statistically-romantic - Tumblr blog

[statistically-romantic]

210913

For some (indeed stupid) reasons, I deleted my Obsidian, along with its database and around 7 or 9 entries. So, here I am, using something web-based, and I hope I won't lose it anytime soon.

Every day, whenever I wake up, I always ask myself:

How do you feel? Like, right now, right this moment?

What did you do last night? Did it affect your current mood?

Did you have any (un)pleasant dreams? What was it about? (of course, if you can recall it)

I find myself relieved when there are still answers to such questions. Because if there is none, then I'm completely numb. That's how I lived for the last 6 weeks, all working from home. Only two weeks after it, I realized I was in a depression. Nobody ever realized it, even myself. Let's not talk about how tough it is. We all know what depression can do to an adult with a fairly strong mentality (hint: it does wreak havoc on their physical and mental health). I'm still on my way to recover from the deep shit.

And somehow, on the journey, I learned to appreciate my feeling, or to be exact, the ability to feel or sympathize with someone.

I was a rather imaginative child who always daydreams - that was how my mom described younger me. "She reads all the time. She doesn't like going out. Sometimes she can be all bubbly and child-like. Other time she will stare at the sky for hours." My imagination kept me afloat; books were my friends. On the far sky, there might be a small boat with Doraemon and his gang on a cloud over there, or Stas and Nel with two African slaves passing the scorching desert looking for their way home.

Growing up, the vivid imagination turned into sympathy. I cried on the part when Rémi could not say goodbye to his kind foster mother. My parents did not like it; me being dreamy and clumsy at the same time angered them even further. It was tough thinking about those days again. So, as soon as I can remember, I learned how to suppress my emotion. I still read as it's still my main hobby. But it gets harder and harder to read fiction or anything that requires imagination. I was frustrated. Those sentences were no longer meaningful or tear-triggering - my hobby soon turned into a burden. Then, non-fiction stepped in and became the obvious choice for a growing young adult trying to figure out life and herself.

Time flies. The once edgy teenager now turned into a cinnamon bachelor (*).

--------------

Like how I felt with books, there is a quite similar feeling that I can't seem to grasp these days. The last time I truly experienced it was 2016, maybe? It's the fluttering feeling in your stomach when you feel certain chemistry towards your love interest.

I enjoy it. And at the same time, not at all. He came into my life suddenly. My first impression of him was:

"Oh, so he is the same age as me. Not interested."

"Who the hell would find a language exchange partner on Tinder? Lame. But hey, he knows English and French, so this might be good."

"Better make it quick, or he might leave soon."

...

It turned out I was wrong. Dead wrong.

Surprisingly, we shared some interests. My inner edgy rock fan kid was brought out, and she was excited as hell. We share a playlist on Spotify and gradually add our little pieces of discovery. It can be a jazzy tune, an old Coldplay piece, or something as ancient as Bob Dylan. In the context of "practice our speaking skills," we talked about various things—books, movies, family, how we feel about our own achievement, and stuff. Our conversations turned into deep talk at night, lasted until late, and left each of us (or just me) exhausted yet longing for more. Sometimes it doesn't have to be a long talk; even a listen-together session will suffice. Our pieces were put into the queue, and no one talked to each other. Just listened.

Compared to all the extravagant and adventures I went through, this is nothing. I truly enjoyed it, wasn't aware of how much I longed for something so simple. It turned out, the only thing I ever want is (kind of) mental intimacy. And somehow, I'm craving even more.

I'm the kind of person who will make half of my decision on an impulse. Because I can't stand telling myself, "what if." What if I do this? What if I don't? Would it be better or worse? I would rather do it to see the consequences than keep all the questions and regrets to myself. However, this time I can't bring myself to do that. Ironically, "what if" was brought to the table again, despite how much I hate it. What if he doesn't feel the same? What if I creep him out? Even when I know this bubbly feeling won't last long, my heart can't stand losing it.

I wish this lockdown situation begone soon so that I can see him and my own feeling. I wish this were just a phase, so my heart could calm itself down. I wish, as soon as I see him, I will realize it's just me being in a crush, so this can end faster. My heart will also see how foolish it is to swoon over someone it never met. At the same time, I want to call him, and ask "Hey, how was your day? was it tough? It's Monday, so there must be a flood of patients, right? Please take care of yourself, alright? Don't be the preacher who doesn't practice what they preach.". Then he will laugh his heart out on the other side and leave me speechless with my clever remarks - which got him to call me cheeky.

Pandemic is terrible. So is love.