My Love and Me — Imperfect for Each Other
It’s not that I can do no wrong. I certainly can, and do. I’ve proven myself more than capable of doing or saying the wrong thing. It’s less often than you think, but more often than I would care to admit. No, it’s not that I can do no wrong. It’s the fact that when I do wrong, she — my girlfriend, my love — doesn’t hold it against me.
I don’t understand it, honestly. I try to, but it is a bit difficult for me. I don’t have the kind of self-confidence which enables others to take their partners’ criticism in stride. One might even suggest that such “confidence” reveals not confidence, but arrogance or selfishness, but…that’s a discussion for another day, and another post.
When I do something wrong, I hear about it. Now, this might not seem strange, except that I’m dating a Korean woman. And Koreans aren’t exactly known for their directness. Before you SJWs with a chip on your shoulder go accusing me of racism, they should know I’ve lived in South Korea for most of the past decade. So, I do know something or two about the way things work here.
So, anyway, my girlfriend makes her thoughts known, when she feels I’ve done her wrong. I manage to unleash hell upon myself without even trying to do so, which is no great accomplishment for a guy. I’ve never done anything truly unforgivable or horrible, but I have paid the price for insensitivity on more than one occasion. And that’s enough to cause shame.
But my girlfriend?
However much of an idiot I am, sooner or later, she forgives me. Sooner or later, there’s a Facebook posting by her saying how blissful she is with me. These moments far outnumber the bad ones, and it is these that really perplex me. I mean, how is it that I — no Romeo, no Hank Moody, no George Clooney — have managed to not only win the love of a wonderful, beautiful woman, but also her devotion? How did I get to be so lucky?
When I look in the mirror, I don’t always like what I see. I’m average, and I’m okay admitting that. But my girlfriend sees through my insecurities while, amazingly, carrying her own baggage of insecurity. Perhaps I’m too biased, but she has a lot less to worry about overall (at least in the looks department) than I do. I try to help her, and while it’s frustrating when she resists, I’m hoping for more success over the long term.
But me? My awkward, toothy smile I hate, and hide from the world as often as I can? She loves it. I don’t know why. My hair, which in some places appears to already be receding, but in others gets as curly as it did when I was a young child? She thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world. The pictures of me in my gangly, embarrassing teenage years, when I looked like a stereotypical Bar Mitzvah kid whose balls hadn’t yet dropped?
Those kinds of pics are adorable, to her. Which means I’m kind of adorable, to her. This is good, because my youngest sister’s threats to post embarrassing photos of me on Facebook as punishment for some perceived slight no longer carry much weight.
The only person whose opinion about those pics matters…is likely to fall more in love with me, not less, because of them. So, sis, send them on. Please. I need all the help I can get! But seriously…
I don’t get it. I can’t understand it, sometimes.
Honestly, though, I’ve given up on actively trying to understand it, and have instead reconciled myself to being loved by someone who actually, truly loves me for me. I’m not as accomplished as I wish I were. She doesn’t care. I’m not as handsome as others are. She only has eyes for me. I’m as imperfect a man as a man can reasonably be. She doesn’t hold it against me…for too long. Why? Perhaps God only knows.
I do know this: I know some people search all over the world, over the course of a lifetime, to find the kind of love that I — that we — have found. I’m pretty sure we’re both not perfect people, but I do believe that for all of our faults, we are perfect for each other. Even the fact that she’ll drink up my glass of beer when I’m looking the other way counts in her favor.
Perfect for each other…that is what counts, overall. And that is what I have faith in whenever I make an ass of myself.
I love you, Chloe.^^