Another day off

In a way, it is nice, to lie in...have a lazy breakfast...research quietly on internet...see the gym in an unusual time (not today, though..it's raining too much, and I will stay at home. Going tomorrow after work and Saturday, before meeting up with Ana for coffee).

I went to the King and Queen, last night, after months of going past it and thinking how I would like to go there for a drink. Had a delicious drink too, by the way. The company was enjoyable, with my housemate, Ana, and some Turskish students, including my ex-student Ozge who was half drunk already, for she's been drinking before joining us, beer on an empty stomach while trying to think of her emotional situation with her life-long boyfriend.
We ended up talking of love and relationships, of course. It seems this is the time.

In my case, I am still trying to...feel better. Which is not easy, seen as I cannot erase that upset, shocked face of Ian's, last Friday. His look. The way he almost collapsed on the sofa in the library, the way he said "I'm not happy. I'm disappointed. I think we should break up". His sad, upset face. It breaks me to think of it now.

Then, after the text on Sunday, another text on Monday, saying how he was thinking of me and of how much I must be hurting, how sorry he was, how he was hoping that we could still be friends as we said.

When I received it, I was preparing the songs to load on my mp3 player, which I had planned to give him, as promised, before he left for Malta. The player, together with some chocolate, ended up in an envelope, including a letter with the instructions, and a few words to say how I hoped he was al right, and best luck for the weekend in Malta, and by the way, I am going home on December 17th.

Now, when I wrote that, I forgot to mention that my departure was just an anticipated flight for my Christmas holidays...seen as I have a week's paid holiday, seen as there isn't much to do in school, and I would really like to have some more time to spend at home, what with the holidays being this hectic time. Also, what is the point of the beautiful melancholy Christmas feeling if I cannot share it with Ian? Anyway, flight moved to Monday, 17th, at 6.40.

Evening text: a big thanks from the bottom of his heart for my kindness. And how sorry he is to know that I'm going to go back home. And how sorry he will be when he misses me. And God bless me.

I am shocked, seriously upset. I have to text him back, clarifying that no, it's only a week earlier on my holidays, don't worry, piccolino.

Reply: thanks. Really glad you're not going. Miss you. Hope we can catch up soon.

And so we did. Quite unexpectedly, although deep inside I knew he would text me last night, asking if he could come over for a cup of tea. What I had told him was that I was giving him time and space to prepare for his Malta trip, but I was here, ok? (Thanks, sweet).
So, here he comes. Annoyingly enough, the washing machine is on, filled with Drunk Housemate's clothes, and it is making such noise you'd think they can hear it in Hove; also, Tall Housemate is around, cooking her dinner, and watching loud tv. Then, The Simpsons are on, the volume goes up, the washing machine is spinning and spinning, and it's dangerously getting on my nerves, not to mention the fact that I hoped we could be alone for a moment, talk, quietly, seriously, not chatting about his crazy housemate and my job.
Icing on the cake, which I had completely forgotten: New Housemate pops in, preceded by Landlady and boyfriend, who have brought light bulbs, a clothes horse, and a doorbell.
The house is a messy, noisy, upsetting unsettling tiny space, I can see Ian's expression growing nervous and uneasy, and in a second we share the "time to go" look.
An embarassed half hug, which leaves me with a bitter taste in my mouth. I will try to avoid physical contact with him, from now on. Too painful, too pathetic.

I text him later, apologising for the noisy messy place.
The reply is an "aurevoir till Monday", which puts a smile on my face.

Not that I think that we will meet on Monday: he will back sometime past 6, in the morning. Tired, possibly stressed, with his study schedule to catch up, and all that. No, I doubt we will meet on Monday. I am not even sure I want to.

There are things I would like to ask and talk about, with him, and I can't. I should have asked/told him last Friday, as we were breaking up, but I knew better, and he was so upset and sad, how could I trouble him with my words?

