Looking Back

I.

November 19, 2005. 4:00 A.M.
About three-quarters of the way through Monty Python: Quest for the Holy Grail, Mike--my close friend, classmate, and neighbor--tentatively reached for my left hand in what I imagine was an attempt to hold it. He only managed to grab my pinky and ring-finger. I’m not sure if that was his intention but he didn’t make a second attempt to get a better grip. He just held on and stared at the television. I didn’t know what to do so I did what I’d wanted to do for a long time: I freed my fingers and gouged his eyes out.

Just kidding.

I held his hand. It was nice.

To be honest, I don’t remember the rest of the movie. While the credits rolled (and there were a lot of credits) he spilled his guts, which were messy, and waited--scared--to see how I would react. Then I spilled my guts. We found out our guts liked each other. A lot. And then it was 6:15 and I had to leave for a 7:00-7:00 work day. I didn’t want to leave! I wanted to figure out how all of our guts were going to affect our friendship. The inevitable change freaked me out a little (okay, a lot) because his friendship was the best thing in my life. Deep down inside, I wanted to know if his guts, unlike the others, would actually stick around. To my sweet surprise, he gently kissed me on the forehead. All of a sudden those questions weren’t so urgent. In fact, some weren’t even relevant. I realized I had never been so happy about being so utterly exhausted in my entire life, and that I didn’t want to wash my forehead.

II.

I remember the first time I told Mike I loved him. We were fairly brand new at that point—maybe a month or more into our relationship—and I wanted to do everything the right way (whichever way that was; I had no idea). I was raised to believe I shouldn’t chase--I should allow myself to be chased--so saying “I love you” first was definitely against the rules. But I wanted to do it. I knew I didn’t want to date anyone else for the rest of my life. So I foolishly told him I had something to tell him, which made it sound like I had some big secret to reveal. Of course, he gave me his complete attention, which made me feel…self-conscious, I guess, even though I knew I had no reason to worry. He wasn’t going to point at me and say, “You love me? That’s stupid!” or “Really? Thanks! I love you, too, but I’d love you more if you waxed your upper lip.”

I think I was just afraid “I love you” wouldn’t be good enough. I didn’t want him to misinterpret it as being cheap or forced. I tried to think of alternatives but what were supposed to be one-liners turned into epic poems; “You complete me” had already been done. Even my attempt at an acrostic fell short! Those are supposed to be slam dunks, your ace in the hole! So I licked my lips and started to fold Mike’s laundry. He told me to leave it, that it wasn’t important. I sprawled out on the bottom bunk. He sprawled out next to me, waiting patiently for me to say something.

“I…I…wow, I didn’t think this would be so hard…I mean, it’s not hard because it’s not like I’m lying…I’m just really nervous…” *licking lips*

Mike looked at me and said, “Don’t be nervous. It’s just me. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Just tell me when you’re ready, if you’re ever ready.” When I get really nervous I have a habit of tugging on my earlobe or scratching myself even though I’m not itchy. I launched into an ear-tugging body-scratching fit. I must have looked odd but Mike didn’t say anything.

“No I want to tell you. It’s not a bad thing! It’s a good thing! I just…I’m having...I’m scared…”

And so it went for 12 long minutes before I blurted, “I heart you” instead of “I love you.” LAME! How STUPID! "I'm a man" would've been more exciting than "I heart you"!!!

Two hours later, without much fanfare or build-up, I simply said, “I love you”. Beneath a brilliant sky, he smiled and said, “I love you, too.”

III.

September 22, 2007

We were supposed to be meeting our friends, Shiao and Christian, on the San Clemente Pier before heading to Sonny's for dinner. I was really excited about dinner! I had been thinking about what I was going to order all day: wild mushroom ravioli with tomato cream sauce. Instead, I saw this:



And before I really knew what was going on, Mike was down on one knee asking me to marry him. I didn't know what to say so I didn't say anything. In my defense, I really had been focused on the wild mushroom ravioli (it's DELICIOUS!)...and Mike said we wouldn't be getting married for awhile.

"Is that a yes?"

He didn't even know which hand to put it on.  I could barely speak so I thrust my left hand at him.  I always thought I'd be incredibly glamorous (or at least more feminine) when a man  finally proposed to me.  You know, I thought I'd finally have that whole "woman" thing down.  I thought I'd at least be wearing a beautiful gown and have thick, flowing locks, which is ridiculous because I've never had thick flowing locks in my LIFE.  I guess it fits that my best friend proposed to me while I was wearing a thermal, jeans, and brown Converse. *sigh*  Oh well.

