Chinese legend has it that there was once a woman who, while mourning her deceased husband, cried tears of blood. Her cattle farmer husband had gone off to fight a war. Every day and night while he was away, the woman waited patiently for him and then took her waiting to a mountain top where she’d stare deep into the horizon for her beloved’s return. But surprise, surprise–he never returned. Her optimism regressed into soul-crushing sadness. And with no Netflix, burritos, or ice cream to ease the heartbreak, she just sat on the mountain and cried. The tears she continued to shed turned into blood and then mysteriously transformed into little tiny red beans, readying the earth with seeds to sprout the first ever red bean tree.
This myth and iterations of it have come to symbolize a kind of punishing but enduring love and unwavering devotion. Because of this, it’s become customary to eat red bean soup at Chinese weddings, as if auspicious foods could steer someone with a roving eye away from committing adultery. But I love red bean soup, so any excuse to eat it, I’ll take it.
“I think our faux-breakups makes us closer,” I said to my boyfriend this morning. We had just polished off breakfast – he had fried eggs and leftover pad thai; I had bacon and yogurt – and we were watching this TED Talk about “the secret to desire in a long term relationship.” It’s not unusual that a perfectly monotonous occasion like breakfast would become an event tinged with emotion and deep discussion. That's how we do. Luckily, my epiphany made him chuckle. "You're drama," he responded.
Our relationship has had some growing pains lately. There's been some yelling and crying, followed by making up and making out. I think we both relish in a little bit of drama. We occasionally need the long soliloquies in the middle of an empty street, the reflection of moonlight bouncing off of our tears, and the painful exchange of personal hygiene products, keys, or whatever else is symbolic of goodbye. And when the reality of finality hits, we embrace and end up filling the bedroom with loud, desperate but loving grunts. (TMI?)
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