I call you because for the past few years that is what we’ve been doing half of the time: talking on the phone separated my thousands of miles. And as I type “few years” I’m surprised of the passing of time [as always] but especially of the time I’ve spent by your side.
Who would have said? I could stupidly ask myself. I have no idea, no one, my mum, fairy tales?…
Life has been good, over and over and over again.
BTW: Fuck Fairy Tales! Only mentioning them made my stomach turn.
Fuck indoctrinating girls and women into believing that the love of a partner (generally a man, because of course, they had to be as narrow-minded as anything could ever be) is everything in life and all we have to aspire to. To hell with teaching girls they need to be rescued, wait, sit around doing nothing; knitting. Forget putting our own life, decisions, creations, and experiences in the hands of someone else.
You build your life with every decision you make, one choice, one word one book at a time. Every time you learn, every time you forgive, every time you incorporate something new, every time you change your mind or you change direction. It is all good.
You build your character, you train to get up when you fall and that is how you grow strong and nurture who you are and the battles you will choose. Then, you challenge your beliefs and start all over again. It’s fine. We are constantly shaping ourselves, we are constantly learning to love.
There are books, passions, sports, and fruit that runs down your chest as you bite it; there is the morning sun, and working from home on your underwear, there are amazing friends & lovers; family, dreams, studies, writing, swimming, watching some beans sprout…
Fuck Fairy Tales, what we should be reading to our children is the Heroe’s Journey.
So back into topic….
I call after being dropped off by my ex whom I accompanied to a party [because I really enjoy spending time with him & because I firmly believe that you will forever be tied in one way or another to the people you once loved]. I call you to tell you that I love you, but also that I love him.*
I am a bit drunk, but I’m honest. I tell you that I love him because I do, because I’ve just spent a lovely night with him and I am very well aware he was and is part of my life and of the woman I am now. I love him because he is a good man and a good friend & I adore you because I can tell you all of this. Because I can share myself with you in all my complex absurdity.
– I am not sure if I said something else but I know that I need to stop calling you when I am drunk because last time I only remembered telling you that I wanted you to be my husband & afterwards you informed me I also cursed and screamed at you letting you know how much I miss you and how fucking tired I am of this distance — [sorry]
Note to me: Eda, stop calling him every time you are under the influence of something that makes you talkative but especially forgetful. It’s not the things you say that could be problematic (raw is beautiful), but the fact that you don’t remember thus cannot back them up.
And all of this prelude has been to say that I get it. I get that what we have is so particular, so unique, I am constantly in awe; looking over my shoulder expecting someone to snatch it out of my hands -which could also be just because I was brought up in Mexico City- …
Because love, for me, thanks to you, and now for ever, can only be this. This freedom, this transparency, this joy of discovering who I am by someone’s side, by your side.
So I wake up this morning and I cannot believe that in three days you will be here, again, physically, so I can really love you with all my body.
I can’t wait. I can’t wait to continue growing close to you, the best companion and keeper of this madness.
Life is sweet, and I know we will still fall hard many times. I trust we’ll be able to get up; maybe bruised, probably a bit broken… and I will risk it all over and over again as long as there is the possibility to feel life; the way, in the spectrum, I am feeling it at this precise moment.
For you, my little rat. I owe you so much.
** I want to make very clear that I firmly believe love is a word that has been overused, misused and abused. In Mexican we have many more words to express emotions surrounding and involving love. Like Eskimos with snow… maybe we just love differently, probably weirdly.
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