8. HALF OF ME AWAY AT SEA

Smith is away for navigation audit of an LNG tanker on 3rd September from Bintulu, Malaysia. He will come back on 14th September morning from Ulsan, South Korea. Only 6 days have passed and time is just slow.

The alarm clock rang at 6:30am, and I opened my eyes to an empty space beside me. Normally, the first thing I see is Smith, curled up in sleep, and that quite sight makes me grateful before the day even begins. But today, he was not there. From the very moment my eyes opened, I started missing him.

The morning kept me busy-dusting, cleaning, preparing breakfast, and helping my mother-in-law with lunch. Yet between all this, my heart ached most at 8:30am. That is our time. Every day, I bring a glass of chia seed water into the room, pull open the curtains, and watch the sunlight fall on his face. He always hides under the blanket, giggling when I kiss him good morning. For 11 years, this little ritual has never lost its charm. I would hold his face, call him my pink bunny, and listen to his sleepy plea for “five more minutes.” I always deny, gently help him sit up and placing the pillow behind his back. Then I hand him the chia water, and we began our day together.

But today, there was no sleepy smile, no playful giggle. Just me, my breakfast, and some random YouTube videos for company.

After finishing my chores, I worked out alone. One full hour of weight training, though the silence in the room made me long for his voice, correcting my form, or showing me some new technique. Lunch followed at 12:30pm sharp with my parents-in-law.

The afternoon passed with a short nap, and then I got ready for my MMA class at 4pm. Everyone noticed his absence, asking where Smith was. “He has gone for auditing.” I answered, though my heart whispered: He should have been here.

Even surrounded by more then thirty students, I felt a strange loneliness. During breaks, Smith and I always sparred lightly-random punches, silly kicks, and endless giggles. Today, there was just silence.

By 8pm, I was home again-dinner, chores, chopping vegetables, and a little “toolbox meeting” with my mother-in-law to plan the next day’s work. By 9:30pm, I was in my room.

That is when the distance feels the longest. Smith is three and half hours ahead in South Korea, and while my day slows down, his night begins. Most days, our schedules refuse to align-when I am free, he is working; when he is free, I am asleep. Tonight, he is already deep in sleep, while I try to feel the silence with my Spanish class and, later, my blog.

Night is the hardest part of the day. The bed feels colder without him, and the air misses his familiar scent. I crave the comfort of his presence, the sound of his breath beside me. Sometimes I close my eyes and replay the highlights of the day, imagining how I will tell him everything once we talk. Some days we manage to share these little stories, some days we cannot. That is the rhythm of long distance-it teaches patience, even in love.

Today was just another random day without Smith. The hours were filled with chores, routines, training, and learning, but none of it shone the way it does when he is near. Life feels more colourful when he is around; even the simplest acts become beautiful.

Now when I walk alone on the roads, I miss the warmth of his hand holding mine. I miss those little pauses at roadside tea stalls, sipping hot tea together, watching life passes by, and laughing over nothing. I even miss asking him to try the most random, silly foods, just to see the look on his face when he gave in to my madness.

Without him, everything feels hollow. Roads feel longer, evening feels heavier, and even the smallest joys taste bland. The silence beside me is deafening. It feels like time has stopped, as if these days are stolen from my life.

Now, I count the days-ten have stretched into what feels like a hundred, but I remind myself: every dawn brings me closer to his return. On 14th September, he will be back, and the silence will break into laughter again. Until then, I carry the hope of our reunion, the memory of his scent, and the promise of his smile.