Unlike my boyfriend, I don't use a lot of "I Love You"s in my relationship.
Even when headlocked, I wouldn't give in. "Say you love me", he'd command, his arm twisted around my neck.
"You love me", I replied.
"Say: I love you", he asked.
"I know...", I'd say, and his head would then collapse onto my chest and he hugged me even tighter.
It is a mischievous little game that I love playing with him. And I believe he enjoys playing it too. Otherwise, we wouldn't have carried on with the game for almost a decade, would we? But as with all the games that gay men are fond of playing, there is a catch.
Until recently, we've always respected each other's privacy for the last 9 years. Certain areas are out of bound: a drawer whose internals, like a liver, never see the light, his mobile phone and the deepest corner of his mind.
One day last week, I ventured outside the boundary and found myself in an unfamiliarly new frontier, an hour after speaking on his brand new Nokia with a mutual friend. That afternoon, I wandered into his message inbox and two elaborated, grammatically wrong sms-es later, I was thunderstruck.
My friends used to ask if I'd be worried about having a third party in the relationship or my boyfriend leaving me for another guy or having casual sex. My answer to all these, thus far, hypothetical questions have been rather consistent: a perfunctory "No". But with hardcore evidences that there really is a real someone who has entered his inbox and our life now, I begin to reexamine my reply.
Later that night, we had a talk and my boyfriend allowed me to step inside the intricately complex neurotic synapses of his mind.
"Who's that guy who sent you kisses and calling you 'my hubby', huh?" I asked looking at him in a I-Know-What-You-Did-Last-Summer kind of way, trying to be funny and absorb the head-on collision impact at the same time.
"You checked my messages?" he said, wide-eyed.
I tore away from the bed and didn't know where to go in our bedroom. I paced about at the edge of our king-sized bed.
"He..he...I am glad I did. Tell me quick!"
"Don't be silly. You know I love you"
"Who is he?"
"Stop it. Please don't stress me."
I got back to bed deadpan and he slithered up next to me, holding my hand and staring at the ceiling.
"I'm going to be 50 next year. I'm losing my hair. I'm stressed up. I sometimes can't even get it up too."
He didn't answer my question.
"You know. It is ok with me if you need another guy to care for you, to tell you he is concerned if you've taken all your medications"
"Don't be crazy, darling. There's no one else. I love you. You know that."
"I know. But maybe I haven't done enough and there is something lacking here? And I failed to be a good boyfriend. And you need to find another guy."
He laughed.
"This is not about you. Focus here", he pointed both my hand and his on his chest.
"I'm the one going through mid-life crisis."
Still no answer on the identity of the mysterious guy. But the next morning when my boyfriend voluntarily showed me his Nokia inbox again, I knew, he wasn't just my boyfriend's imaginary friend; he physically existed, not just virtually because the earlier messages had been deleted.
I never believe in invisibly handcuffing someone in a relationship. Instead, I believe it is either pure love or plain masochism that keep people together. If one is bent on walking out of the relationship, forsaking the other, frankly, there is nothing to do except for accepting it gracefully after an exchange of good wishes.
All of us have our own different needs in life and in a relationship. Perhaps my boyfriend needs me to verbalize my love more often than I am comfortable with, instead of perpetually advising him how to control his blood sugar and by being with him. My aphasia in love may possibly cost me exclusive claim on his soul but perhaps, there is still enough room for another person in our oversized bed and my heart as long as it makes him happy. To this serenity to accept things that I cannot change, our mutual friend told me, "...then, it means you love him more than he ever knows."
Even when headlocked, I wouldn't give in. "Say you love me", he'd command, his arm twisted around my neck.
"You love me", I replied.
"Say: I love you", he asked.
"I know...", I'd say, and his head would then collapse onto my chest and he hugged me even tighter.
It is a mischievous little game that I love playing with him. And I believe he enjoys playing it too. Otherwise, we wouldn't have carried on with the game for almost a decade, would we? But as with all the games that gay men are fond of playing, there is a catch.
Until recently, we've always respected each other's privacy for the last 9 years. Certain areas are out of bound: a drawer whose internals, like a liver, never see the light, his mobile phone and the deepest corner of his mind.
One day last week, I ventured outside the boundary and found myself in an unfamiliarly new frontier, an hour after speaking on his brand new Nokia with a mutual friend. That afternoon, I wandered into his message inbox and two elaborated, grammatically wrong sms-es later, I was thunderstruck.
My friends used to ask if I'd be worried about having a third party in the relationship or my boyfriend leaving me for another guy or having casual sex. My answer to all these, thus far, hypothetical questions have been rather consistent: a perfunctory "No". But with hardcore evidences that there really is a real someone who has entered his inbox and our life now, I begin to reexamine my reply.
Later that night, we had a talk and my boyfriend allowed me to step inside the intricately complex neurotic synapses of his mind.
"Who's that guy who sent you kisses and calling you 'my hubby', huh?" I asked looking at him in a I-Know-What-You-Did-Last-Summer kind of way, trying to be funny and absorb the head-on collision impact at the same time.
"You checked my messages?" he said, wide-eyed.
I tore away from the bed and didn't know where to go in our bedroom. I paced about at the edge of our king-sized bed.
"He..he...I am glad I did. Tell me quick!"
"Don't be silly. You know I love you"
"Who is he?"
"Stop it. Please don't stress me."
I got back to bed deadpan and he slithered up next to me, holding my hand and staring at the ceiling.
"I'm going to be 50 next year. I'm losing my hair. I'm stressed up. I sometimes can't even get it up too."
He didn't answer my question.
"You know. It is ok with me if you need another guy to care for you, to tell you he is concerned if you've taken all your medications"
"Don't be crazy, darling. There's no one else. I love you. You know that."
"I know. But maybe I haven't done enough and there is something lacking here? And I failed to be a good boyfriend. And you need to find another guy."
He laughed.
"This is not about you. Focus here", he pointed both my hand and his on his chest.
"I'm the one going through mid-life crisis."
Still no answer on the identity of the mysterious guy. But the next morning when my boyfriend voluntarily showed me his Nokia inbox again, I knew, he wasn't just my boyfriend's imaginary friend; he physically existed, not just virtually because the earlier messages had been deleted.
I never believe in invisibly handcuffing someone in a relationship. Instead, I believe it is either pure love or plain masochism that keep people together. If one is bent on walking out of the relationship, forsaking the other, frankly, there is nothing to do except for accepting it gracefully after an exchange of good wishes.
All of us have our own different needs in life and in a relationship. Perhaps my boyfriend needs me to verbalize my love more often than I am comfortable with, instead of perpetually advising him how to control his blood sugar and by being with him. My aphasia in love may possibly cost me exclusive claim on his soul but perhaps, there is still enough room for another person in our oversized bed and my heart as long as it makes him happy. To this serenity to accept things that I cannot change, our mutual friend told me, "...then, it means you love him more than he ever knows."
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