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my boyfriend

Thursday, November 3, 2016






Truthfully, I am a woman of many talents but relationships are not my forte. I’ve wrestled through a handful of them in my life, each one leaving me less sure of my commitment abilities. I’ve had two boyfriends this year, the first of whom was simply ill suited to me, we went to Rome and everything crumbled. I was sad for approximately 7 days, but the short-lived relationship taught me a lot.  It was essentially the reverse of a ‘how to’; it shined a light on all my darker traits that the wrong man could potentially bring out in me. And being the over-sharer I am, that break-up became the perfect fodder for my faithful crew of haters. I actually laughed at their speculations, most of which pivoted around my possible insanity, a trait I self-diagnosed a long time ago. So, yeah, tell me something I don’t know. However, I believe dating is quite like personal style, it should be a story and above all, you will, inevitably have to experiment with an array of styles before defining what you truly love. All the boyfriends of my past? They have so little in common, in fact the only parallel is that they were unfortunate enough to date me. I say that only half jokingly. I cannot remember the last time I shared photos of a man on Frassy, I think it might have been back in 2009 when I was dating a North London Turk I thought I’d surely marry. Obviously, I didn’t because I chose to move to Paris instead, which also happens to be one of my best decisions to date. And while, undeniably I cannot stand the majority of men in this world, I stumbled across a good one. And a stumble it truly was, when I met Enrique, I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend, mostly I wanted to hang out with men I met via an app to fuel my waning self-confidence. Of all the cities I’ve lived, Barcelona is by far the most abundant with available good-looking men, so back then, I had decided to enjoy and meet as many as possible  because a lot of them seemed keen and I was bored after my break-up. So, one Friday I jumped a cab downtown and met Enrique, who funnily enough was wearing khaki then too. Our second date fell on Biba’s birthday and he brought her a pile of gift-wrapped presents. We ate ramen while she chewed on a new bone. The next 8 months folded into each other like a wave, it was effortless in a way I never had before, so I didn’t question it. He moved into my apartment like a ghost, in that it was never a conversation until weeks later when I found myself clearing out the drawers in one half of my bedroom dressers for his clothes. It wasn’t until then that I realized that he did indeed live with me. His skateboard sits by the front door and his bread in my kitchen cabinets, something I rarely eat. We went to Ibiza, we went to Paris, we spent two weeks at my parents’ homes in the South of Spain. We’ve had so much fun. Now, I have an avid dislike for sugar-glazed stories, so I will tell you this, we have had our problems. Some of which may never go away. He has slept on the sofa at least a few nights of our relationship so far. I have certainly clumsily lobbed an inanimate object in his direction. I have terrible aim so I missed, but also, I would miss him if he went away. I think falling in love means understanding your partner in all their forms and assessing whether their crazy can work with your own crazy. And for now, our crazy fuses well enough for  him to cook me dinner every night and for me to match his socks out of the washing machine. Will we be together forever? I’m not a Disney princess so I couldn’t say, but I long ago abandoned that concern, a pressure like that can break a relationship all in itself. Besides, forever feels intangible in all facets of my life, my mood in itself is a fluctuating swirl, the colour of my hair changes by the month, my favourite song or the city I’d most like to live in changes by the day, so why force that ideal onto him if I’m incapable of it myself? We have yesterday, we have today and tomorrow is ours too, that’s all I need to know to feel happy and okay.


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