Puffs of exasperation threaten to form around my lips, like grains of self-doubt that sometimes implode within my imperious self. It is exactly one month and a day since we said our vows, and though we haven't applied for our official marriage certificate yet, I would've thought that by now, I'd have a sweeping account of married life. We are impossibly seasoned in our relationship yet surprisingly new at this thing called marriage. Turns out nothing's changed-- I am still the eternal pessimist with a penchant for shoes, coffee and late-night conversations, and you are still the perennial optimist with an imperishable need for technology, chorizos and long walks along the beach. Occasionally I'd crave for the kind of spontaneity that led us to being 16 and wonderful again, but who am I kidding? I am back to this warped reality where I don't even know if we're going to have a roof over our heads in the next 2 weeks before our lease is up, or if tomatoes are really fruits instead of vegetables, or if happiness is an illusion, just like everything else in the universe.
Once again, sleep eludes me, and I am haunted every waking hour by the ghosts of apprehension. It seems change is inevitable, yet we are perhaps the two biggest constants in this equation. How could I not have seen it earlier? Have I been too long ensconced in my little bubble of content which falsely creates some semblance of permanence? You know it is not easy to love me, because I am like a volatile gas, floating from one dream state to another. Where I sometimes want to lie in bed and snuggle under the covers and munch on buttered toast all morning, I also want to get up and get dressed and drive 2 hours west for breakfast. Would you do it if you were me? Cos if I were you, I'd fall in love with me. All over again.