When we met four months ago, I had no idea that I’d be signing B’s passport number for my passport application. To be honest, I never thought that there would be any rice thrown over my head – I mean, there was no rice but we are married all the same.
It started on a Sunday in September. I was heading out to ex girl’s friend’s birthday celebration when my Tinder blinked:
“hey how’s it going J”
Without punctuation – started it. And that’s how it went, completely without pause, and now, without the possibility of a full stop (this of course, is the hope).
Two days later, we were standing awkwardly close at a live poetry show in Obz. And then we were naked on my bed on Friday, and in love the next week. True lesbian style. Three months later we were standing at the altar (a large rock on the beach hehe), reading vows we typed on our cellphones.
And now here we are.
Married for a month. Me at 24. And her at 22. She’s relocating. I am making plans to include another person in my living space, and in my life – permanently. We’re in love – honeymooning from different parts of the world. Trying to figure it all out. We’re waiting. We’re reflecting. And we’re growing.
This is my account of how it really happened:
“hey how’s it going J” was my best attempt at casual. In reality, I was high key jittery that she’d just popped up on my screen as a new match!
She was so hot and I was so thirsty.
At that point, I was one week into a stretch of no sex or social life and welcomed even cyber company. As tinder goes, most of my matches were fruitless and unfulfilling, but we spent that first matched day talking about periods, full moons, and lesbian movies and I fell asleep with a goofy grin and an excited libido, phone in hand.
Having spent the previous three years single (and really happy about it), I was just as shaken by our first hang out as I was ready for it. After our first week together – which was accompanied by a chorus of alcohol, poetry, and incredible sex – we were saying “I love you” and I was thinking “Fuck. This is a fucked situation.”
Just over four months later and we’re still happily in love and now shadily married (more on that story later). Beyond our potentially illegal nuptials, it seems as though our oncoming hurdles are growing as steadily as our relationship is. More than just being a really new relationship, we’re POC, queer, poly, long-distance, interracial, transnational, somewhat still closeted, (maybe too) young, and it’s hard. Lovely; but fucking hard.
My days now consist of frequent visits to NGO Pulse, processing more legal paperwork than I’m used to, and inconveniently timed and sleepy WhatsApp conversations. It’s not where either of us thought we’d be, but here we are. And just like everyone else – dating or not, or in between – we’re figuring it out. Hearts full and virtual hands held tight.
This is a series exploring the married life of two brown queer women living in different spaces but sharing one life and love. This series explores how they navigate the various issues of love and life as a married couple.
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