I Don’t Want a Hero. I Just Want Someone to Talk To.

My first night back in Beijing, I went straight for "Old Beijing Hotpot."

Living in the US, this was the flavor I missed the most: the hand-cut fresh lamb, the rich sesame paste, the sugar garlic, and that specific scent of chili oil that instantly hooks your appetite.

After gorging myself, my friend insisted we go for drinks. I stood up excitedly to head to the counter to pay. I walked about three meters, and then—crash.

I hit the floor.

When I woke up, I was surrounded by a circle of people. My friend was yelling in out-of-tune Mandarin, "Everyone back off! Give him some space to breathe!"

I wanted to laugh, but I couldn't. I felt dizzy and nauseous. I tried to stand up to go to the bathroom, stumbled to the sink to splash cold water on my face, and then... darkness again.

I woke up a second time sitting in a chair. My friend was holding my hand, looking terrified. In the span of a few minutes, I had fainted twice. My left arm was numb, and my mind was a total blank.

That night, my friend managed to drag me home. By the next morning, I felt fine—or so I thought. I went for my run, took a shower, and went about my day as if nothing happened.

But when I told my boyfriend about it that evening, he exploded.

He yelled at me over the phone for ten minutes straight: "How can you be so irresponsible with yourself?!"

He was in Sweden. Thousands of miles away.

Terrified by his reaction, I called a friend who works at a top hospital. He said, "It could be nothing, or it could be a stroke or a brain aneurysm."

That’s when the fear finally hit me.

My boyfriend, still stuck in Sweden, called his best friend in Beijing to come pick me up. In the middle of the night, I was rushed to the ER for CT scans and EKGs, tossing and turning until 4 AM. The next day, I was back for Doppler ultrasounds.

I sat in the hospital hallway waiting for the results. My friend kept telling me bad jokes to keep me from shaking.

Finally, the results came back: Everything was normal.

My nerves, which had been pulled tight as a violin string, finally snapped. I went home and collapsed, feeling like every bone in my body was falling apart.

Then, I opened an email my boyfriend had sent in the middle of the night.

He apologized for yelling. He said he felt powerless being so far away. He wrote: "Whether the results are good or bad, I will face them with you. I’m holding my brother’s shaver right now. If you need surgery, I will shave my head immediately. I’ll stay bald with you, and we’ll grow our hair back together."

I closed my laptop and felt a sense of peace I had never known before.

I’ve heard too many promises in my life. I’m usually immune to sweet talk. But this? This broke through my defenses.

After wandering through life for so long, I finally found the person I wanted to spend my life with.

***

When I was a teenager, I liked boys who were "clean." Tall, thin, looked good playing basketball, with a smile that could melt a northern winter.

Later, everyone I dated fit a similar mold: smart, handsome, good grades, looked good in a jersey. But none of those qualities withstood the test of time. The heartbeats faded into indifference.

Looking back, it’s funny. A person isn’t a gadget. You shouldn’t score them on a checklist before buying to see if they’re "cost-effective."

I used to be so vain. I wanted a relationship I could show off, something that made others envious.

I lived in seven cities, changed phones a dozen times, and filled my contacts list with numbers, eventually realizing I couldn't fool myself anymore: I wasn't single because I hadn't found the "right" person.

There is no "right" person.

When I first met my current boyfriend, I thought he was arrogant. I didn't even want to look at him. later, as we got closer, we chatted all night long. Then we got together and fought every other day. I once smashed a bar of soap on the floor in anger, and it still didn't feel like enough.

He didn't want to stay in Beijing; I didn't want to go to San Francisco.

But even with all the fighting, we didn't fall apart. We stumbled through the years and finally started to build a life.

For many couples, timing is everything. Meet too early, and you're too immature; one fight and it's over. Meet too late, and your heart is lazy; you'd rather stay in your own world than accommodate someone else.

So, what does a life partner actually look like?

I searched for years, only to realize: I just wanted to find someone I could talk to.

Aside from the happy face I wear in public, I’m actually quite pessimistic. I don’t believe in "forever." Red wine turns sour overnight. I’ve never seen a fairy tale last in reality.

We are mortals. We can't live in a fantasy.

What I want is a partner. Someone to grow with, to support each other, to count gray hairs with when we’re old, and to tell bad jokes to.

Recently, I changed jobs. I work 13 or 14 hours a day. The best part of my day is late at night. We come home, change into soft T-shirts, grab a beer, and sit on the balcony. We talk about our work, the difficulties, and the stress. And somehow, just sharing it makes us happy.

I thank him for letting me be myself. I don't wear makeup, I don't read fashion magazines, I'm rough around the edges, and yet he thinks I'm sexy.

I’ve seen too many people exploit their partner’s kindness. I don't want games. I want honesty. There is nothing more romantic than total transparency.

Sometimes, talking on the rooftop at midnight, I feel like if I just stood on my tiptoes and reached out, I could touch the stars.

***

Relationships shouldn't be that hard.

If you have to cross a thousand mountains just to chase someone, maybe don't go. Real love is simple: work hard during the day, come home to a hot meal at night. Treat each other with loyalty and kindness.

Don't ask for "forever" or "great wealth." Just live well. Be like kindergarten kids—share your toys, play until dark, and be happy.

My boyfriend recently told me: "If you want to be a bird, fly. When you are tired or cold, you will come home."

Our fate lies in our shared values. Everything else—perfume brands, dressing style, six-pack abs—it all becomes floating clouds (irrelevant). It’s nice to have, but it doesn't matter if it's gone.

I will get old. My skin will lose its glow.

I don't want to tie someone down with my youth. But if we are lucky enough, maybe we can get old together. We can push each other’s wheelchairs in the nursing home, tell jokes, and play outdated video games with reading glasses on.

And if not? That’s okay too. Even if the good days only last a few years, I am grateful enough to have met him while I still had some innocence left.

I don't envy those with "perfect" marriages. Life is your own. Good or bad, nothing beats the word "companionship."

I firmly believe: only when you become optimistic, happy, healthy, and confident, can you have a fulfilling relationship. You must have the ability to love before you can be loved.

Someone once said: "If a person says they like you, wait until they take care of you when you're sick to believe it. If they say they want to marry you, wait until they're kneeling with a ring to be moved."

We are past the age of "listening" to love. After experiencing so many people and things, you realize that all you really want is that one person who is willing to spend time just talking to you.