coping


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unrequited love

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  Friday morning, 5am, I am awake. But it is not a bad thing. I am awake because I am excited. I fly to San Diego for the weekend, and yesterday I successfully passed my citizenship interview. San Diego beckons me as the place I first truly longed to be, to live, to see… and I still, to this day, would love to be self-sufficient, without the need for a physical office or company or reporting structure, to simply live and read and write whilst exploring the streets, parks, beaches, museums, and bars of the place. The world can be a better place if we can let go of old beliefs and traditions. Those traditions that put so much pressure on people. For example, everyone is raised to believe they must get married, buy a house, have children… and so people become depressed because they can’t find a partner or buy a house, or a couple can’t have children. Instead, we should be enjoying our independence, travelling, investing, enjoying life. We don’t need to buy a house… be a nomad, be free...
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  One sentence to replace all happiness: I miss the connection we had before you disappeared. We woke up that one Saturday morning and you said, ‘I feel like getting drunk.’ I suggested that you have a beer while I make breakfast. So, in that bright early morning Madrid sunshine, we had breakfast and got drunk. We laughed and joked, listened to music, kissed, had sex, watched BBC’s Sherlock Holmes.  It’s the crazy moments that I remember. The trip to Casablanca, the trip to London, the cocktail afternoons in Madrid during which we’d take hilarious selfies of ourselves with some character in the background… we’d try to create an optical illusion to make it look like it was a tiny person sitting between and we were putting a finger on their head. In the end, you said you wanted to party, not be in love.  I respected your honesty, and watched you walk away.  
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old town station

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  I type in your name to send you a note… I see that you are eight or nine months pregnant in your profile photo, and I find myself at a loss for words. There is no indication of when you were last online, of course, people tend to hide these things these days. So I don't bother to message.  I think of you often… and the night we met. The way you touched your belt buckle each time you spoke to me. When I asked why, you said it was to save your soul from being stolen by a ginger. You said it was a Spanish belief. It was wonderfully hilarious. In spite of your being Spanish, your accent sounded almost English, and I felt that you had a Scottish look. A few hours later we were kissing... kissing in the bar, kissing in the street, kissing in my hotel. We spoke about how it felt like more and like we had known each other for years. The next day I had to fly to a different part of Spain as my band was playing at a festival. Through all of the wonderful messages we were exchanging, y...
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