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Spring Thing 2023: Structural Integrity, June 18, 2023Relationships are a race against time to discover a love beneath the ever receding romance, but we own only fractions of our time, most of it lost to howling necessity, and the will to cherish languids from flutters to flickers; at first energy enough to lavish the days, explore how you connect in extravagant ways, but then you return to machine, return and return to routine, rumple back exhausted, not only of the desire to connect, but increasingly the sense that there’s anything left to connect with; each lambent hour echoes with disconnects, until, almost with relief, you realize you’re alone.
Racing against the clock this time are Yaan and Kel. Their dynamic is simple enough: they share an unadorned earnestness, Kel adds a casual cheerfulness that gives it a plainspoken joie de vivre, Yaan adds a responsible seriousness that focuses it into thoughtful stability. The signs are there that this could lead somewhere, yet, day after day, no progress occurs: “Now it’s just you, alone in the apartment. / Another day of trying to find ways to entertain yourself… / In the evening, Yaan arrives back slightly later than normal. He greets you with a simple “Hi” and a long sigh, and turns to pull off his shoes.” All day daydreaming about what your relationship could mean, and it means nothing before him stumbling through the door, drained into distant stares, muttering for a glass of wine to smooth the transition to sleep.
No progress being made, when all The Problems start peering in, you start to question what it is you’re fighting for; for, not about, since you’re very sure what you’re fighting about: the usual, of course: money, “Unlike you, he doesn’t have to get up and go to work; he quit his job when he moved in with you, since you make enough money to support you both. He was concerned about no longer bringing in money for his family, but you give him some regularly to pass on to them.”; the power dynamics that come with money, “Lately you’ve been feeling a little bit… neglected. A little bit… used. When the two of you started this arrangement, you made sure to clarify that you were committing to each other as equals—that this wasn’t going to be him paying you for companionship. But you’re starting to worry that, in essence, that is what your relationship has become…”; the lack of communication, with so many hurts quietly swallowed and stored up for later, when you’re suddenly aware that you’re shouting; and, finally, Matters of Principle which give you the pitched battle to imbue your petty nettleds with acceptably significant meaning: “Eventually, Yaan’s going to do, or not do, something, and it’ll finally be the last straw, enough to shake you out of your complacency and push you to finally make the hard choice. The theater wasn’t quite it—although it was close, and when it inevitably is torn down, you almost wish it had been—but it’s going to happen before long.” Doubts, tensions, awkwardnesses of perception, become disagreements more severe than the initial attraction, and you can start to see through them to the other side, how, instead of loving them, you could actually quite easily hate them…
In fact, you’re increasingly confused why you even chose to in the first place: “You are Kel, and you never expected to end up here. You were happy in your old life, living with your family, spending your days running around the city delivering messages.” Why should languishing for hours in an empty apartment waiting to greet someone at the door like a dog be more desired? All these brittle angers scabbing the communication until nothing can break through anymore, not anymore: “You’re Kel, still sitting on the floor beside Yaan, having just listened to him say the most heartfelt, honest things you’ve ever heard from him. Now he’s simply looking at you, all his hopes hanging on this moment. / Even after all that, you can’t bring yourself to trust him again. / “Sorry, but… I can’t do this anymore, Yaan,” you say. “I’m leaving.” / You get up and start packing your things, without looking back at him.” Leaving behind the nothing that you shared.
Or hold on for more, with empathy for the failures: “Yaan looks at you, as if waiting, but when you don’t say any more he rubs his eyes and shakes his head a little. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been under so much stress lately—I didn’t mean to neglect you, I didn’t mean to make you think…”” Not that he doesn’t love you, but that most days he returns withered beneath what it means to love. But what then, just wait more and more days for something more to never arrive? But what if there is a lovingness that can persist at localized minima? What if that something more isn’t some substantial epiphany, rather something far simpler, nestled around the unadorned eagerness, that straightforwardness of care, that once united you? Maybe your love isn’t some miracle to be worked, only the effort each day to hold together as miracle enough? “You’re Yaan. You leave work on time every day. You ask Kel about his day, and really listen to his answers. You check in with him once in a while to make sure he’s feeling good about your relationship. And, wonder of wonders… it’s better this way. He reminds you of the man you first met—you hadn’t realize how much he’d slipped away from that. Every day you don’t just look forward to coming home to him; you marvel at how lucky you are to have him in your life. / You’re Kel. Yaan keeps his promise. He’s open in a way he never was before—he gives you actual answers when you ask how his day was; he’s more affectionate, and tells you things like “I appreciate you” and “I love you.” He meets your family, properly, even though it nearly has him shaking with anxiety. And they admit to you, later, that they actually like him pretty well.”
