Episode 90 Building Our Separate Lives (And Worrying About It)

While planning the second visit filled us with excitement, the reality of building our separate lives in our respective university cities was a constant, sometimes worrying, backdrop. We were making new friends, joining new clubs, establishing new routines that didn't automatically include the other person.

In my city, I was spending more time with Ren and Mika. We had inside jokes, shared experiences from classes and campus events. They were becoming integrated into my daily life, filling the space that Sakura's physical presence used to occupy.

Similarly, Sakura was deepening her connections at Todai. She was part of study groups that met regularly, attended social events with her classmates, and spent time with her roommate. Her life at Todai was becoming full, rich, and demanding, a world with its own rhythm and community.

We talked about these new friendships and experiences during our calls, trying to share our separate lives with each other. But sometimes, hearing about her hanging out with her Todai friends, or her mentioning Kenjiro in a context that felt purely academic and intense, would trigger a quiet insecurity. Was she finding people who understood her Todai life in a way I never could? Was she forming bonds that were easier to maintain than the long-distance one?

"Went for coffee with Ren and Mika today," I mentioned during a call. "We were talking about our upcoming essays."

Sakura: Oh, nice! 😊 How are your essays going? Mine are... a lot! 😂

Her reaction was positive, supportive. She didn't express jealousy or insecurity. But my own worries could still surface. Was she thinking, "Oh, he's fine, he has his friends there, he doesn't need me as much"?

Similarly, I'd worry when she talked about late-night study sessions with her group, or a spontaneous outing with her dormmates. Was she having experiences that were pulling her further into her Todai world, away from our shared high school past and the long-distance present?

We had promised to trust each other, to build our own lives while maintaining our connection. But the act of actually doing it, of hearing about the other person's exciting new friendships and experiences that you weren't a part of, was harder than the abstract promise.

These worries weren't usually voiced explicitly, but they were present in the subtle hesitations, the quiet questions, the need for reassurance. We were both trying to build fulfilling lives in our new cities, but the process of doing so sometimes created a quiet tension, a fear that building separate lives might inadvertently lead to growing apart.

The second visit was a tangible goal, a chance to bridge the physical distance. But bridging the emotional and experiential distance, the gap created by our separate daily lives and new social circles, required continuous effort, open communication (even about insecurities), and a deep, unwavering trust that our unexpected love was strong enough to encompass our individual growth and new experiences, without losing sight of the connection that bound us across the miles.