Breaking news: “Toda una Dama” (THE SINGLE BESTEST TELENOVELA EVER) has reached its ending. The attractive heterosexual protagonists got together; they kissed and stared at the sea for a minute or so. The villain ended up alone; her hair turned grey from hatred. Neither I nor my roommate (who is pre-med) knew this condition existed, but we are not too worried because we consider ourselves happy and forgiving people. “la Dama” has been such a big part of our daily routine that it was hard to believe it was ending. A long shot of the sky and the word “FIN” in big pink letters across the screen convinced us quite quickly. I laughed, I cried, I sneezed and I coughed, because it’s flu season and I’m sick.
No matter all the effort I put into living through tv shows, I still manage to have a life. And all I wrote last week about the literary purpose of this blog and the ‘fuck this fuck that’ statement still stands. That’s the reason I decided to revive this particular blog, but the reason to blog at all is that I need it.
More than a year ago I bought this little red notebook with a bird in a cage on the cover, it was meant to be my diary. It did not last. Since it wasn’t “out there” to be read, I didn’t feel the need to write eloquently and organize my thoughts; I got bored of it quickly. My ‘Architectural Projects’ professor explain it better the other day, he said something along the lines of “[…] the reason I make all of you stand in front of the class and explain your design, class after class, is for you to say out loud your process of thought. It seems to be just then when you realize you have fucked it up”. Okay, he didn’t say “fucked it up”, mainly because he speaks Spanish, but also because… There’s no also, if he spoke English he would have said “fucked it up”, of that I’m sure. Anyway, I need to sit down, concentrate and write about my life, my thoughts and my decisions - only then I can realize I have fucked it up. I need that, especially right now.
See, I’m going through a rough time… And by rough I mean first-world-country rough. You remember the boyfriend I mentioned on my last post? Of course you do. You might not remember the way we met. It’s okay, my own mother doesn’t remember either. We started talking online on the first half of 2011. We were both a bit lonely and a bit sad. Our mails were short and silly in the beginning, but slowly they were longer and deeper. He became a friend, and I didn’t have many of those at that time. I grew attached to him, maybe too fast, it’s hard to tell after three years. Months later, I was visiting London, and he and I decided to meet each other IRL (are the cool kids still saying that?). I was lucky enough the two friends I was traveling with didn’t mind when I decided to ditch them and spend the four-day holiday walking around and having sex with this British guy. I cried hard when it was time to say goodbye, but we promised to keep visiting each other. We skyped almost every night, he said he cared deeply about me, and didn’t want (and wouldn’t) give me up, but he wasn’t ready for a serious relationship. I pissed and moaned for a while, threatening him with empty bags to leave. Things calmed down, we visited each other as often as we could, we had great fun sex and in a few months we were in a serious relationship. I felt like one of those exceptions that book (and movie) “He’s Just Not That Into You” warns you about.
Through the relationship I’ve been finding out about a few lies he told me, most of them about the same girl, his ex. First, the fact that she existed at all. He then said she lived in Canada, nope, she was in England with him. The relationship wasn’t very long, nope, it was 7 years long… And so on. I became someone I’m not exactly proud of, you know… The kind of person who goes through other people private messages. I was determined to find out the whole truth, and damn did I do a good job. Not even a month ago, I found out the ex and I overlapped. They were still in this mess of a relationship when he and I had sex for the first time, and they were still having sex when he was telling me he didn’t want to lose me… I know, right?
If you read my last post, you might have noticed I said boyfriend and not ex. My English is not perfect, but I know when to add the ex to boyfriend… Is it just me or that sounded really cool? Really, really! Imagine me (or anyone, I don't care) like “I know when to add the ex to boyfriend, which is now, sweetheart!” and then turn around and leave without stumbling because that would totally ruin the mood. Where was I? Oh yes, I want to make my relationship work.
A long time ago I learned how dangerous is to talk about your relationship troubles with other people. You focus on telling them about your problem, which makes sense because life is as short as I am (I’m 5,3ft) and people don’t want to spend it listening to you describe every detail of your relationship… And that’s exactly what’s wrong with it. The hypothetical people and you don’t know about all the laughs, kisses, support, orgasms, much needed encouragement, Kleenex and fascinating conversations The Boyfriend has given me… I'm serious about Kleenex, every time I cry (which is often, sometimes I don’t even know why) he offers me one. EVERY TIME. I DON’T KNOW WHERE HE GETS THEM FROM.
Next problem with telling your drama to a third party is how easy it is to just give your side of the story. Noticed how, a few paragraphs ago, when I said he had sex with his ex at the time he was telling me he wanted me blah blah, I conveniently left out the part where he said it wouldn’t be a serious relationship? I swear I did not do it on purpose to make a point, I wish I were that clever. No, once again, I fell into my usual habit of idealizing my initial relationship, I'm stuck with an image I made up in my mind instead of seeing the whole picture with all the complexities two human beings bring to the table.
All of this is not a “hey, it’s okay he lied to me, it’s actually kinda sweet”. No, no. No. This is an “it’s more complicated than that”.