2 Questions Every Girl is Asking Herself

Chapter 31

Jeremiah left today. The house felt so quiet and empty without him. I walked him out and waited for the taxi. Then ran back into the house and packed him two apples in case he gets hungry. Part of me felt like a mother sending the son off on a school field trip. Part of me was relieved that he left, because I couldn't bear seeing whatever beautiful thing we had, die a slow and painful death. And though I'd hate to admit it, part of me felt like the abandoned girlfriend. This is what it seemed like to the neighbors. Both the landlady and my French neighbor dropped by later that day, and in the gravest tone with great compassion, as though expressing condolences at a funeral, they told me if I ever needed anything, they'd be right there to help.

Jeremiah's 30 day tourist visa was about to expire and he needed to leave the country. He's going to Phuket in Thailand, the place I was debating over Bali. We went out to dinner last night, and had a good conversation. We barely talked to each other at all at home, and hadn't gone out for the week and half since moving here. But last night he was in a good mood and was especially talkative. He told me about his dreams of buying a yacht and sailing the world's ocean blue. We brainstormed together ideas how it might happen sooner. And at the end of the evening, he saved the last bite of his dessert for me.

Living with Jeremiah, I got a taste of motherhood. When he's around, I get annoyed at always having to clean up after him, and he doesn't lift a finger to show appreciation for all that I do. And once he leaves, I miss him. I suppose this is what it's like to be parents. Or how aunt feels about me.

On the other hand, I loved this time alone. Cooking for myself. I made the best rice today. The first time it actually turned out in rice form. Instead of all congee-like or completely burnt to black at the bottom. I stopped following instructions from the Internet and just kind of eye-measured it, poured some rice that covered the entire bottom of the pot, and added water, boiled it on high until it started to bubble and turned it down to a simmer.

There was no lid. So I used the little wooden cutting board as lid, and jumped into the shower. When I came out of the shower, opened the lid and voila – a potful of rice perfection. Translucent and full-bodied and white and fluffy! I couldn't believe how easy it was. I'm going to make rice every day now!

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Today my French neighbor, Lionel, came to visit me, or more accurately, to check on me. Ever since Jeremiah left I think he's been worried about me, wondering, "How come this girl never gets out of the house?"

When in fact, I'd been happily typing away, writing alone in a beautiful house, just like I'd always wanted. My friendly neighbor Lionel came along on the garden path, paused politely below my porch, and we conversed warmly in my broken French and in his broken English. I showed him a day trip I was considering – the Balinese hot springs. He got all excited and suggested to me a bundle of other places I could visit. "To thoroughly enjoy Lovina Beach, where the hot springs are, you need to stay for at least two nights", He said, "I know the best hotel, very cheap. You tell them you're friend of Lionel, they will take care of you!"

The other thing I wanted to see was a nice beach. Like the white sand blue water kind of beach you see on postcards of tropical islands. Much to my surprise, the beaches in Bali aren't like the beaches in Mexico. Over here, their sand is yellow. I'd somehow imagined Balinese beaches are white.

Lionel informed me the best beaches are in Sanur, and that him and his wife Kadet, are going there tomorrow, and that I could come with them. He then pulled out a piece of paper, wrote down the name and phone number of the hotel he suggested, drew a map of its location relative to the hot springs and waterfalls and restaurants, and listed out the days I had left in Bali like a calendar: July 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. "Use tomorrow to prepare, and 2 nights in Lovina Beach and 3 nights in Sanur", Lionel muttered. And my week's gone. My 1 day trip has turned into a 6 day one.

Then he gave me a USB stick full of songs, old French, English, and German songs, all 750 of them, which included oldies like Cascades' "Rhythm of the Rain", which you can listen to without repeat for a whole week, just in case I got bored sitting in the house.

So touched by his kindness, I decided I must get myself out and moving.

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The next day, Lionel and his wife Kadet drove me to Sanur, which is about an hour away from Ubud, hotel hunting. They wouldn't leave until they've finally found a hotel they felt was a good quality and price for me, and they arranged to have a taxi driver take me back to Ubud two days later. I hugged them both, and promised to take them out to dinner.

At the beach, which is beautiful and romantic and all, I got hit by a sudden avalanche of "I miss Jeremiah" sickness. I missed Jeremiah so much that I cried last night. Sobbing. To the point where I was feeling chest pain. This took me by surprise. I thought I was relieved that he'd left?

I was relieved, and I did enjoy the time alone. But I also thought about Jeremiah a lot. I'd been hoping he would email after he'd reached Thailand. But he never did. I feared this meant he never wanted to have anything to do with me again. I wanted to convince myself that he's not a player, he's a good person, that he still liked me, even though I couldn't figure out why he'd changed his behavior so drastically after we moved in together. I wanted to explain away the glee I saw in his eyes, the night before he left. I tried to drown out the voice that said I regret giving myself over so easily, on the mere hope of love, to someone I barely knew.

Still, I wished really hard he'd suddenly appear in the doorway, so I could give him a gigantic hug, and tell him that I missed him.

The universe has an interesting way of responding to your wishes. Today, on Facebook, Jeremiah chatted with me for the first time since his departure. We joked, and I told him Lionel's been trying to get me out of the house. I told him I'm in Sanur and that I wished he was here. He just smiled. Instead of saying "I miss you too."

I told him I feel lonely. He responded compassionately with, "Awww, but I thought that's what you wanted?"

"To be lonely?"

"To be alone," Jeremiah explained.

It's true in Ubud I never felt lonely because I was writing, and wanted to be alone. But now I'm in Sanur. The beach, the sunset, the palm trees made me want to share it with someone.

"Ah, that's why you missed me!" Jeremiah exclaimed, as if suddenly obtaining some great revelation.

"Why else did you think I missed you?"

"I have no clue. I thought you missed my company."

"How is that any different?"

"You only missed me when there was a certain moment when you felt lonely. Not the same as missing someone. ;P"

I stared at that line for a long, sad while. Is that all he is to me? Company? Is it? Is it really? Or is this his way of avoiding saying he doesn't miss me?

"Isn't life about moments?" I wrote, trying to rescue the conversation.

"Haha, you should make a t-shirt that says 'Life is about Moments'," Jeremiah joked.

And then he logged off.