I started to call my parents when I heard screaming. I looked up to see my twelve-year-old cousin, Michaela, screaming and waving her arms as she ran toward us. Behind her, our families carried flowers and rushed toward us yelling and cheering.  Everyone that mattered most to us had been hiding, waiting for the proposal.  And then I started crying. I just couldn't believe that of all the women in the world, he had picked me.

As we headed to my parents' house for a surprise engagement dinner, I looked at Mike and said, "Does this mean we're not going to Sonny's?"

You know, the ring was nice and all but I'm still waiting to eat wild mushroom ravioli.

Kidding (mostly).

Questions

I.

"Do you think God makes just one person for each of us? Do you think you can only have one great love of your life?"

When asked, I said, "No", but I don't know the answer to this question. I don't think I'm supposed to know.

II.

When I was 13, a boy fell in love with me. He was 16 and loved me with a respect and sincerity I did not appreciate, could not appreciate. He wrote me a letter to express his feelings because he was too shy to say them aloud. He had beautiful handwriting, a deep strong voice, and an easy smile. He became my first boyfriend. The shyness never went away so we continued to write letters. Somewhere in my parents' garage there is a binder filled with letters, his words of shy affection scrawled in pencil on lined paper. Sometimes he'd play me songs-without-words on his guitar. Looking back, I realize that everything he felt, everything he was too shy to say aloud, was in those songs. We never kissed. We hugged a few times. I was young and didn't understand the depth of his emotions. I ended it. I can't remember the reason now but I know it wasn't good enough. We continued to be in each other's lives and became good friends. I never talked to him about other guys. I knew that beneath the surface of his friendship, his heart ached, that he still loved me. He told me on several occasions, yet all I was able to say was "Thank you for loving me." He didn't deserve the "friend card"; it seemed too cruel. Yet there was no other card I knew of, and so I played it over and over and over again. And I felt awful every time.

When I was 18, I moved to San Diego for school. Shortly before I left, he announced he was leaving on a missions trip to Thailand that would last for several years. His parents held a prayer meeting at their house before he left so I attended with my parents to see him off. He handed me an envelope and an unmarked CD and said, "Please, don't open this till I'm on the plane tomorrow morning." Of course, I opened the letter as soon as I got home. It was long, filled with congratulations and high hopes for college and well-wishes and reminders to keep in touch. In his familiar, beautiful handwriting, he ended by saying he loved me, had always loved me, would continue to love me, and that he had to leave because he didn't know what else to do. He had tried dating other girls or preoccupying himself with other things but found his heart and mind were always with me. He said he knew God was taking us on different paths and that he hoped they would cross in the future.

I cried.

I could not understand--and felt guilty because of it--how this boy-turned-man could just love me steadily and quietly for years knowing that the part of my heart he desired would be out of reach. I felt worse knowing that I could not ease his heartache. The CD was a beautiful compilation of songs, a tribute to our friendship, the letter had said. I listened to it and wondered,

What happens if you fall in love with someone who's not meant for you?

I heard from him a few times while living in San Diego. He'd send a card from Thailand or an instant message if he was in a major town and had access to a computer. It was always good to hear from him. He reminded me of home, of simpler days. Always, he'd end his letters or his messages with, "I still think about you every day. I still love you." It broke my heart every time. It seemed so unfair for him to love one person--me--with such unwavering devotion and not be loved in return.

Over time we stopped being friends. He told me it hurt too much, that it was just too hard for him. I complied. Years passed before I received a random phone call asking for girl advice. A few months later I got a text message just saying, "Hello". The last time I received a text message from him was when I was on my honeymoon. We were in Monterey, and it was late. It said, "Congrats, my mom told me you're getting married." I'll admit that after all these years, I still felt a twinge of sadness for him, felt the need to protect him from the truth. I just said, "Thanks!" and hoped he would leave it at that. A few minutes later I received another text: "When's the big day?" I hesitated before responding. I didn't know what to say aside from the truth, and the truth seemed insensitive. When I needed them most, my words failed me.

III.

I still ask that question, you know. I'm the happiest I've ever been in my life and am married to a man I don't deserve; I live a blessed life. Still, sometimes I wonder about my first boyfriend and other men and women like him who have fallen in love with someone who hasn't chosen them. My heart aches for him, for them. I didn't expect to get so emotional while writing this entry. I cried. I cried because I was there once, and I remember the bottomless ache. I remember loving that person's heart and soul so much I wanted nothing more than to simply be in his life. I chose his happiness over mine, and I continued to love him even after he chose another. Another story for another time.