Anyway.
As I am writing now, he is on the bus to Gatwick.
As I am writing now, I haven't even started to study, so I should get down to my books.
As I am writing now, I have plans and ideas on the months to come: apply for a scholarship for my master, work out more at the gym, search for more teaching jobs, apply for a certificate for teaching Spanish, start studying (for real!) for my master, stop feeling guilty for leaving mum at home without me.
As I am writing now, I am online with my brother, chatting on Skype. I had to move to Brighton to be friendly with Brother Genius....

A text and a prayer (including an evening update)

Received, unexpectedly, on Sunday, 25th, h 15.56, after two days of me jumping whenever I heard the tone for an incoming text, because I didn't expect one, because the only person who texts me regularly is my lovely Ian, and I knew it could not be him.
So now, "message received", I can only think it's mum, or Ana, or Bride friend or any other friend checking on my well-being. I am just back into my room after spending two hours in the kitchen, where I had scrambled eggs while concentrating on the tv, and then I cleaned the oven and grill so well, because tonight, or one day this week, since I am working only 3 days, I will bake bread. Oh, yes, I will bake bread. It will be three-grain bread, not from the recipe book I got from my birthday, not yet, but just an experiment, and like in "We were the Mulvaneys", I will make bread and my tears, mixing with the dough I will be kneading, will make it special.

So, message received, and I believe it is mum. Instead it's Ian.

"Hey Peggy. Thks for t txt on Fri & for the courage & strength you always show. I do want to be ur friend, because ur a fantastic person & i will always thank God that we met. I hope ur ok & will have a good week*"

I am crying before getting to the end.

I have so many tears to cry, still. It seems I will never stop.

But this post was meant to be a place for a prayer I found on the website of the band: the reason is that I have just been "nominated" on Facebook, for some interesting things:

§ for being most likely to correct my housemate's grammar (possibly, but her English is extremely good);

§ for being most likely to sing in the shower (not likely at all...the shower is the only place where I never sing);

§ for being most likely to love like I've never been hurt. So unfortunately, painfully true;

§ for being most likely to live for music. So completely true.

So here is a prayer for all those who believe in music, and in the power of music.

PREGHIERA DEL MUSICANTE

O SIGNORE
che hai raccolto nell’armonia dell’Universo
tutte le voci del Creato:
il ruggito del leone
e il gorgheggio dell’usignolo,
il cupo fragore del tuono
e il fresco mormorio delle sorgenti,

NOI TI PREGHIAMO
affinché, sorretti dalla Tua fede
e per amore di essa,
possiamo elevare le voci dei nostri strumenti
fino alle argentee trombe
e alle arpe dorate
degli angeli del Tuo Paradiso.

BENEDICI
i grandi talenti della nostra arte,
benedici tutti coloro che nella musica
elevano la mente e lo spirito;
unisci le loro voci
affinché nello spazio infinito
giungano fino a Te.

CONCEDI A NOI
Il Tuo aiuto per proseguire
nel cammino che molti prima di noi
hanno segnato sul pentagramma
e fa’ che possiamo,
attraverso i nostri strumenti,
diffondere il Tuo messaggio
di fratellanza e di pace,
esaltare la Tua gloria,
dare gioia e speranza ad ogni spirito umano
nel solo, unico linguaggio universale: la musica.
Amen

*********************

Evening update: the phone rings, and once again I expect it to be mum.

But no, it's Ian.

I take the phone, and I almost pick up.

Then I let it ring, and ring, and ring.

Finally I listen to the message he's left on the answer phone.

Just calling to know if how I am, and wanting to say hi. No problem if (can't understand this bit, damn me). Hope I have a good week, speak to me some time. Cheers.

Crumbs, I hate the following:

- when he says "cheers", because it's a signal of distance;

- when he says "cool", which is a signal that a situation is upsetting for him;

- when he says "speak to you some time".

Anyway. I decided not to answer because the time off I have given him, to think over our relationship as friends, to calm down, to wash away his sense of guilt and all that, is meant to be a time off for myself too, and for my hurting heart.

