Oceans Away: Loved ones Who Are Forced to Be Apart
The year 2020 is one of a kind. When the pandemic first arrived, I shrugged and told myself that it will soon pass, and our lives will go back to what it used to be. Although the future did not look too optimistic, at the time, I could still hit the rewind and play button in my head and traverse through the more delightful memories I had in the summer. I could picture the geeky and supportive friends I made at my internship, working by day and sipping cocktails by weekends with my supervisor, biking around Lake Monona through the gentle breeze and bright sunbeams. It was the first time I spent the entire summer in Madison. I did miss the loved ones back home — my mother, my grandparents, and this girl I was talking to, but I could still manage, and the busy but fulfilling summer definitely helped.
As the outbreak worsened, I was among the more cautious people. My roommate and I made sure that we always keep hefty storage of face masks, started ordering food from local restaurants, and eventually to groceries. Walking down the stairs and exiting my apartment’s front gate became more like a weekly activity, and we had no visitors either. The way we ran our lives completely changed. “This is for the best,” I said to myself, “at least neither of us will catch the virus.” Life in isolation, however, was not so easy to adjust to as I thought. I started to lose the concept of a routine. My life became arhythmic cycles of schoolwork, eating, YouTube, chores, more schoolwork, stress eating, binge content consumption, and some pathetic hours of sleep. The time I spent reflecting diminished, and I found it harder to connect and grasp the joyful moments I had in the summer. I started to miss people back home in Beijing. I talked with them once in a while on FaceTime, but not as much I wished, as our lives became busier. At some point, daylight saving time even set us one more hour apart.
In our exchange of messages, the girl I was talking to told me that her affection kept growing, and that she missed me day after day. I did not know how to respond to her, nor did I know how to feel about it. I miss her, of course, but I don’t know how much emotions I can afford investing into this, for I fear the temporal and geographical distance between us will turn our exchange of affections into attempting to toss stones across the Mariana Trench — neither can we land them on the opposite side nor fill up the gap. I tried to tell her this, but she said that it was her heart that housed these feelings, not always her head. I felt like being in a dilemma. But she also told me that she was willing to wait. I knew she meant it. “What do I do,” naturally, I asked myself.
I found it difficult to process my situation and my relationships with the people I love, and at the time, I happened to be reading the Odyssey for school. I found it incredibly relatable. A guy being trapped far away on an island across the oceans, missing his wife but lacks the means and mental strength to embark on his journey back. I could tell how much grief Odysseus was experiencing in his conversation with Calypso.
“Ah great goddess,”
worldly Odysseus answered, “don’t be angry with me,
please. All that you say is true, how well I know.
Look at my wise Penelope. She falls far short of you,
your beauty, stature. She is mortal after all
and you, you never age or die …
Nevertheless I long — I pine, all my days —
to travel home and see the dawn of my return.
And if a god will wreck me yet again on the wine-dark sea,
I can bear that too, with a spirit tempered to endure.
Much have I suffered, labored long and hard by now
in the waves and wars. Add this to the total —
bring the trial on!”
(Odyssey, Book 5, pg. 84)
Odysseus’ love for Penelope is admirable. He has been trapped on the island of Ogygia for years. He had a female company that was even more ideal than Penelope, at least in layman’s eyes. The journey to home was filled with danger, suffering, and uncertainty. It was going to take time. Yet Odysseus still chose his beloved Penelope. My situation is nowhere near the temptation and hardship he faced. I found his determination inspiring and that the calling in his heart resonates with mine.
What was more astoundingly relatable was the fact that Odysseus’ wife, Penelope, set up her mind that she would love no one other than her allegedly deceased husband. When the bard sang a song about the Trojan war, Penelope’s heart shattered into a thousand pieces.
Suddenly, dissolving in tears and bursting through
the bard’s inspired voice, she cried out, “Phemius!
So many other songs you know to hold us spellbound,
works of the gods and men that singers celebrate.
Sing one of those as you sit beside them here
and they drink their wine in silence.
But break off this song —
the unendurable song that always rends the heart inside me …
the unforgettable grief, it wounds me most of all!
How I long for my husband — alive in memory, always,
that great man whose fame resounds through Hellas
right to the depths of Argos!”
