How much is a heap? If you have one grain of sand in your hand, does that qualify as a heap of sand? If you had ten thousand grains of sand in your hand, would that qualify as a heap of sand? It’s fairly obvious: one grain is not a heap but ten thousand grains is.
But at what point between one and ten thousand does the sand actually become a heap? It’s impossible to tell. Whether you start with ten thousand grains and subtract one at a time or start with one and add a grain at a time, it’s impossible to say where the heap begins. If it’s at, say, 5,000 grains why not 4,999? And if 4,999 is a heap, why not 4,998?
This is known as the sorites paradox, and the Greek philosopher Eubulides of Miletus proposed this thought experiment thousands of years ago; one of the conclusions that we can draw from it is that there is no official, objective, correct answer to some questions. One grain is not a heap, ten thousand grains is; where it stops being a “non-heap” and becomes a heap is in the eye of the beholder and, even then, it’s not really possible to tell accurately. Any judgement is entirely arbitrary and subjective. We each know what a heap is but it’s impossible to say when it begins.
Why am I bothering you with this? Well, instead of thinking about grains of sand, think about time. For instance, how much is “enough” time with your partner before you can confidently know you love them? A minute? That’s probably too short a period - how could you know enough about anyone to say that you loved them? A year? That’s probably too long - if you don’t feel it after a year, the chances are you’ll never feel it. So at some point in between, then. But at what point? When does “not-enough” become “enough”?
The last time I was in Hong Kong, I decided it would be fun to join an internet dating agency. Let me be clear - the preceding sentence is about as much thought and planning as I put into the decision. It was late on a Sunday night, I couldn’t sleep and was bored; it was a spur of the moment decision. I would join and do a bit of searching, to see who was about - you have to do the former in order to do the latter. I thought I’d leave my profile on the site and pick it up again properly when I moved to Hong Kong. I imagined that it would be much like the dating websites I’ve joined, in the past, in the UK: absolutely nothing would happen, no one would show any interest and eventually I’d get bored and leave the site, probably feeling a bit worse about myself.
So I set up the profile and added a couple of pictures from my recent holiday in Australia. And then the emails started arriving. And after 36 hours, I had about twenty women expressing interest in my profile.
Please understand, this sort of thing does not happen to someone like me. It probably happens rather a lot to people who look like George Clooney but not to someone who looks like me. It was totally unexpected, rather flattering and, I have to say, slightly overwhelming.
However, one of the women caught my eye in particular and we started chatting; at first on the site, then via email and then via Skype. I don’t remember which of us suggested it but we agreed to meet for coffee on the Wednesday, the day I was flying home. Which is how I found myself in a Starbucks in Central, at 2:15pm on the afternoon of Wednesday 1st February.
I remember clearly the moment that I first saw her, when she came into the coffee shop - black jacket, grey dress, black tights, black boots. The air fairly crackled around her, such was her energy. She moved quickly, talked quickly, laughed quickly; she was like the Tasmanian Devil from the Bugs Bunny cartoons, all fizz and bustle and life. Coffee went well - what was supposed to be a 45 minute chat during her lunch-break turned into ninety minutes. After we had said goodbye we were still texting each other, something that turned out to be astonishingly expensive, thanks to Vodafone roaming charges! A vague plan formed to try to meet again in the evening, before I left; it was complicated but I knew there was something about this woman and I wanted to see her again. We managed it, for an hour, before I had to board the train for the airport and I don’t remember being so excited - or such pain on parting; I haven’t felt that way about someone for a long time, like being a teenager again. Smitten.
When I got back to the UK the texts continued: we talked endlessly on Skype - within two weeks, we’d racked up 48 hours of Skype telephone conversations, the longest being a five hour marathon that kept her up until 3am. It was after that one that we instituted a rule that we had to stop at 1am HK/5pm UK - which we’ve mostly kept to. After three weeks, she suggested a visit to the UK and two weeks ago she flew over, so we could spend six days together.
Stop for a moment and think of the risk; think of the chance: to have known someone for just over two hours and two cups of coffee (Caramel Lattés, if you’re interested) and then on the basis of that fly half-way around the world to be with them for six days. We’d spent so much time on Skype, talking about anything and everything, that we were both pretty sure the other was who they claimed to be - after all that time, you can get a good sense of whether someone is putting on a front, even if you’re only talking to them on the phone - but even so, it was still a risk.
They were six wonderful, brilliant days. She met my parents (the first person to do that in about ten years) and she met Little ‘Un, who liked her very much indeed. I met her oldest friend and her husband (who just happen to live in Milton Keynes - small world). It couldn’t have been a better week. A week ago, I saw her off at the airport, back to Hong Kong. Which, as you can imagine, involved some tears but also a renewed commitment to get to Hong Kong.
So, how long is long enough? Two cups of coffee? 50+ hours of Skype calls? Six days? When you know, you know; sometimes it doesn’t take very long at all. I’m old enough and ugly enough to know how I feel and fortunately, she feels the same. It’s easy to be cynical about it and no doubt some people will be; my friends, though, will be happy for me, I’m sure. Happy that I’m happy; happy that she makes me happy.
Whenever we change, we are asking the people around us to change too, even if it’s only in the way they see us, the way they relate to us. And I have changed, there’s no doubt about that. I’m happier, I feel more optimistic and I feel I have more confidence. It may only have been a short period of time - but it’s long enough.
