When Love Is on Another Train: Holding On Without Losing Yourself

In Japanese

遠距離恋愛って、本当につらいよね。私も去年の春から京都にいる彼と18ヶ月ぶりに会えてない。毎日ビデオ通話するけど、画面越しの笑顔ってちょっと違う。温かさを感じられないんだ。風邪をひいた時、ただ隣にいてほしくて、涙が出た…

最初の3ヶ月は毎晩泣いてた。彼が私の声を聞いて「大丈夫？」って聞くから、「平気だよ」って返す。でも全然平気じゃない。寂しいし、不安だし、彼が急に冷たくなったらどうしようと思ってた。友達は「信じてれば大丈夫」と言うけど、それだけじゃ足りない。信じてるけど、心がへし折れる時もある

ある日、母が古い紅茶の缶を見せてくれた。昔、私が小学校の時、父が仕事で大阪に行ってて、毎週中に手紙をくれた。その中にはいつも小さな紙切れに「今日の空は青かった」とか、「君の写真を見て笑った」って書いてあって、その紙を母は全部この缶にしまってた。見て、って言われて…読みながら、胸が詰まった。言葉って、距離を越えることができるんだって初めてわかった

それから、私も手紙を書くようになった。毎週日曜の朝、コーヒーを入れて、窓際の席で彼に手紙を書く。テキストじゃ伝えきれないこと、たとえば「昨日の夕焼けを見て、君と一緒に見たかった」みたいに。返事が来なくても、書くことで自分の気持ちが整理された

でもね、一番変わったのは、自分を大切にすることを覚えたこと。彼のために我慢してるんじゃなくて、私が満たされてないと、関係も壊れるって気づいた。週に2回、一人で外食する。新しいカフェ探したり、写真展行ったり。最初は「一人で？なんか悲しいかな」って思ったけど、意外と楽しかった。自分を連れてデートするって、変な感じだけど、好きになれた

彼が「会いたい」って言う時、私も「うん」って言うけど、それだけじゃなくて「でも来月の写真展、絶対見たいんだ」とか、自分の予定も共有する。お互いの世界を守ってる感じ。距離があるからこそ、独立してる部分が必要なんだと思う

好きでいてくれる相手がいても、自分の価値はそこから決まらない。それがこの18ヶ月でやっとわかったこと。手紙も、写真も、一人で食べたカレーも、全部私の証なんだ

English Version

Long distance doesn’t mean love is weak. Sometimes it’s stronger than ever—but you start doubting yourself anyway. Like when you're lying in bed at 2am, staring at a “sent” message that hasn’t been read, and your brain starts whispering, *Maybe he’s forgetting what you look like.*

I’ve been there. My partner’s in Kyoto. I’m in Tokyo. Eighteen months apart. We talk almost every day, but digital connection… it’s like holding hands through gloves. You feel *something*, but not skin

Early on, I treated the relationship like a math problem. If I sent two voice notes, he sent one back—was that bad? If he didn’t text first, did that mean he cared less? I was measuring love in responses and timing, and tbh, I was always coming up short

What changed wasn’t a grand gesture. It was small things. I started cooking one new recipe a week—even if it was just for me. Last month, it was okonomiyaki. I took a photo, not to send him immediately, but to show myself, *Look. I made something from scratch. I’m still growing.*

I also set one rule: no calling when I was sad just to be comforted. If I needed cheering up, I called my sister or went for a walk along the Sumida River. I didn’t want our calls to become emotional drainpipes. I wanted them to be visits, not rescue missions

And I kept a physical calendar. Every day I marked with a tiny star if I did something just for me—read ten pages of a novel, danced in the kitchen, bought flowers. Not because I was trying to “stay busy,” but because I needed proof I wasn’t disappearing while waiting

There was this one night he canceled our call last minute. I sat there, hurt, then… angry. Instead of texting “It’s fine,” I wrote in my journal: *I’m allowed to want more. Distance doesn’t mean I should accept less.* Then I watched a stupid comedy on my own and ate strawberry mochi. The world didn’t end

I’m not saying you should never express loneliness. You should. But balance it. Share the hard things, but also send a photo of the weird cat that hangs around your apartment building. Let him see your life—not just your longing

We planned a reunion three months in advance. I didn’t count down on a phone app. I made a little collage of things I wanted to show him—the park where I saw fireflies, the bookstore with the curly-haired owner who remembers my name. It kept me rooted in my present, not just fixated on his future

ngl, I still panic sometimes. Like when his reply takes hours, or he mentions someone new at work. But now I breathe, make tea, and ask myself: *Is this about him… or about me feeling small?* Most of the time, it’s the second one

So if you’re in it—tired, stretched, missing someone so much it aches—here’s what I’ll tell you: Keep loving them. But don’t let that love erode who you are. Send the letter. Cook the meal. Mark the star. Be someone worth missing, but also someone who’s already whole

…Even when the train home doesn’t have their seat next to yours