@ 9:33 PM

Admit it. We all dream of the perfect story to accompany the unsinkable feeling of falling in love; the idea that perhaps one day, when your child asks you how it felt, you can recall it as vividly as the laugh lines on your husband's face that trace every unforgettable moment of your existance in his life. Here is a journal entry stolen from Marilyn, on her recollection of the first moments with her first love.

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I met my first love on an educational trip to Thailand and Cambodia, in a group of twenty women and two men.

When I first met him, I was so weak that I couldn't grip my fists. Whatever I held in my hands was free to escape with the slightest struggle- my fingers could only wrap, but not hold. Being a newly-declared vegan wandering the country of Thailand can do that to you, especially when there isn't a gram of tofu in sight, and you believe that you can survive on willpower alone. I eventually gave up my search for soya in southeast asia, and instead picked up a search for his attentions: the sporadic sparkling glances, the random flirtatious advances, the warmth in his voice and eyes when we were alone, so different from the cool, aloof boy i knew when the rest of the travellers were around.

My condition worsened while in Cambodia. I ended up slumped on his arm one night, after days of exploring ancient ruined temples and a night of heavy drinking, or rather a night of gathering liquid courage. I was tired of his antics and tired of trying to survive on my own. I demanded that he prove himself to be a goddamn asshole, or choose to be my knight in nerdy-cool tourists clothes. He kissed me the next night and carried me out of the discotheque when i forgot my flipflops in my bag, which had made its own way to our hotel. I knew it, I thought to myself. In his own words, he was 'an asshole with a heart of gold'.

We slept side by side on the twenty-four hour plane back to the States. I recuperated in the land of soft medium and firm tofu in every supermarket and peanut butter at every corner store, but I found that I still needed him. There was force in my step and will in my heart, but they were not enough for me to stand on my own anymore. In his arms, I didn't pretend to be strong. I knew he'd take care of me.

I can't quite describe what it felt like, falling in love with him. Maybe like he was blending into me, like he was working the knots out of my shoulders and strengthening my spine, maybe like he stepped into my shoes and walked on my ground with me, my back melding into his chest, my arms into his arms, until at last my muscles and bones could stand of their own. But by then, I didn't them to. He was so far enmeshed in my body, my spirit, my heart. It was like a venn diagram: there was him, me, and us.

Labels: contemplation, Random