Best Part

As the months have turned to mere days, I find myself cherishing the best part of my life in Taiwan, and trying to let the disappointing aspects disolve into the air. The circumstances of my leaving work have been less than ideal, causing me some sadness and anger, but I don't want to talk about all that. Today, as I cozied the covers around me, I hugged the best part of my life here close to me, feeling my belly against the arch of his back in typical spooning position. As I got up to go to the bathroom, he pulled me back toward him, imploring me to stay by his side sleepily insisting "Best Part! Best Part!" It's our way of saying to each other "I love you endlessly. Come back to bed." That is the good stuff right there--the best parts of each day are contained in those moments we share early and often, remaining safely cuddled underneath the sheets, pressed against each other's warmth, unsure what else the day may hold, but lucky enough to be starting it off this way yet again.

And so, as I ready my spirit for its journey homeward bound, I can't help but wonder what I'll do without my "best part." This is a man six years my junior, but blessed with such a kind heart that knows me all too well, carrying a smile that melts away my sadnesses, of which there have been many. How do I right myself without him, understanding my need to go and his right to stay? How do I learn to dance alone again? I've never met anyone quite like him before. Accpeting his love has been a lesson in saying yes--yes to my heart--yes to being taken care of--yes to the risk that comes with putting yourself out there one more time. I don't write much about my boyfriend here, but today I'm finding it hard not to. I share so much of myself here, why not the authentically good stuff, too? I couldn't leave Taiwan without rightfully introducing you to the best part of it. That would just be selfish of me.

But sorry folks, he's already spoken for. It's too bad, really. He's quite the catch. He knows how to bring me joy, in little and big ways each day. He listens to me complain and cry and laugh and worry aloud, knowing how to calm me. He hugs me. A lot. He buys me juicy oranges and feeds me slices in bed. He brushes my hair after our nightly shower, gingerly stroking my head as he tidies my thick mane. He finds my favorite red wine and surprises me with a glass in the evening. He makes me little American comfort food snacks of sliced granny smith apples dipped in peanut butter, serving them up on our cheap, colorful plastic Ikea plates. He surprises me most evenings with my favorite Oolong iced tea (hold the sugar, less ice), stopping on his way to buy me treats at the 7-11 for hypoglycemia. He serves up the most amazing meals, then turns right around and does the dishes, too. He loves to saute these magical meals in our one-burner kitchen--chicken and greens, fresh asparagus and shrimp, egg pies with lettuce and dressing for breakfast. He used to buy me brightly colored and deliciously fragrant flowers before the kitten arrived. He tests my bloodsugar for me when I'm too tired or afraid to see the number. He even pops my popcorn for me before we watch movies together on my little laptop screen: Ratatouille, Chaos and Waitress this week alone. He quickly went out to buy me a new mug, after I told him the cat broke and shattered my favorite Taiwan mug, taking it as a bad omen if left broken and not promptly replaced. He lovingly surprises Figgy with indulgent cans of tuna and fish, and cleans the litterbox time and time again. He never complains about the furball who nests atop his head each morning, purring loudly until he is fed. Did I mention he cleans and scrubs the floors and does the dirty laundry, too?

All of this and more he gladly does for me, despite long days spent working in the lab for his professor, hours of concentrated study on his research and thesis daily, without a day off. Despite my rather free-form schedule as of late, he continues to shower me with goodness and love, his kindness manifesting itself in new ways each day. When I chose to stay in bed reading, hobbit like in our little studio for two days straight, he took me on a scooter ride through the city just so I could feel the wind through my hair (then brushed it for me later). Just yesterday he delivered a sushi-lunch to my bedside, never asking me why I'm still wearing pajama bottoms at 1:00 in the afternoon; all of it a kind of nurturing and love I've never quite experienced like this before. Saying yes to all this can, at times, feel indulgent and silly for someone who fancies herself an independent, world-traveling American, but I have learned to say yes, despite the nagging voices in my head that tell me I'm not worth it and to grow up and do it myself. A deeper part of me knows not to trust this voice--and trusts how good it feels to be loved, to feel worthy and pretty and special, to say yes to love and the countless blessings that go along with the joy of sharing the "best parts" of life with another. When I see myself through his eyes, I know that love is boundless and infinite and that God's grace is working right here and now, through each of us. If there's a better feeling than that, I haven't found it yet.