For a long time, Y wasn’t feeling well, but she wouldn’t go to the hospital; she just toughed it out. Every day, she would whine to me about being hot, even though the air conditioner at home was already set to 18°C. When I told her to go to the hospital, she would cry and say she was afraid. She was scared that the hospital would actually find a serious illness. I told her that was exactly why she needed to go—early detection meant early treatment. Finally, after my relentless pleading, she gave in and agreed to go register for an appointment on a Sunday.
The doctor asked about Y’s symptoms: she had been sensitive to heat, felt like there was a fire burning in her stomach, and had difficulty breathing. When the doctor asked if she had asthma, I said yes, she had been diagnosed with allergic asthma before. The doctor explained that it might be due to the high pollen count in the summer acting as an allergen. If we were worried about other underlying issues, we could run a few more tests. Y was stingy about the cost and insisted on just picking up medication, refusing the tests. Knowing she wasn’t feeling well, I didn’t want to make a scene at the hospital. I kept my temper and coaxed her to get the exams, telling her not to worry about the money—isn’t that what we earn money for? After much persuasion, Y finally agreed.
We spent the whole day at the hospital, and Y, who was already wilted, became even more lethargic. As we sat on the chairs waiting for the results, she leaned against my shoulder and said I had it rough. I told her, “As long as you are healthy and happy, none of this matters.”
Y asked me if she had been very unreasonable today. “People who are sick are like this. It’s fine, I can be a little more patient. The results will be out soon. Is there anything you want to eat?” “I want to eat rice in soup (pao fan).” “Okay, we have beef at home. Do you want to eat it? If so, I’ll make you beef balls.” “Okay, I want that. I only ate a little bit today; I’m so hungry. Are you hungry? You haven’t eaten anything today either.” “I’m okay. When I’m busy, I don’t feel anything.” “I’m sorry, Ruru. I don’t know why I’ve been acting so strange lately.” “It’s okay, you’re sick. You’ll be back to your normal self once you recover.” “When will the results be out? I’m so sleepy.” “Probably in another half hour. Lean on me and sleep for a bit, I’ll wake you up when they’re ready.” “Okay. I love you so much, Ruru baby.” I kissed her forehead. “I love you too, Y.”
I was home writing when I suddenly felt the urge to dye my hair. I went to a highly-rated salon and got it dyed pink. After I was done, it hit me—crap, this is so flashy. I messaged Y to ask her: “Will you always love me, wifey?” Y: “Of course. What kind of crazy question is that? Did you cheat on me?!” “Cheating is a matter of principle; there’s no forgiving that.” “It’s not a matter of principle. You’ll see when you get home.” “Okay. You aren’t just saying that to make me come home early, are you?” “No. You’ll see when you get home. Oh, and you said you’d always love me, don’t go back on your word.” “What’s wrong? Did something happen?” “Nothing big. You’ll know when you get home.” “Okay, I’ll be home early.” Y replied with an “OK” sticker.
Y has severe growing pains. She didn’t like to eat much as a kid, and she’s still not a big eater now, so her knees ache whenever it’s rainy. Since she’s the type who refuses to go to the hospital, we’ve never really solved the knee problem. Whenever the pains flare up, she whimpers while rubbing her knees. My heart aches for her, so I let her sleep while I rub them for her. Sometimes it’s so bad that I have to rub them all night long. We’ve tried patches and folk remedies, but nothing works. Watching her cry so pitifully with tears still hanging on her face, I’ve decided to find some time to look for a traditional Chinese medicine doctor. Since she won’t go to the hospital, I’ll bring the doctor to our house.
At five in the morning, I saw the sun rising. I filled a hot water bottle for her to apply as a compress and went to prepare breakfast. Y had been in pain all night, so I made her something nourishing. While she slept in, I tidied up the clothes she would wear. Since she didn’t sleep well, I let her rest until seven. I woke her up by patting her shoulder, rubbing her hair and cheeks, and coaxing her to rise. Seeing her spring back to life, a new day began. At breakfast, I tried to discuss the knee issue again, but Y was stubborn. I think she doesn’t treasure her body at all—letting herself be in pain like that is no way to live! Y thinks that since it only hurts when it rains, there’s no need to see a doctor. We had a little spat about it. Before she left for work, I straightened her collar, and she kissed my cheek, saying she knew what she was doing. I muttered to myself, “What could you possibly know? You’re someone who doesn’t take her own health seriously.”
I don’t know where Y gets so much energy. On Saturdays, she’s up at 6:30 sharp to cook, shower, and run. After she finishes her run, she wakes me up to eat. We lie down for 15 minutes, then start deep cleaning. I sweep, she mops; I wash the dishes, she cooks; I wash the bedsheets, she puts on new covers. I have to sit down after a bit of work, but Y can keep going indefinitely. She even does push-ups during my break! Sometimes, seeing her so full of life, I reach out for a hug. She just scoops me up in a princess carry. I lean against her neck, blushing, and say, “Wow, hubby, you’re so strong!” Compliments just spill out of my mouth; she loves it. She held me and did seven squats—that girl has some serious strength!