I don't want to end up like in September, when I crawled to his house, red-eyed and desperate, almost trying to make him change his mind, trying to force him to give me a reason, almost making him angry, and unchaining that sense of guilt that has brought us here, today.

I want to work my pain out by myself, and I need time by myself, to read, pray, work, go to the gym, study, plan my Christmas holidays, be quiet for a while. If I go cold turkey on him, and we meet again when he is back from Malta, or maybe in January, it will be a lot better, because I will have had enough time to recover.

I deserve it, don't I? I deserve my time to feel better.

Ian has his studies, to keep him busy and concentrate all day and all night, he has God to talk to, and he is surely less troubled than I am, he eats and sleeps properly, because he is in peace with himself and with God.

I, on the contrary, am looking for peace in me, and am seeking God every moment of my day, and worries weigh on me like marble, no matter how often I read the Bible or pray. I find it hard to think that God will take care of me, especially considering what I am going through, but I want to trust Him and be confident that things will work out fine.

I only need a bit more time, because I have no-one to guide me now. Once again, I trusted Ian to be my guide in discovering God, but all he could tell me, three days before getting back together, was to speak to the priest in the church in Hove.

I'd like to go to some Bible reading, somewhere, but they all happen to be in the morning, for old people, or housewives with little else to do. I suppose I will need some more research on Internet...

Anyway. Almost nine o'clock, and no movie tonight, then. I'll go back to my books and prepare for tomorrow: lessons, and a long time at the gym, to concentrate on my running and lose myself.

I hope God will understand

"A cheerful heart brings a smile to your face, a sad heart makes it hard to get through the day".

I thought I would go to another church, this morning, for the main reason that I didn't feel like walking all the way to my usual church; also, you never know, Ian may decide to go there too, and I don't want to meet him (yet) (as if...I am 200% sure that he is going to the uni chapel, which he prefers anyway. All that talk of wanting to get out of the uni system every now and then was just more smoke in my eyes).

So, last night I found a church in Bevendean, which looked ok, and decided to go there for Mass this morning. Then, being a bright day, I walked out of the house and thought that my usual church would do, after all, at least I'll have a walk.
I went as far as...well, I didn't go far.
Then I stopped.
I stood in the middle of the street for five minutes.
And then I walked back. Holding back the tears.

I forced myself to eat some cereals and yogurt, and concentrated hard on the action of eating, to prevent tears from flowing down again.

It is hard. Mostly because I cannot talk to him, know what he is thinking now, what his real thoughts are. When he says he thinks I should move on, does he mean he doesn't want to see me again? And all these months, have we been friends because he was feeling guilty?

"Guilt is banished through love and truth".

If only we could talk, but what is there to say?
Only that I still don't understand his decision, except that his love for me is not Love, but love, and that he believes this is not the right moment to grow it, because it has come so much in advance on his plans that it's just messing him up, and his ambitions are too high to be spoilt by a growing relationship.
Only that he is scared and confused, possibly because I am 4 years older than him, and he thinks I need to have my own family soon...Good gracious, I cannot pay my rent, I am a foreigner here, and a family is the last of my thoughts. And even if I wanted a family, I could wait, you know? I've waited all my life for him, what difference would it make to wait some more? Especially since we've only just met, and there are so many things we don't know, so much to talk about.
But again, this is not the right time for him. It shocks me, because I understand exactly what he thinks.
Then people tell me that I should "threaten" him, tell him that when he is ready ,maybe I won't be. Ha. As if.
For one, this is nothing I could tell him, even if I were mad angry at him (which I could never be), and for two, who tells you that when he is ready he will want me? He picked me by pure coincidence, seeing a lonely soul like he was, and seriously, only God knows what he thought would happen. He pushed it too far, with these ideas of "I would like you to move to Brighton, because this is special".

IT IS SPECIAL, FOR GOODNESS' SAKE! HAVE YOU EVER FELT LIKE THIS BEFORE? DOESN'T IT SCARE YOU THAT IT MAY BE YOUR ONLY CHANCE, AND YOU ARE THROWING IT AWAY?

