To Love Is to Suffer

It had been a while since I last saw him. At last, he was coming over again that evening.

Not long after I called him from the lobby doorbell, he’d lain in wait by the front door. I was so excited that I walked out too fast, coming out even before he knocked.

We laughed together. Because he was such a practical person, responding to every lamentation with practical solutions — say, if I dared so briefly mention that I wanted to work at MAC as a makeup artist, he’d immediately pull up his phone to search for MAC job openings — our romance had seemed very different from any other. He was too practical to be ‘romantic’.

He laid his backpack on the living room floor. We exchanged pleasantries as, in the bright light of the kitchen, I looked for a jar of honey and two cups and then placed bags of tea on the countertop.

“Would you like some lemongrass tea and honey?”

“Why don’t I make it?” As soon as he said that, I immediately stopped what I was doing.

“Great — you make it.”

He wiped his hands dry, took the electric kettle from me, and kissed me on the forehead.

I scavenged food stored in my cupboards and prepared various snacks before plopping on my sofa bed. He followed soon after and handed me a warm cup of tea.

“So, what did you want to talk about tonight?” I asked.

“I don’t do these things casually. I wanted you to consider me as a serious partner.”

“What makes you think that I don’t?”

“It’s not you. I’m sorry if I made it seem like you were the problem. In truth, I worry that you might not consider me a good partner.”

“Not a good partner — in what sense?”

“I think I struggle to give non-sexual affection. Which, I know, sounds antithetical to what I was just saying.”

“Well, what do you mean by non-sexual affection?” I asked.

“I tend not to be able to prioritise people over doing things that give me material gain, like work.”

“That wouldn’t be a problem with a partner that studies or works with you, right? I think you hold yourself to an absurdly stringent standard of what it means to be a good partner — where did that come from?”

He replied, “Perhaps in past relationships — I could never fulfil my partner’s expectations and be a good partner.”

At this point, I was positive my Ritalin had tapered off — I avoid taking stimulants at night — and was starting to feel the jitters. “Wait — Hold on. Let me grab some papers to write down your words, so I don’t forget.”

He chuckled. “What — Are you going to psychoanalyse me now, Doctor?”

“No — I swear, it’s just so that I don’t forget the beginning of your sentence when you reach the end of it.” I rummaged through my work tote for my usual dark blue gel ballpoint pen. “Found it. Okay, now I’m back.”

“Fine, I’ll let you psychoanalyse me. So, I read this from Woody Allen’s Love and Death the other day: ‘To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering, one must not love. But then, one suffers from not loving. Therefore, to love is to suffer; not to love is to suffer. To suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love. To be happy is then to suffer. But suffering makes one unhappy. Therefore, to be unhappy, one must love, or love to suffer, or suffer from too much happiness. I hope you’re getting this down.’”

“Yep, I am getting this down.”

“No, that part was literally what he said. ‘I hope you are getting this down…’ Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I meant to say that falling in love is easy, but staying together is hard.” He sighed. “People in a castle always want to escape it, while people outside the castle always want to get in. Life always seems to be like that.”

I shook my head. “You can’t think too much. When you think a lot, your courage disappears, and you can’t accomplish anything.”

Tenderly, I took his hand. “You know — I find you very endearing. Despite you not being my usual type. I only ever sleep with buff blonde guys with blue eyes.”

He laughed. “Should I start wearing a wig and contact lenses now? And get a reverse tan?”

“No, I like you as you are,” I assured. “But back to what you said — Do you have a disorganised attachment style?”

“What’s that?”

“When you want people close to you, but push them away.”

“How did you know?”

“When you know you’ve really got someone, that they aren’t going away, you kind of forget about them and put them on the wayside, because you have more important things to do, like work, right? But the moment they withdraw affection, or get cold, you feel anxious, and start to dote on them, correct?”

“I’m surprised you picked that up.”

“Really? It is quite obvious. Well, you kept on coming back to some pertinent relationship memories that led you to develop unhelpful perceptions about yourself. Obviously, your ex is going to paint you as a bad person. That’s how exes work. But I believe that there are only very occasional cases of genuinely toxic people and that toxic relationships are much more common.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Some personalities are more difficult than others, but that doesn’t mean a person is entirely toxic. Their ‘toxicity’ may only manifest in a relationship incompatible with their personality traits.”

“Sure.”

“While it is never a bad idea to work on improving any deficiencies you think you have, you should consider being more forgiving with yourself. Maybe you haven’t found the right person. It is up to you to assess which feels more ‘right’ for you: Do you want to be authentic or to be loved? Do you want to be yourself or be accepted? Which is more important — to retain your ways, knowing well some people might not find them palatable, or change your ways because you value these relationships more than your present ways?”

“Can I be myself and be accepted? Do you think that’s possible? Can I value relationships and retain my present ways?”

“Well — When you put it that way, I don’t see why you can’t be authentic and be loved. Often, those two go hand in hand. But, I suppose, I juxtaposed them in the case of a personality conflict, right? Such as in the case of your ex. You have the option to maintain the relationship, knowing that the only way you can keep them happy is to change parts of yourself that they take issue with, or you can let go of the relationship and keep asserting those parts of you.”

“So, it’s just about finding the right person?”

“I don’t see why not,” I replied. “I might not be the one. But in essence, yes. Regardless of who that is, the right person will love you for your authenticity, not in spite of it. It is just a matter of finding them.”

We talked a little more before gradually falling silent, munching chocolate-coated hazelnuts on the sofa bed.

In a city both sleepy and restless as Melbourne, there was nothing like doing nothing and saying nothing, sensing the time trickling slowly from the creases in your fingers. It could make you happier. Or even more lonely.

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This post was previously published on Celine Hosea’s blog.

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