(Odyssey, Book 1, pg. 13)
I feel fortunate that neither Odysseus nor I am dead, so that our loved ones’ hearts are not broken for much longer, especially when they are reminded of us. I start to wonder what she would react if she reads these passages. Will tears be shed? I can’t tell.
All I can remember is that when the last time I was with her was a year ago. Winter break, to be exact. We were sitting in a taxi cab, and it was a few days before I was bound for the US for the next semester. Back then, I wasn’t sure if she had feelings for me until she asked, “Can you be back in the summer so we can go to the art museum together?” to which I answered, “Yes. For you, I will.”
It is much regret that I wasn’t able to keep my promise. The flight tickets became a ridiculously scarce commodity thanks to the pandemic. She said she understood the situation. But I could feel a sliver of helplessness in her voice. Thinking back on that, I couldn’t help but imagine how Odysseus said farewell to Penelope and promised her to be back at home as soon as the war is over. I couldn’t help but imagine the confusion and desperation Penelope felt when the news of the Achaean victory reached Ithaca, but none of Odysseus’ men nor himself returned.
When I come across the passage where Odysseus sat down with Athena by the sacred olive’s trunk, Athena told Odysseus that:
“Royal son of Laertes, Odysseus, old campaigner,
think how to lay your hands on all those brazen suitors,
lording it over your house now, three whole years,
courting your noble wife, offering gifts to win her.
But she, forever broken-hearted for your return,
builds up each man’s hopes —
dangling promises, dropping hints to each —
but all the while with something else in mind.”
(Odyssey, Book 13, pg. 223)
It made me think of how Penelope hid all her emotions deep inside her and appears to be engaging with things happening with closer proximity. This dual-life is also something the girl and I experience. We live in different worlds, in a literal sense. She works while I attend school. She wakes up when I go to bed. We eat different foods. We even read in different languages. However, when we think of each other, it is as if the two worlds are in sync for a brief moment, but these moments keep the bond between us.
Though the bond is weakened because of distance. As the clock keeps ticking, small pieces start to break off the bond, making it more fragile than ever. I want to know how others do it. How do they cope with the distance, with isolation, with being out of sync with the environment they live in. I seek answers in classics, which then led me to another love story — the story of Antigone and Haemon. To be honest, I do not have much liking for the protagonist Antigone, for her insistence on justice and ritual is too idealistic, and her act of killing herself cost three lives and shattered two families. But I do relate to Haemon. His father Creon once warned him that he should “never let his feelings for a woman influence an important decision”, and that “women are our object of desire. We may embrace them, but we shouldn’t let them cloud our judgment.” (Antigone in Ferguson, 28:03) Even though the society back in his days exemplified by Creon’s words was largely misogynistic and objectified women, Haemon was able to act out of his true feelings.
When Antigone’s life ended on a dangling noose, Haemon started “clinging to her waist and sobbing” (Antigone in Ferguson, 46:43). When the sorrow comes to a climax, he “looked sadly upon his bride, laying her body gently upon the cavern floor, and then fell upon his sword, plunging its sharp blade deep inside. He held onto his lover with feeble hands, coughing out blood, which stained her white cheeks.” (Antigone in Ferguson, 47:31) It’s a powerful move and a tragic but beautiful scene. I think I did learn some truth from Antigone and Haemon. Of course, I would not follow either of them and take my own life, but Haemon never hesitated for a split second to join Antigone and be together with her, whether that is being in the palace or in the house of Hades (Antigone in Ferguson, 47:40). There’s something in common these ancient classic writings have on love and lovers, and I think this simple truth still holds to this day: we have the insuppressible desire to be with people we genuinely love. And no matter how we try to numb or restrain ourselves, the desire is there to remain. Even people with the blood of gods in their veins cannot deny this destiny.
I tried very hard to wrap my head around all these texts, and finally confirmed where my heart is at. I decided to book a ticket home. The trip in front of me is a miniature of Odysseus’ adventure: having been tested negative for two different tests 48 hours before boarding, spending 11 hours on a crowded plane, quarantining for 14 days after landing, and so on. But I am willing to take on this journey, reunite with her, and look into her eyes. And only the gods know if she will react like Penelope when she sees Odysseus revealing himself:
Penelope felt her knees go slack, her heart surrender,
recognizing the strong clear signs Odysseus offered.
She dissolved in tears, rushed to Odysseus, flung her arms
around his neck and kissed his head and cried out,
(Odyssey, Book 23, pg. 387)