He doesn't know. I wish I could ask him how many times he has been in love, and what happened then. I wish I could ask him the difference between then and now. I wish I could tell him about my past, and all the love I have wanted to give which has always, always been refused, of all the love I am ready to give him, no matter what, to be by his side and walk with him, because this is the chance I have never had, and always prayed for, for all my life.
But his trust in God makes him believe that yes, when he is 30, and his Phd is finished, and his career has started, then God will send him a girlfriend to spend the rest of his life with, to make a family with, to Love with a capital L. But wasn't he praying for a girlfriend before coming to Brighton, in July? And didn't God send...well, me? We didn't meet by coincidence, did we? God doesn't play dice, Einstein said. So there must be a reason why we met. Just as there is a reason why we are going through this painful, unbearable moment.

"We plan the way we want to live, but only God makes us able to live it".
I understand that if we couldn't live this moment together, it is because God thought it wasn't the right time either. Yes, now it makes sense. I understand.

Yes, but can we be friends now? I understand him so well, and he likes to have me as a friend, so can we be friends, please? And if things were going well between us as friends, why making a mess again and try to be a couple, when his heart wasn't in it? Why lying to himself, and to me, when he knew that it wouldn't work? Why hurting both of us?

"Friends love through all kind of weather".

It is hard to keep my promise that I won't text him or anything before he leaves for Malta. I need time to think and heal and recover again, and I know I need this time, badly, because I don't know what to do. I don't know if I want to stay here, and why, I don't know what I can do if I go back home, I don't know how I can survive next year, with the master to pay, I don't want to lose Ian, and this is a selfish thought, but I don't want to lose him.

I hope God will understand.

Sometimes, reading through the Proverbs, or the Psalms, I find the encouraging word I need to go on, but I also feel that I find lots of misleading words, words that make me believe that this thing can be fixed, words that make me feel that I am deceiving myself.
My faith is a blossom that needs water and care, and it seems unfair that it is already put on a test by the painful time I am facing. Still, I know there is a reason, and that only by being strong will I overcome this time.

So, my Bible is waiting, and more pages I have saved from an interesting website which is sending help to grow spiritually. In a way, I am confident this is the right way to go; but oh, how I miss Ian and his strong hands.

Picking up the pieces (or trying)

Funny. He decided to give it another try because he was feeling guilty for messing me up.
He kissed me, held me, held my hand, squeezed me. He told me "I love you". On Wednesday, on my birthday, we talked of how he was changing his mind again, of how his plans included a relationship at about 30, after all his other stuff was completed, Phd and all, of how, being a Christian, dating somebody meant some sort of prelude to marriage. I had to tell him that if you don't risk, you cannot know what will happen.
"That's what my mum/dad said too".
Outside Costa he hugs me, and asks me why I picked such a complicated guy.
At the cinema, we have to wait, and we hug several times. He holds me, standing behind me, his arms around me, something I love so much. During the movie I cry and cry, because I know what is going on; later we go for something to eat, and I can't eat, I know what is going to happen soon. He cannot eat either, "I don't know what's wrong", he says.
Funny, some weeks ago, a week exactly before we went back together, I asked him if he was hungry, and he said "No", and I asked him what was wrong with him, and we laughed. Things were easy, then, and our friendship was so strong and innocent and light. Still, there were things I couldn't tell him, and things I couldn't do, like hugging him, touching him.
On the way back home I remind him that some things cannot be planned, and this is such a precious thing that it would be crazy to throw it away, and he agrees.
Outside my house we hugged and hugged, and he told me not to be scared, which is what I told him when he said that sometimes he was scared, he panicked, and I had to confess that I was scared 24 hours a day, although not for the same reason (I didn't tell him that). We hugged and kissed, and I whispered "I love you", and he said "I love you too".
"You don't have to say it, you know".
"I mean it", he said.
"And with the help of God, to be with us, to keep things in control, yes?". When he mentions God is a bad sign, I think then. If he is asking for God's help now it means that he cannot handle it alone, and I am not enough for him. Oh no, not again, I think, and I know that the end is near.
I go to bed, and am troubled, very troubled, but a part of me is smiling anyway, because of the kisses, of the squeezes, like last Thursday, because it seems that talking has worked, this time. That we can make it, somehow. How easily can I deceive myself again.

