Same fucking arguments over and over again. Same fight. Same questions. And we get excited for a day or two about us and all that we want to do together – and then again, the same arguments, the same anger, the same shit.
We’re going to have to leave the country. I’m afraid of that. The uncertainty of the future makes my belly bubble unpleasantly.
My girlfriend read my blog the other day and said I was colicky and complainy. Well, yeah, I am. I could write out what’s really going on with us, but that’s revealing details and the circles in which we move make up a tiny world. I want to say something else, but all I can do is sit with my family at Eid and miss her, wishing that when I said I was doing Eid with family, I meant her.
Some detachment would be … not nice exactly, but would bring ease. And detachment is impossible. Also, I’m just watching her deal with her family. When it comes to mine, it’ll be worse for me. Maybe. Different seat at the Bad Parade anyway.
There was a question embedded in a lot of comments to the Fear post a while ago: Why tell at all? Well, because we live those kinds of lives and have those kinds of relationships that not telling doesn’t work. Our family’s wouldn’t deal well with a lie. It wouldn’t survive long, and then things would be worse. Secondly, we’re raised in a time and mindset when “marriages of convenience” are anathema and we really do think that we can have a better life than that. I pray we don’t get fucked over by that hope, but honestly, I don’t think we will be. Which is to say, I don’t think our lives are in danger. I don’t think anyone will hurt us unless we attempt a pride march or go to a maulvi for a nikah. All the concerns are in a different layer: must we leave, can we ever come home again, how will we live when we do? Will Mom still love me, will Dad still respect me, can we ever sit together and talk about something else? Please can we talk about something else for a while?
Lovely’s dealing with a lot of shit right now and I’m not with her, because of Eid. I feel like there’s a pendulum with a bowling ball at the end of it, whoomphing into my stomach every little while. It will be so until she calls.
Waiting for the day when this angst and hiding and fear won’t be necessary.