While out for a walk in the evening, we passed a flower bed. Y wanted to walk on the edge, so I held her from below. She took each step cautiously, like walking a tightrope. After a lap, she asked me to carry her back down. I squatted down, thankful I was wearing pants, or it would have been quite inconvenient. As I carried her home, she whispered in my ear, complaining about her boss and difficult colleagues, but then talked about how happy she was to be full and satisfied every day. She said agreeing to my confession was the most important choice she ever made. I thought to myself, actually, that’s not true. Y would have been happy no matter who she met. It was only by meeting her that I became truly happy.
Even though Y is a girl, she’s incredibly strong. To give you an example: during winter break, she worked in parcel sorting. The company used her like a forklift. She was the only woman on the unloading team, and she did it for the entire break. When I asked if she was tired, she said it was “alright.” Later, I tried it for a day and couldn’t handle it—the stacks of tires were taller than I was. She worked hard at it for months. She’s so strong and sturdy; that’s my Y for you!
A new fruit shop opened downstairs. Every night, Y buys fruits on her way home, but they’re always the ones I like. I asked her why she didn’t buy the ones she likes, expecting a romantic line about how “what you like is what matters most.” Instead, she said, “The ones I like aren’t in season.” Sigh. I’m not the only one who can be unromantic, but that’s the real, honest Y for you.
Sometimes we have little fights. If Y is at fault, she has special ways to coax me. She might buy a blind box, put a note inside, seal it up, and leave it on my desk. Once I open it, I find her special apology. Or, she’ll buy a bunch of little tangerines and arrange them to spell “I’m sorry.” Seeing her cute actions, I forgive her even if I’m still angry. If I’m at fault, I write her a long essay—at least 5,000 words in a handwritten letter—and buy some sparkly jewelry to go with it. I have a courier send it to her office, then buy a huge bouquet of flowers, cook her favorite meal, and play her favorite songs by the time she gets home. After all that, she usually isn’t mad anymore. That’s why you have to put work into a relationship to make it happy and fulfilling!
I once annoyed her while she was applying makeup, and she gave me a jab. I behaved myself after that. Y looks so elegant putting on her makeup; watching this beauty draw her brows and paint her eyes—especially when she’s my own wife—made me laugh out loud. She gave me a look like I was a fool. Since we had time before we were supposed to go out, she playfully put makeup on me, too. Her touch was magical; she turned me from a “nobody” into a great beauty. Maybe because she’s not used to doing makeup on others, I ended up looking exactly like her. She said, “That’s what you call a ‘wife-wife face’.”
If I mention in the morning that I want roasted sweet potatoes, I’ll be eating them by the time she gets off work. Y is so good at making my casual remarks a reality, which is why I could never not love her. She’s just so, so good. I love her so much and want to be with her for a lifetime—next life, the life after that, for all eternity. Even if we’re reincarnated as dogs, cats, or even cockroaches, I’m just so happy whenever I think about being with Y.
Being together, it’s hard not to be inseparable. You can’t really resist a physical urge to be close—I love pressing my face against hers, holding her hands, kissing her, hugging her, and stroking her hair. When I look into her eyes, I only see her. I can only see her in the whole world. If I leave her, I feel empty. I can’t live without her; my heart and my eyes are filled with nothing but her—the best her, my best lover.
We bought some locally brewed wine while traveling and had a big meal at home with it. We kept clinking glasses, and since the seller said it was homemade and “had no alcohol content,” we honestly believed them. We drank five or six cups each until I saw Y start to double in my vision. We ended up passing out on the floor together for the night and woke up with colds. You really shouldn’t trust people when they say their homemade brew has no alcohol—it’s not that it has no alcohol, it’s that nobody knows how strong it is!
Y came home one night with ten cups of milk tea. When I asked why she bought so many, she said the shop was having a promotion: buy one, get a toy. If you collect twenty-five, you can exchange them for a big toy—a cute little penguin that I liked. “You could have just looked for the same one online. We can’t finish all this, it’s a waste.” “But I feel a sense of accomplishment by winning it myself!” “Alright, alright. I’ll check to see if we can fit some in the fridge. We can finish them in three days and win the prize.” “Yay! Ruru baby, I knew you were the best. I love you!” She ran over to kiss me, and looking at her smiling face, I couldn’t help but laugh along.
My phone started pinging; Y had flooded it with messages—a whole screen of hearts and “I love you.” I gave a shy reply of “Me too,” then turned around to screenshot it and post it on my Moments with the caption: “Daily life records, love is under control.” Y was the first to “like” it and flooded the comments with “I miss you.” Sigh, why is my wife so clingy?