Dear B,
This letter was pieced together from different points in time. It’s long. I apologise for that. It could have been longer. It’s hard to be coherent in heartbreak. It’s hard to know when to end things, isn’t it?
In Hatha this morning, the focus was on the throat. “The communication centre,” she said. The origin and keeper of truth. Another focal point, she told us, for another class, was digestion. I let my mind wander to your tanned shoulders in yoga class, how nice it is to watch you close your eyes and breathe, before wrenching it back to what I was supposed to be focusing on. My throat. My body. My truth. So much of life, in my experience, is about those two things: truth and digestion. Accepting what is. Processing. And ultimately, letting go.
I came to Bali to see something through. I came to see where you live, and how and why you live there. And I can see now exactly why. The unapologetic, surprising, chaotic beauty of it. The kindness of the people that is so real and radiant you almost question it before realising you are the jaded one, you, the visitor, are the one who needs to be kinder. The oddly comforting and sensual smell of rice burning in the fields, a natural Palo Santo. Bali is a stark contrast to London in every way. None of the Taksis or Gojeks have working clocks. Have you noticed? Their job is to be on time, but time is not time here. Time is a concept, and a boring one at that. Time is more of a companion to the sun than a master of anyone’s schedule. Smiles are currency. And the strangest, most wonderful thing of all is that their smiles are authentic. I came to Bali to get to the heart of something.
We don’t use the word “love.” Because it’s early, and we haven’t been sure. Because that would be crazy. But here I am being crazy. Here I am in love with you.
I’ve been in love with you since the day we took the small plane from France. I figured, anyone I think I might be okay dying with, in an overly melodramatic way, has to mean something significant to me. So, while I was curious about what Bali is for you, and you are for Bali, I was also just following the person I adore to the other side of the world for a few weeks to see what might happen on the other side. And here we are: forced again to surrender over and over to our circumstances and shortcomings.
Surrender, I think, is about relinquishing control. It’s about accepting that darkness and light can and co-exist. As Leonard Cohen once wrote, “There’s a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.” Surrender reminds us that change and challenge, and even pain, are as inevitable as joy and black out bliss. That dead skin is just as vital to healing as new soft flesh. I have learned, through personal surrenders big and small, that no one is meant to go it alone in this life, and that no one is guaranteed a smooth ride. That as it turns out, no man or woman is an island, even if that island is as beautiful as Bali on a Saturday afternoon in August.
You told me I was the first person you felt you could have a family with. I look at you often, by accident, as a potential father of my children. Like a thief stealing something of value, I catch myself watching you hold your little brother’s hand. Repeating slowly, but not unkindly, Liverpool’s lineup as he kicks his feet between us in the grass. Don’t freak out. I’m not about to purchase a love fern or explore this fantasy on PhotoShop. I think it’s a natural impulse, carnal maybe.
I’m reluctant to believe that “easiness” is the main determinant of a good relationship, or a sure sign of what is right for you in life in general. But ease, flow and smoothness, do help. Right off the bat, the distance between us was not easy. The intensity of connection added fuel to the fire. To be this new to one another, to be so green, and yet so chaotic, we must both have heard the inner voice that said: “this shouldn’t be this hard this fast.”
Timing wasn’t on our side. When we met, I was getting very close to finding my own feet again, and making long-term decisions in London and in my life. You were doing the same in yours. I had hoped, somewhat naively – and despite the big Bali dilemma – that I had met someone who could expand with me, heal with me, and help me build myself up while I did the same for him. But this past afternoon is one of many times that I have felt pulled apart by you. I think your build-up of resentment towards me stops you from falling as freely into us as you could have.
I don’t blame you for this. As I said, I can only imagine the depth and detail of the lists you keep of yourself and your own challenges. But I’m not a balance sheet or a Google Doc of Pros and Cons that can be updated in real time. I’m a human being. Totally flawed. Willing to learn. Open to growing outside of my comfort zone. As whole as I’ll ever be here in Bali as I’ll ever be.
You’re not alone in battling the most intense parts of yourself. I’m battling mine every day; we could have battled them together. You can let yourself feel what you feel fully without judgment or fear. Huge ask, I know. But I’m out here B. I’m calling to you from the canyon.
Pulling me towards you and then withdrawing leaves me empty and bruised. But even if we overcame our patterns, if we learned how to fight and makeup and grow, we’d still end up here: 10,000 miles apart. And that sucks because what we really need to mend this rupture is to touch. To talk at night, and in the morning. To lose contact with one another throughout the day while we do our own thing. We’d order food. Or go out. Or I’d watch you play Padel. Or you’d go to the cinema with me and try to enjoy it. And we’d mess up. We’d fail again. We’d have conflict. But we would have good times too. We would have chances to make up, to keep building, to keep being with one another, because, in this fantasy, no one would have a ticket back “home” waiting in the wings at the end of the month. But in this reality, maybe you’ve failed to see me as I am. Someone who is a little bit mad, but worth the occasional headache. Without a doubt I’m mad about you.
I’ve also failed to see you at times, but here’s what I see today:
I see a man who is trying hard, daily, to be the best version of himself, and recognised, in order to become that elevated version he would need to move far away from the things, people, and places that once defined him, and at times, defeated him. I see a man who learned the hard way that the people, places, and things we are most familiar with are sometimes life’s biggest super glue. Anti-agents of change. That’s why we need to go; to immerse ourselves in something unfamiliar so we can start to relocate the structure of our spine. So we can die a little death, and be reborn into something new.
I see someone who needs to forgive himself. And to recognise the illusive balance he is seeking is actually just waiting within him, seeking him too. Your past does not define your future. Stand as tall as you can in your mishaps and in your triumph. You’re human. And you’re very tall. Everyone who belongs in your life will see that. I see someone with a huge heart, but even larger expectations, and the two are at odds with one another. Because caring about a woman is not fixing her, but it can be mistaken for that action far too easily.
I see a good friend. A reliable brother. A role model for his sisters. A loving son. A brilliant mind. A successful entrepreneur. A creator. I see a good man. But beneath the weight and pain of your expectations, I’ve lost sight of you being my man. I have my own expectations. So, if there’s a failure here, let it be mine.
I don’t want to fix you. You don’t need to be fixed. You need to be loved, and that starts within you and you only, and eventually, hopefully, extends outwards to everyone around you. To someone lucky who I will be insanely jealous of in the future.
As you know, I’m a terrible botanist, but I was told that plants give up their dead stems first to survive. So much of me wants to give up our dead parts so we can live. But I guess we’re not plants… we’re mammals. So, I’ll end this, my breakup dissertation, by telling you that though I’m drawn to the way you make me feel alive, my heart most desperately needs ease. To be handled with respect. And resilience. And humility. And now, my heart just needs to go home and heal.
I’m grateful for you and everything you have done. You’ve been an anomaly in my life. A moon shot. I’ll miss you for a long time. Take care B. x