I didn't think I would see him on Thursday, yet he texted me, asking me if he could come over for tea, and he arrived, slightly tipsy after being for a drink with some phd students and his professor. We spent almost two hours, hugging on the sofa, holding hands, talking, kissing. He was so sweet, we laughed and hugged, repeatedly. For a moment, for a moment, I thought we could make it. Because this love, this caressing and hugging, this sweet kissing, this bending down to kiss my hair, my cheek, this looking for my hand to hold and squeeze, this moving his arm around me, and pull me close, so that I can lay my head on his chest, feel his heart beat, hold him back...This must mean something, I'm sure. To him. Unless he is still trying to fool himself into thinking...who knows.

When he texted me today, I knew something was wrong. Yet I said yes, let's meet in town, I'll be at the library.
He arrived, so extremely upset. He walked to the sofa where I was sitting, he rushed to the sofa, such a grim look on his face; he sat by my side, almost collapsed by my side, without touching me, and when I asked him if he was ok, he said no. You look upset, I said, and boy was he upset. "I am", he said, and I was shocked and upset too at once, I saw it coming again; a part of him died right then.

"I'm not happy -he said - I think we should break up".

And I cannot really remember what else we said: something about him feeling guilty, and deciding to ask me back. Something about him being disappointed for not being able to make this thing work out. Something about me needing to move on, find somebody who won't mess me up.
Something about me being the one who has to decide if we will see again, if we will be friends, because he cannot expect me to want him as a friend again, after this. I say something about me having been more honest during these 13 days together than before, because back then, if I wanted a hug, I wouldn't have asked.
"I will love to give you one", or something like this, is what he replied. But I know I will never ask for a hug again. I am not sure we will be able to start again as friends, again, like we did before. Suddenly I feel angry and sad, why did he want to try and be together again if it wasn't what he was feeling, if things were going all right with us as just friends? Why mess the whole thing up like this?
He gives me a hug when we get up to go to the bus stop, but he decides he'll go for a walk, and he looks so upset, so so so upset. I am shaking, and it's not just the cold air. He caresses me, pinches my arm, says that if I want something I will have it.
It is then that I tell him, whispering in his ear, caressing his arm: "Ian...I wanted to be with you".
And my voice breaks; and the bus comes, and I think I wave goodbye, hurriedly, and I don't look at him again.

On the bus, I text some friends about it, the friends I had informed, happily, of the new chance I had been given to be happy with my piccolino, and of how scary and wonderful this was. Library friend calls straight away. My voice breaks while we talk, but less than I thought. I get home and take a hot shower, and feel numb.
Then, on Skype, Foxy friend appears, and we start chatting, and tears start flowing. I cry so much, and all I feel like doing is screaming and screaming.

I meet Ana in town, and I can only cry. I go back home after an hour, and cry on the bus.

Now, again, is the time for decisions.
When mum came to visit me, I thought I would leave, go back home, because there is no reason for me to stay. Ian looked almost scared, when I told him.
Ten days later we were back together.
Back in September, it had taken me more than a month to accept the fact that we were not going to be together anymore. And then more time to decide that with a good friend like him here, and a master to begin next year, and the nice house I live in, and a job I love, I have lots of good reasons to stay, even if I miss my mum, my house, and my friends sooooo much.

.....

Before going for the hot shower, once at home, I texted a long message to Ian. To make some things clear:

* I am not angry with him, I have never been, I will never be. How can I be angry with the person who made me so happy, even for such a short period of time, how can I be angry with someone who gave me a drop of love, and caressed me, hugged me with such intensity, kissed me (KISSED ME!) so beautifully? This heart is too full of love to feel any anger.

