Outlook

My birthday took place on a Tuesday that year.  

It always takes work to plan parties on a weekday. Choosing between an outing after the satisfaction of a fully completed work week, or the guilt-free risk and responsibility of your friends not showing up for work promptly the next day.

Turning 31 on this predestined day, I was having an unexpected celebratory year up until this point. I had just gotten engaged two months prior to my partner–a simple, drama-bursting proposal—just his style.

Unpredictable.

I remember the unexplainable jittery nervousness he held months before our proposal, the day of our ‘official’ move-in together, and one day before Easter. I had lived on my own, independently for nearly ten years up until that point, two of the latter years taking place during our relationship.

Jasmine’s personal photos: 3rd-floor views from the apartment block. The newly renovated interior-Brownstone building housed a total of 18 residents. 6 apartments on each floor. I lived in a single studio apartment for two years before we moved into the upper 3rd floor one bedroom apartment together.

I was set on maintaining my single-independent womanhood until marriage. For my partner, the challenge to persuade me to move in with him was a trial, he gladly accepted. From the beginning of our relationship, he held no reserves in sharing the intention of his affection.

In his words—“my path is clear”.

How could he be so certain, so soon?

I could hear my mom’s voice in the back of my head—“Unless you're ready for marriage, don’t move in together.” Perhaps this was a recommendation from her decision as an early twenties bride, a nudge to her daughter from her own experience to hold on to those uninhibited moments of independence as long as possible. To build the strength and presence of my own identity, before melding it with someone else.

I could hear my mom’s voice in the back of my head—“Unless you're ready for marriage, don’t move in together.”

Up until 30, I had enjoyed the tears and happiness of “single life” in my twenties. The late-night calls and outings with friends—nights to forget, and days to remember. Defined my worth by the strength of my deepest friendships and family relationships. I’d pulled many an all-nighter professionally, in pursuit of degree advancement, career advancement, and freedom advancement, in the pursuit of entrepreneurship.

I was happily secure, in the unknown strength and presence of my own self-identity.

Jasmine’s personal photo: Kitchen view one day after move-in. Transitioning two living spaces into a cozy one-bedroom apartment. We bought 4-industrial style shelves for the brick wall and somehow, successfully applied one that was strong enough to hold a pot.

The trial of his persuasions to unite in space eventually softened me, and we decided to make the move to a new flat, a few floors up from my studio apartment. The day of our move was filled with the task of transporting, discarding, and uniting items between two apartments into one, with friends. In true unpredictable style, following the labor of our move, he proposed.

The Proposal

Me: (laying on the couch)

Him: (strategically standing behind boxes by the window) “Hey, look at this!”, he said as he pointed.

Me: (exhausted on the couch) “I’m really tired, can I look later?”

Him: (picks up loosely taped moving box with both hands and carries it over to me on the couch) *Drops box on my legs*

Me: “What’s going on-n?!”

Him: "You remember earlier in our relationship, when I accidentally broke those plates your Mom had gifted you in college? I got them repaired for you.”

Me: (Looking at the bottomless box of household items on my legs not seeing a single plate) “I'm tired, I don't want to look at these plates, like what's going on-n?!”

In the process of my confusion, I came to understand that this was the start of his, proposal. A messy, unorganized, loosely thought-out proposal that I, accepted.

Jasmine’s personal photos: A simple jade green ring. I have a spiritual connection to the soothing power of jade. In the 3 years of our relationship up to this point, we talked about the significance of simplicity in building a life together. Focused more on the ‘meaning’ than the ‘material’.

In my efforts to overcompensate for his discouragement, and re-coup some excitement, I suggested we go out for a night drive–and we hurried downstairs for a night drive around the city, in the spirit of union.

In the midst of this celebratory moment, as we drove around the lakes in geo-remembrance of our first date, I felt a missing element in the depth of his emotion—the purity of his connection to my spirit.

Something was off.