The old apartment was dirty, but at least I’d have a room of my own. The bed was messy and it was obvious that the sheet hadn’t been changed. I covered the bed with my sarong and remembered once again how useful it would’ve been to carry a sleeping bag with me.
Antonio, a Chilean show-off who had lived in Zurich for over ten years, was very friendly and respectful. He opened the door at about 11am and hurried off to work, leaving a copy of the key with me.
I was exhausted from traveling all night by bus, but before going to bed, I grabbed a pair of rubber gloves that I found next to the washing machine and cleaned up the bathroom a little before taking my shower. I needed a relaxing shower before bed and a barefoot shower without the risk of slipping into the grubby bathtub would already be like a luxury spa.
I slept for about 2 hours and went out to meet Antonio in the cultural space he maintains with his Argentinian friend and business partner called Nicolás.
I followed the location he sent me and found the multicolored big house hidden in the back of a building. The large space had a stage covered in a grimy green carpet, a small grandstand, and scattered tables, chairs, and armchairs. The furniture was a mixture of styles, as if it had come from many different houses and times. Along with the color of the walls and the bright red of the curtains, it gave the house a strangely warm air. The place wasn’t luxurious, and a wooden counter in front of two small white fridges held the beer crates that would be sold over the weekend.
The house was empty and only one of the tables had the chairs on the floor. There were a few empty bottles, an open smoke pack, and a large ashtray on the table. The smell of cigarette smoke on the curtains and carpet mingled with the smell of fermented malt from the empty beer bottles accumulated near the bar.
Nicolás, Antonio’s partner, was a handsome Argentinian with long, curly hair. As soon as we greeted each other, I realized that he was very affectionate. They were talking about his latest disappointment in a relationship and asked if I didn’t mind if they continued the matter. I said I could come back later if it was too personal, but Nicolás said he’d like to hear an opinion of a woman. Then we started a deep conversation about human behavior in love relationships.
It was inevitable to tell them a little of my story. And, though I realized that I could finally see the lessons that not only divorce but also, and most importantly, 14 years of marriage taught me, remembering the past always made me feel uncomfortable. Deep down, I was still running away from those emotions.
My new Argentinian friend was sorry that his beloved girl had broken up with him and was already going out with another guy. He had bumped into her and her new lover that morning and he was devastated asking me: “How could she have lied so much? Just over a month ago she said she loved me ”.
- She probably still loves you, but in a different way. You certainly didn’t stop being important in her life, but she has the right to move on without you. In fact, she has the right to move on with whoever she wants, alone, with you, or with someone else.
That moment, I was telling myself this was the most important lesson I learned: nobody belongs to anyone. No one is obligated to be with anyone out of pity, consideration, respect or any other moral obligation. This isn’t love, it’s prison.
The words were so obvious, but why were they so hard to put into practice? I sympathized with Nicolás’ pain, for I myself was still not coping well with imagining someone taking a place that was mine for more than a decade.
Pain, fear, guilt, judgment, disapproval, separation, distance, weight, difficult, time, hurry. These were the words that came to my mood journal that morning, sitting in the Lindenhof square in Zurich. I let myself cry even without knowing exactly why.
After a few minutes of watching a group of young ladies play bocce, the tears had dried and I looked back at those words in the journal. So I chose a positive word for each of those sensations and emotions. Peace, courage, love, freedom, faith, strength, will, resilience, ease, perseverance. And I wrote down some positive statements using all these words.
The source of drinking water made a quiet little noise and I was blinded by the rays of sun that pierced the treetops. I closed my eyes and searched carefully for the song of some bird and the sound of the wind waving the leaves. I closed my journal and said quietly: “It’s all right”.
42 – NO ONE DIES OUT OF LOVE
The single bed was well stretched and covered with a blue sheet that smelled of lavender. The soft light of the lamp on the white table looked like a welcome sign, even though the clock near the headboard showed 1:30 am. The first night in Barcelona I lay down full of gratitude.
Pauline was like a mirror sent by the universe. Same age, same profession and same emotional needs as me. Our connection was instant and we went out together every night. She, who offered me three nights, ended up letting me stay the five days of my stay in Barcelona in that cozy little room.
The living room had a couch covered with a red velvet cover, a round dark wooden table, and two antique-looking chairs. The huge shuttered door overlooked a small balcony where Pauline cultivated various vases of foliage and herbs. In the morning, barefoot on the cold red floor, I could smell mint and basil as I watched the quiet street and had pure, unsweetened coffee.
I can’t say what made me feel so good in Barcelona. My hostess was awesome. My room was amazing. That little balcony was amazing. The whole city was amazing. I liked the architecture, the sea air and, especially, the weather in the morning and dusk. A cool breeze accompanied me on the sidewalk as I listened to the trade opening its doors for another day of work.
Pauline and I would meet every day in the late afternoon and she’d take me to her favorite places. Drinking a clear, beer-soda mix, we talked about journalism, politics, and relationships. Law of attraction also entered our agenda.
On the last day, I took a train and went to the beach. I was feeling as light as my last day in Trancoso, Bahia. To my surprise, when I reached the sand I saw a small stage from which I could hear a Hindu mantra. I smiled to myself like it was a coincidence planned by the stars.
I was indecisive about getting close to the stage, watching the mantra festival, or lying by the sea.
I ended up with the second option. I put my sarong on the sand, facing the waves and focused on listening to some soft music coming from the shore.
I noticed that almost all the women around me were topless. Even two grandmothers who talked happily with their feet in the water. One with both hands on her hips seemed not to mind the group of boys sitting under a parasol just ahead.
I already knew that topless is a common practice among Spanish women, but all that naturalness made me feel kind of strange. However, I wanted to try going topless without feeling judged.
I looked around a few times to be sure. I counted eight women with their breasts on show and, pretending to be natural, pulled the stripe that tied the bikini top to my back.
I confess that the first few minutes were challenging. I don’t even like to sleep without wearing anything on top. To wear a blouse without a bra underneath, only if I’m home alone. Imagine being like this, exposed on the beach? But now it was late. I kept pretending to be used to it and put on the sunglasses, which gave me the strange feeling of being less naked.
After looking at the reaction of people walking in front of me,under my sunglasses, I began to feel more comfortable. Another 30 minutes and I had the courage to get up, walk on the sand and dive into the sea. I had an almost involuntary reflex of covering my breasts with my hands as I went back to my sarong place. Before that happened, I pulled my hair out with my hands and twisted it over my shoulders to get the excess water out, so my arms gave me as little coverage as I needed until I was sure there was no audience interested in my nipples.