Diary Lies

Dear Diary

Today for the first time, I ended a relationship. I said to my dearest husband: “I want a separation.”

I want a separation. I want to separate myself from lies. From living in multiple lives. From playing a role in a seemly ideal life.

My wish was granted.

Dear Diary

Today my dearest husband said to me: “Well I did my best. If that's not good enough it's time for both of us to move on.”

He typed these simple words in a chat, followed by “I'll talk to you later.” Then he disappeared.

It didn’t hurt my heart. I didn’t experience the pain that I have encountered before. What I felt was some kind of irritation as if someone was squeezing my heart in an uncomfortable way.

How I thought it was a comfortable relationship.

It is never good enough. It doesn’t even matter if he tries. And he never does anyway.

I remember attending a marketing conference once and at a workshop the facilitator said to us “good enough is not enough.” He said, “Good enough can never make your customers satisfied.”

Maybe that also applies to relationships.

Good enough is not enough. How funny. Because if all he thinks he can take this relationship to a place that is good enough, then we have a problem.

I am not sure who the victim is anymore.

Living with him is comfortable. As I've said it is never passionate. But comfortable.

“He is a good person” that’s how I describe him when people ask.

And this good person is a good companion.

I thought it was good enough. I thought it was good enough. I thought it was.

I chose him to be my husband and it was a deliberate decision. I chose to stay with him even when I knew I was not 100% happy with him. I chose to cure my loneliness from how he never desired me by having affairs with other men.

I chose him because I thought the life with him was comfortable and stable, both financially and emotionally. I didn’t need to worry about money and I didn’t need to worry about going through the emotional rollercoaster when one’s in love.

On paper he’s got everything. He is a man who would satisfy any checklist for an ideal husband. And I wish I could love him more. But again, have I ever loved him?

At this point of time I don’t know what’s best for me what’s not. Maybe I never have a clue and that’s why I am in this mess.

Maybe really, it’s about time to move on. Maybe what I need is more than just comfortable.

Because after all, I can be comfortable with myself.

Dear Diary

C flew over to Hong Kong to spend some time with me. My dearest husband. The man I chose to spend the rest of my life with.

I went to the airport straight after a dinner with clients. Waited for him in the airport, I had a slim hope that by seeing him I would get some normality back. Victim of wishful thinking, I was. Because any expectation would always lead to some disappointments.

I felt even lonelier, with C right next to me. He was within reach but he was an ocean apart from me.

I looked at him, this beautifully well-mannered man with a gorgeous chiseled face. The man I should desire but I am no longer. And it’s because, he no longer desires me.

In C’s eyes I am not a woman. Not an attractive woman anyway. He does not look at me and instantly wants to grab me for a kiss. He is too familiar with my body, thin or curve, he has been through all those stages with me. When I am fully made up I am as invisible as when I am naked in front of him.

I turn heads when I walk on the street. I attract people’s second glance. I just don’t get these attentions from C.

It’s disappointed that I could only obtain certain confidence as a woman through other people, other people than my husband.

Lying down on the king size bed in the hotel suite with C next to me, I cried myself asleep. I fell into this dark and gloomy space, drifting.

And that’s when I realised my normality was actually an agony.

Dear Diary

C is my husband. You know it already. And you also know that he does not like to make love to me. And when he does, it feels like paying rent or fulfilling an assignment.

I know he loves me. He does. And I love him too.

What is the definition of love? It's a highly complex question but there is a simple answer. Love has different forms and each form suits different people. I have been through many forms of love, the painful ones, the lusty ones, the unrequited ones. And at this stage I want a lukewarm-water-like love.

Comfortable. Not intimidating.

Compassionate. Not passionate.

Someone asked me “How do you know if he is not fucking around like you do?”

I don’t know. And I don’t want to know. Ignorance is bliss. It will hurt me so much knowing that he enjoys fucking other people then making love to me. I rather not to think about it.

And that’s why I will never let him know that I enjoy having sex with other people more than with him.