What happens when you fall in love with someone who's not meant for you? What happens if you love someone who's unavailable?

IV.

Wherever you are, whatever you're doing, I just wanted to say I'm sorry I couldn't love you the way you needed me to.

The view from here: A Mike and Bean Thanksgiving

Here are pictures from our feast.  It was more than enough food for the two of us.

I didn't think it was possible to fit so many marshmallows on top of that little casserole dish but Mike was determined.

Look!  I'm domesticated. :)

A Mike and Bean Thanksgiving

Mike and I just celebrated our first Thanksgiving dinner as a married couple. We had planned on spending it with my family but ended up running to the grocery store on Tuesday to buy all the fixings for a "traditional" Thanksgiving meal.

I cried (a little). This was my first Thanksgiving spent without seeing my family. I won't get into all the emotions I felt; too messy. I missed them. And the food. But I received an unexpected gift: a free pass to spend Thanksgiving however I wanted. With Mike.

We woke up Thursday morning and realized we had forgotten to thaw our bird. Since we didn't want to wait 10 hours to eat, we ran to Ralph's to purchase turkey breasts. Beginner's mistake. Let's just say we'll be eating turkey for Christmas, too.


Thankfully, we had no other debacles that day and we did get to eat:


So our table is set incorrectly. Let's just say it was all part of a very Mike and Bean Thanksgiving. :) We spent the day in our pajamas watching football, the National Dog Show, the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade (my first time watching it!), The Incredibles, and of course, A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving.

P.S. I realize Mike looks like he's flipping me off in the picture but he's really crossing his fingers. :)

The view from here: Carmel

Chubby squirrels!

Carmel is for lovers.

On the road: Carmel

As a Southern California native, I think I live in the greatest place on earth.  I'm not an arrogant snob--I just like where I live. :)  People vacation in my neighborhood (cut me some slack). :p  Our drive up the coast has done a pretty good job of blowing my mind and almost (just almost) convinced me to move.  Here are some of the things we fell in love with:

1. Elephant seals.

2. Chubby squirrels.

3. Carmel Beach. 

Things we dislike:

1. Drivers of Sebring convertibles. PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT:  If you feel the need to fly from Kansas or Idaho or North Dakota or (insert lackluster state here), rent an economy convertible (a.k.a. Chrysler Sebring), then proceed to drive along Highway 1 from San Diego to British Columbia, it is NOT necessary to go 15 miles per hour the entire way.  The speed limit in the state of California is 55 mph if not otherwise posted.  Yes, the coastline is beautiful.  Yes, your rented convertible can drive that fast.  Yes, I will pass you on a blind curve b/c it is that annoying driving behind your pasty, sun-starved ass.    I don't fly to Kansas and drive 15 mph around your corn fields.

2.  Cyclists.  It's called a car.  It's faster and requires much less effort.  Or are you just looking for an excuse to wear a spandex onesie?

3.  Cyclists missing limbs.  I bet you actually do have a car and a handicap permit.  B/c you can ride a bike for 100 miles, but you can't walk from the far side of the parking lot.  Seems logical.

**Disclaimer: Items 1-3 are Mike's contribution to this blog post.

4. Everything closes at sundown.  Carmel becomes a ghost town after dark.  We couldn't even find a coffee shop open at 7:00 and had to drive to Monterey!

On the road: Santa Barbara

I got married.

I will have to revisit this--a HUGE task--some other day when I have more time and am not on my honeymoon.  Be patient; wait for it...wait for it...

I will eventually start a blog with Mike to share all the sordid details of our life with you but for now, while we're on our honeymoon, I'll keep writing in this one.  My 13-year-old cousin, Michaela, and my sister, Sarah, asked me to keep a travel journal or honeymoon blog of sorts ("without the intimate details, please").  I assured them I would write diligently but forgot how awkward and cumbersome it is to type with fake nails.  Stupid vanity.  My progress has been frustratingly slow.

Since I'm behind and partially handicapped because of my talons, I'll only include the major highlights from our stay at the Old Yacht Club Inn in Santa Barbara:

1. After spending an hour or so in an emergency clinic, we found out that Mike had tendonitis in his left foot and not the broken toe we had feared.  Rx: rest and pain killers/anti-inflammatory drugs.  

2. The first breakfast I had--an omelette covered in "feet cheese" (a.k.a. parmesan)--made me sick.  I became fast friends with the pink stuff and took a shot every half hour.

Aside from those two surprises, Santa Barbara was lovely.