This post was drafted last Sunday. I never got around to posting it, so here we go:
By: Gabriela Yareliz
Yesterday was such a lovely day, filled with worship, gardens and long walks. Unfortunately, the end of it was messy. I wasn’t feeling well, and I ended up vomiting about five times. (I know, so gross). My boyfriend was so sweet, he pulled over (which is where I started). Not sure how I made it home clean. Lots of heavy breathing across the Brooklyn Bridge. I felt bad that he had to witness my delirious, can-barely-hold-my-head-up self. And he was so sweet. Constantly squeezing my hand and telling me I was almost home. I guess that’s another aspect of relationships and vulnerability. The one where you are so sick and spend the rest of the night basically crying and shivering in your bathroom floor.
It’s often embarrassing at first to let someone see you like that. It’s a time where you often have no control over your body, how you look, and to be honest I could barely speak. Some people texted me last night, and I have no idea what I responded.
Maybe the universe is trying to teach me a lesson. I always want to be prompt, efficient and on schedule. And yet here I am, feeling weak as hell in my bed on a Sunday morning, when my initial plan was to start cooking at 7:30 am.
I think this completes the my-significant-other-has-seen-me-at-my-worse cycle. He has seen me be moody, overwhelmed, upset, indignant, I have cried, and now he has seen me vomit a meal on the side of a Manhattan street (great view). I guess that is as good as it gets. And still, he was the kindest most compassionate person. It would have made me cry if I would have had the ability to cry without throwing up on myself.
Love is that which stays, through good and bad, and it says ‘I am going to bring you home.’