I hate long distance relationships.
I’ve hated it since I was a kid and my dad would always go to another country for work, leaving my mom and my siblings, thus the first long distance relationship I could ever have.
Whenever he would come home I’d ask when he’d leave again.
Little did I know years later that I would be the one who was doing the leaving in my relationship.
Let me go back from the beginning.
“Hi. Nice to meet you. I’m Anthony.”
It was love at first sight for him. At least that’s what he told me.
Years before I would actually really remember his name, a chubby Chinese boy already liked me.
And when it was my turn to fall in love with him, I fell so hard that I was agreeing we were soulmates by our 4th month together.
Call it being just fifteen, or having “young love”, but it felt right. I just knew it did.
Whenever I’d hold his hand I’d feel safe and warm and the incessant butterflies drove me insane.
But a happy kind of insane.
He was supportive of my writing, thought it was cool that I made him immortal with my stories. He made me laugh so hard even when I was just stressing about something a minute ago, and he was just in love.
I knew I was a hopeless romantic long before he introduced himself to me. I just believed in love and everything that was usually defined with it.
And I was in love. There was no other way to describe it.
And then we were together for a year. Then two.
I have met his mom. He has met my whole family.
We weaved our dreams together: graduate, find a job, find a nice apartment, get married and travel.
Businesses where my love for writing and his love for awesome things were planned out, right down to the little details.
But then right around the time after the third year we were together, I got the opportunity to get my dream job: to work for a publishing company. I was going to be paid to read and write, to talk to people who loved to do the same.
There was a catch. The office was in a whole other island, another region of the country.
The irony that when I was a kid I hated the fact that my dad worked far away and the reality that I was doing the same wasn’t lost on me.
And while it was an easy 4 hour ride back home, it was still the same: there was a distance in between me and the boy I promised to be with my whole life.
This is where my story starts.
Long Distance Relationships and other Disasters.