Happy New Year

Happy New Year

Wise men say, Only fools rush things
But I can't help falling in Love
With You...

And I always thought this was one of Elvis' mushiest songs. Look at me now: I'm about to embark on something I've traditionally scorned. Your typical Long Distance Relationship, complete with capital letters. To get you up to date:

Last week, I met someone quite by chance. I've got a million names for him right now, ranging from Glitter Boy and Big Nose to Mushy Snot Pot and Fang. It's come to that now: silly nicknames. We met, we met again, and by the second date, it was quite clear to both of us that things were poised to look really great. I think I'm falling in love. It's as simple as that.

And as complicated as that, too.

Because I have to face the fact that come next Tuesday, my boy will not be in Bombay. He'll be somewhere in Dubai. He'll be back again, at the end of January but only for a few days, and then he's gone once more. After that... there's a gap of six months. At least. And I will then moan to my friends about how I miss my boy. Damn.

I always tell people that LDRs don't work. I tell them, that's the surefire route to heartache. If for no other reason, then than that old excuse: libido. I told my Boy the other day, it was silly to expect me to be celibate for the six months he would not be there, and he ruffled my hair in response. He hopes I won't fall in love with someone else, though he says he understands my point of view. I hate acting like the slut that swallowed Bombay, but it's best to get things cleared up, right from the beginning. And I've always hated LDRs because I've found it as a silly excuse to have wanton sex while you're in a so-called relationship. Yikes. I should've bit my tongue at least a thousand times while I told all those people all those things. I feel like biting my own tongue now. Because, honestly speaking, I'm terrified. I'm terrified that what I'm getting into with Boy will leave me shaken and horribly stirred when he leaves and I'm left alone in Bombay again.

...

But does it sound maudlin to say that it seems just so... right? To say that when he smiles at me, I feel so frikkin' happy? To say that I want to dance with him all night long, not just those sexy salsas and those romantic clasps, but also the silly stuff, where we're both experimenting and not really sure of what we're doing? To say that we laugh like clowns at our stupid (and some good) jokes? To say that I smile to myself in the mirror, when I see the hickeys on my neck and shoulders? To say that I believe him when he says he'll be back for me? To say that I believe him when he says that all we need is some patience and focus to make this work, against all the odds? He makes it seem so easy... and though I know it's not going to be quite that way, does it make sense to say that his confidence is enough to bolster my own?

I've asked myself so many times if we're rushing into this too soon. There's the experience with so many earlier exes telling me that I may be setting myself up for disaster again... and there's the little hope that maybe I'm not.

I love his smile. I love the way his eyes crackle with repressed mischief. I love his big nose, which I like to touch in a baby's grip. I love his elfin ears, almost devoid of earlobes. I love the contrast his six foot frame poses to my five foot six-or-seven. I love the way he cackles in glee. I love his cross between a cough and a burp. I love his generosity and kindness. I love the way he winks at me across the dinner table. I love the way he holds me in his arms, and turns me towards the mirror, so that I can see us both in it, and when he whispers in my ears: See how great we look together?!

And so I have my fingers crossed.