* He must NOT feel guilty. Why feel guilty for giving love and happiness to a lonely soul? This sweet, light drop of love is more than I could ever hope to receive, and I will always be grateful. No, piccolino, don't feel guilty.

* I don't want him to be with me, either as a friend or more, because he feels guilty, or thinks I need some sympathy. This is not the right ground for a friendship. So, be my friend because you want to.

* He must know that I was not thinking of our relationship as a prelude to a family, because I am 30, no, I was not investing all this love on such an ambitious plan. All I felt was that this was THE chance for both of us to be happy, together. Because, and I didn't tell him this, the electricity, the music I could feel when we were (are) together, is something I have never felt before, and I knew (know) this is a one-in-a-lifetime chance. Which has now gone.

Finally, I tell him that I am going to let him be alone for some days, no texts or anything from me. Wishing he will have a good time in Malta, where he's going next week, and remember that he can count on me, always.

Final hug.

Final "*I love you*".

Silence.

Oh, piccolino.
If you only knew, but I am sure he does, what great, incredible thing we were sharing. What treasure he has just thrown away.

Just spoke to mum. She doesn't know I have spent the past 13 days being back with Ian, she doesn't know that we have just broken up again. I thought it was no use telling her, I was right.
I am seriously, again, considering going back home, and by that I mean move back, with all my stuff.
Time for decisions again. I thought things could settle, and that we would work on this together, grow together, built this beautiful, sweet, important thing.
Love.

God.
Be with him now, don't leave him alone for a second.
Don't think about me, I can go on, somehow.
But my piccolino, so troubled, so upset, feeling guilty, stressed and unhappy.
Be with him, God.
Take his hand like I would do, and lull him to sleep, and give him nice sweet soothing dreams; whisper in his ear like I would do, make him smile. Lift him in your arms, make him feel safe. Ease his heavy heart, put his wonderful smile back on his beautiful, sweet, shy, lovely earnest face.
Make his sweet eyes shine again. Take away his worries.
Walk with him, holding his hand like I can't do anymore.
Hug him, squeeze him with all your strength, and tell him how much you love him, like I can't do anymore.

I think it's time to go.

Life ain't easy

...I am so scared again. I am so scared again. I am so scared.
Ian not in good mood. This is "one of those days. If you stop the routine and look at where you are, sometimes you feel...you know. Strange".
Damn, no, I don't know.
I mean, yes, I have been in this condition for the past 3 months, struggling to survive, struggling to understand where I belong, what is the point of being here and of all this pain.
I am too battling to adjust, being nearly 30 and still sharing a house with 3 20-year old girls, who don't have any sense of respect, being nearly 30 and still renting a room in a house where nothing is mine, being nearly 30 in a foreign country with no future ahead.
But here is where we are different, and I let things flow over me, and I work and work, knowing that things will be all right, eventually, even when the pain is so strong that it looks like it will never go away.
I am so scared and upset. I will have another troubled night, and fortunately I have tomorrow's lesson ready, and Wednesday's too. Which means that I don't have to worry about it, at least that. But oh, it is so difficult.
Ten days ago we kissed again. Since then, I've been living in a nightmare, scared to death of another break-up. I have tried not to think about it, to live it day by day again, and it's been hard. Every day I wake up and pray, pray and pray.
And still, I've just called him. And he told me to email him to let him know what I want to do on Wednesday. Email him??? EMAIL HIM???
Damn.

Oh, God. Help. I am not sure I am strong enough for this. Help. Help.

Memento amare - Lewes, November 5th, 2007

I've got cramps - part two

"Hey. I love you".

Brighton - pixies

* One of the symbols of Brighton...a gigantic seagull...Pixie taken during a freezing Guy Fawkes' night, Lewes.

* The beach and the sea. Because we love it. Always.

* Pigeons taking a bath on Saturday, November 3rd. After a fish soup on the beach.

