So what?"

I think, haltingly, of all the things about you that I took for granted when you were here. The games we used to play, and the way you would let me win and try not to show that you were. The clich?d endless, meaningless conversations about nothing and yet everything. The shared jokes, the way we could crack up when looking at something or someone. The luxury of time. The luxury of accessibility. The knowledge that I could get a hug when I wanted one. Mostly, just your presence that seemed so much a part of me that I did not realize how much you meant till you had to move away.

Because of the distance, I somehow feel that you are no longer a part of my life, certainly not as large as you used to be. You have a separate life of your own, one that I can never fit into. And my life, the one I’ve built since you moved away, doesn’t look like it will be accommodate you should you decide to come back, either.

Since today is one of my bad days, I ask myself what is the point of continuing this relationship when I know that things will not be the same ever again. I know that there’s no point in pretending that whether you’re here or there it’s the same thing; you’re always in my heart, blah blah.

This monologue continues, one side of me arguing against the other about the fruitlessness of being with you, now that you’re not there with me. I think that there should be more to a relationship than a person’s physical presence, and sometimes, on a good day, there is. But then again, it seems almost a crime to call these hours spent on the Internet and telephone a "relationship". It seems stupid and superficial to place a person so far away on a pedestal and make him/her such a big part of your life.

I also think of all the memories you’ve given me, both good and bad. I’d read somewhere that every experience changes you. In a way, knowing you has changed me. But now that you’re so far away, I feel that I know you no longer, and that’s changing me too. I try to tell myself that you mean the same to me, whether you’re behind a computer screen or right in front of me. But there are differences, surely.

I am told it will be difficult when we are together again. I am told that you will have been away for so long that I will no longer feel that you’re a part of me, the way I used to before. But I cannot make a judgment; there is nothing I can do except wait and see for myself. And so I hang on to the fragments of this relationship, sometimes happy and sometimes sad. I just cling, in the hope that everything will be all right, and that someday my doubts will seem superficial.

Author: Kimberly Fernandes- Qatar