Talking long-distance relationships at university
The bus pulled away from Aberdeen station, dragging me along with it. Grey granite, grey skies, grey soul. My partner, texting me from his now far away flat, casting ‘safe travels’ and ‘see you soons’ into the atmosphere. It would be another three weeks until we would be reunited – probably for an underwhelming, yet precious, day in our middle meeting point of Dundee.
The decision had seemed easy at the time. Stirling had the course for me, and Aberdeen had the course for him. We would take turns suffering the three-hour bus journey, calling each evening, texting in between shifts and lectures. This weekend in your flat, next weekend in mine.
It isn’t far. Nothing extreme is required of us, and yet, the gentle distance has placed a weight on us. Leaving our hometown for two different universities, a situation that many young couples find themselves in, was proving to be a complete pain in the arse.
With all the love in the world, it cannot be denied that dedicating every other weekend to the Northeast Coast isn’t an utter drag. To me, our time is like a slippery fish – okay, hear me out. The time we fight for slips from our hands against our wills, with an untamable mind of its own. Hours of waiting, gone in a moment. A sparkle of sunshine on water, a whoop of delight, the promise of a dinner for two; all gone in a drenching splash of disappointment. There will always be more fish, we hope. One day, we might get to keep one. Our dinner, in our home, with our plates and our tablecloth. Simple dreams, still so far away. We keep fishing.
I often think about the myth of the red string of fate: the various mythologies describing two lovers’ destinies, written by the gods, tied to each other by a little red string since the dawn of time. Whilst I disagree that there is one person for everyone, I do think that we are in control of who we tie ourselves to – a chosen soulmate, if you will. Miles and bus journeys do not have the power to sever our string. Neither do arguments, nor miscommunication.
Sever it, of course, if happiness lies elsewhere. Sever it, if it pulls you down. Sometimes, it will – not everything is meant to be.
I always think, though, that to catch a fish, you have to at least cast a line.
Mine just happens to be red.
This article featured in the first-ever printed edition of BRAW Magazine, Close Encounters. You can read more of our Close Encounters articles here.
Featured Image Illustration by Alice Pollard