I've got cramps

It all begins on Monday, I suppose. During Guy Fawkes' night. It is freezing cold, and I am not dressed enough; we are squashed in the crowd, and our reaction, being such a special event, is of excited madness at the music, the fire, the people, the noise and smoke. I am afraid I'll get lost in the crowd, so I allow myself to grab him by the arm, and we walk like that. When we leave, and we get to the station, he asks me if I am cold, and his arm goes round my shoulder, to hug me gently. On the train, we sit in the luggage space, chatting, talking. At the station we buy a hot chocolate, we wait for the bus in Churchill Square, we go home; he squeezes my arm to say goodbye.
We see again on Wednesday, the day I receive the upsetting phone call from my dad, and then upsetting phone call from my mum. We talk and talk, he tries to make me feel better, I tell him how I had thought of leaving also because I thought that he would feel better without me around, messing up his life with my presence. When he leaves, he gives me a long hug. After all, I feel decent, even though I cry most of the evening, and in the morning I am still fogged and slightly sad. But the day moves on, and I feel a lot better by the evening. He calls me on the evening, we chat and talk for ten minutes or so, it is sweet and nice as usual, both hopeless on the phone.
I don't hear from him on Friday, but I spend a lovely day at school, then at the gym, and in the evening I am so tired that I go to bed at ten o'clock, and sleep until Saturday morning at eight...
Saturday morning, the sky looks grim, but I walk to the swimming centre all the same, spending a productive hour and a half swimming and swimming, feeling so good. In the changing room I switch on my mobile and receive his message, to meet up as usual for our afternoon together. We go for our tea at the Pavillion, then it's a walk to the shopping centre and to the lanes, and then to the beach for a fish soup, chatting and laughing. He says something, can't remember what, and then adds "you must thing I'm an idiot", to which I reply that no, I only think good things of him.
We spend some more time there, then decide to head back home, walking and talking. His arm goes round my shoulder a few times, which I like. As I was telling Eric at the beginning of the week, I so miss human contact in this country, but wouldn't dare hug my piccolino, in case he misunderstands my affection for something else. So I am glad he acts spontaneously. It feels good.
We go home for a hot chocolate, and when he leaves he doesn't hug me the usual way, but his cheek touches mine, Italian-English style, and a smile, a "ciao", and he's gone. I go to my room and feel strange, something is going on, and I am scared and confused.
We meet again at 6 at his house, for dinner, and a dvd, which we watch sitting on the sofa, and it feels strange again, because he is not avoiding contact between us, but it feels as if he is looking for it.
When the movie is over we prepare some tea and sit in the armchairs, trying to watch tv but switching it off after a minute. It is then that he starts talking, slowly, in chunks, my heart going faster with every word.
He tells me how he is afraid I might be angry at him. That I have reasons to be. That he is sorry if he made me believe that he doesn't want me around. We talk about how under pressure he puts himself, and how things are difficult for him, the time he takes to adjust. He caresses my arm a few times, fair enough, something he does every now and then. Things start feeling stranger when he caresses my face, before taking my hand and holding it. I ask him what is going on, or maybe I only think it. He says he is sorry; he says he has been worried about me. He says again, "I am sorry". "Don't be", I reply. "There's no need to be sorry". "Are you ok?", he asks me, "I am ok, are YOU ok? Good, that's what counts", and I mean it. If you are happy nothing else matters to me. And then he tells me what a wonderful person I am, to which I can reply that he is too. I almost see it coming, but am too scared to believe it.
It is then when he moves towards me, and kisses me. And kisses me. And kisses me.
The following (hour? minutes? days?) are spent on the sofa, because I am uncomfortable in the armchair, and because I want to seize the moment, and be close to him now, feel him again, breathe him again, "I've missed you", I tell him. He says he was scared, new city, new job, things crowding around him, he was scared, a fool, an idiot.
I laugh, I can't believe what is happening. We are sitting on the sofa, holding hands, talking and chatting, he caresses my hands, my hair, he hugs me.
After a while we walk to my house, and we say goodbye, lots of kisses. See you tomorrow, in church. To be together, for some time.
I go home, and I am not tired. That's what Saturdays are for, to go to bed feeling relaxed and not tired at all, to enjoy a good night's sleep, to smile when the light is off and you can think of the nice things that have happened in the day, in the week. I switch off the light and concentrate on nothing but the silence in the house, and the lesson on Monday, which I have already prepared.
I wake up once, twice, three, four times. And everytime there is this bundle of cramps in my stomach, curling up in me, painful and beautiful.
I am scared. So so scared. "Don't be scared, ok? Try praying if you are, that can help". Ok.
Dear God.
Thanks.
And help.
Thanks, thanks, thanks.

