September 18 Prompt: Passionate
Prompt of the day is a mood killer. I would’ve started writing earlier as soon as I reached my office desk but I let the prompt sit there and stare at me in complete mockery. I’ve always been the one initiating intimacy and affection to Sam, lately. He would always ignore me and the fact that he has now access to my site makes it worst. I feel like I don’t have the freedom of speech here anymore. At the back of my mind, I always have to filter the things I would say. [Like this one.] Most specially that he just like me – is guilty of being very sensitive.
Not that he doesn’t respond accordingly. He does. But that’s right
after releasing my inner drama queen. That’s the only time he gets to noticed that I just got out of the shower an hour ago and is now sitting next to him in bed reading my evening prayer app on my phone quietly, trying the best I can to brush off his insensitivity. He used to make me feel wanted. All the time. Pays close attention to me. All the time. I don’t have to exert effort to be on that private zone. I used to utter to myself this gratitude that I have a husband who is not obsessed with online gaming unlike the legion of men I know who are often glued to their mobile phones dismissing a tremendous amount of quality time with their wives.
I just need him to be back to normal. The man who knows how to make the most out of what we have. TIME. Isn’t this the only thing we have that we can’t generate back? Money can be earned. No matter how hard. It’s possible. But the time and the effort you took for granted are irreplaceable. And I’m not even talking about being sensual here. No. Just drawing someone close to you and making them feel desirable and loved. Expressing passion and longing. I crave for you – will always be part of his text messages when we were still two cities apart. And even after moving in together here in Dubai, he remained very passionate. Until the past few days. I don’t know if it was the pressure of his contract finishing this November and that we’re experiencing difficulties seeking for better employment. I know it’s a tough market out there with the oil and gas industry plummeting down along with financial sectors. We have no assurance he will land a new job by October. I know it’s stressful. With all our efforts vested on me studying abroad and us – getting there together at the same time. I know he has a lot on his plate. But he can always talk to me. We’re a team. That – or he has other reasons that I don’t know about. I don’t want to overthink anymore.
If he had met me a few years back, I wouldn’t be as fired up as I am now. I was less affectionate. Or maybe not a all. I remember sitting on the passengers seat of George’s car for hours staring at my cellphone, checking my nails over and over and looking sideways at the glass window of the car. I was bored. I was never intimate to anyone. It’s not that I don’t like him. I do. I just don’t like to do things with him. Totally different story. It’s not because I was a hardcore Christian. My faith has nothing to do with it. I used to think I have fear of intimacy. But I realized later on when I met Sam that it wasn’t the case because with him it was so easy for me to open up and be comfortable. That or he’s just plain good on his craft. Damn.
Or maybe it was as simple as being ready and meeting the right person. And George was definitely wrong for a million reasons.
He started the engine and played holy crap, Sarah Mclachlan. City of Angels. Well played. I told him that. I mean a guy who finished 2 case of beer on two consecutive dates would have the song Angel on his playlist? Come on. No farting way. When he saw some cops checking the spot with a flashlight, he turned off his headlights. And then he started his act all together. The drama of wanting to be with someone, of being alone all his life, of life being so lonely. [He’s been married or was married. I of course was clueless at this point of his real status. Facebook was his accomplice. No signs of attachment. And I got no time to double check from NSO if he’s really single.] I listened carefully to his outburst of emotions. He leaned forward. I pulled away right before he could feel the expected electric currents that was supposed to rouse and run through his veins. I was lifeless. Like a dummy being kissed by human. Yes I am Kim Catrall in this scenario. But there was no Starship song, Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us, that was played in the background. Just the sound of disappointment on his closed fist as he clenched on the stirring wheel looking straight on the road profoundly; perhaps thinking, this girl is full of BS. She’s thirty and she doesn’t know anything. I will return her home and find some action somewhere else.
I was labeled UPTIGHT the next day. His calls and text messages diminished and he began to be very engrossed at work. He started having problems at home. Excuses overflowed until he himself could not contain them. He became non-responsive. I begged him for explanation. He broke up with me.
I owe it to Sam that he somehow unleashed the passionate side of me. The one that is not scared to demonstrate love and affection. I was able to move freely with him. I can easily be myself around him.
I just miss him. I miss us. I miss those days when we were so excited to see each other that finding him waiting on the bus terminal made my heart swell so much in joy. His face would lit up and he would walk towards me as if he was seeing the sun for the first time… [Okay I probably borrowed that line in a movie somewhere.] But it looks that way. Brad Pitt in Interview with the Vampire. That longing. That desire. That hunger.
I don’t want us to be like one of those couples who just loss intimacy to each other over time. It happens. But I refused to be that. Old couples in their fifties holding hands in the street or in the grocery just inspire me big time. I mean, they must’ve been through a lot to not give up on each other and make it that far. To still want to hold her hand devotedly, fiercely and closely after decades had passed- is just plain magic.