This is a miracle.
I am so grateful.
So confused.
So happy.
Thanks.

Samwise, c'est moi

Ok...thinking and thinking...talking...meditating...thinking again...receiving phone calls at 8 am while walking to work, only to get to work in a thick fog, unable to concentrate, grateful because it's Wednesday and I have planned to watch a movie, so I don't need to conduct a proper lesson. Receiving more phone calls, which for some reason turn into unreal conversation of "Well, let us know if you want to hear from us again", and still I don't understand how we got there, feeling guilty, guilty, guilty, 24 hours a day.
Feeling stuck, feeling unreal, feeling surrounded by emptiness, as if everything around me has crumbled down, and I am left alone to pick up the pieces, but in darkness. Feeling so unreal, so unreal that I cannot explain how it feels exactly, except that it seems to me that the last three months have been someone else's life, strange and uncomfortable, something I am trying to adjust to, my hyper, happy, crazy me, my active me, my hectic me. So, lots of things to do, lessons to prepare, hours at the gym, websites to study, and trying to meditate, read, understand, or make sense.
The weekend, a swim, a lovely, lovely swim, then a tea with Ian, a walk to the beach and some pixies, a fish soup and a long talk/chat, the day after watching a beautiful Spanish movie which anticipated another long talk, and all these good moments are tied together, and they make me smile, they make me feel good. And in school, after the Halloween party, after the English cream tea afternoon, after the preparation of lessons, after the breaks and lunches in the staff room, laughing and talking with Andrew and Ana, and then the beautiful evening in Lewes for November 5th, what a lovely night, what A LOVELY FREEZING NIGHT.
More good feelings, more feelings that I am doing fine, that this is a good thing.
Things are so difficult, and I don't know what to do. I like being here, and I miss my mum, and the comfort of our house, and the air. I like being here, and I miss the band, playing together, the madness of my friends, and of course human contact, hugging people. There was a volunteer for Oxfam near the Pavillion, the other week, wearing a "free hugs" shirt, and for a long, long second I thought of going and hugging him.
Things are so difficult, and I am trying to pray. I don't know what I am doing exactly, or if I am doing it right. I don't know what to do. I have lots of websites to help me through this; it hurts to think that I was (quite) sure to be "guided" by my piccolino, and I cannot be. I am not confident enough to go and ask for help at my church. So I am reading, receiving emails to guide me, saving file after file, reading the Bible, praying on my way to work, because walking is my way to concentrate.
In a way, I am trying to think and meditate; in another, I am trying not to. Things are so difficult.
But then, I plan to spend a weekend at home at the beginning of December, before spending 2 weeks there for Christmas, and my lessons are going well, and this weekend I am going out with Ana for a drink, and we are organising the activities for next week, and I will earn some extra money for the translation of the website of the school, which is cool; then, I come home, and I have a fruit salad, the kitchen is clean, Noisy Drunk Housemate is moving out at the end of the month, and then Ian leaves a message on my answerphone, so I call him, and he calls me back not to make me spend money, and when his dinner is ready he says "bye", and calls me back again two minutes later.
Brother, is he sweet. God bless him, he is the most wonderful person I have ever met.
Well, Friday's coming, and I have one more lesson, my two hours at the gym, and books to read, to begin the weekend the proper way. And it's getting late, I want to read before going to sleep.

Samwise, c'est moi: torn between two worlds.