Soul Separation

I walked away numb. It wasn't real to me yet. I'm still in Germany. My lips still taste of his. My hand is still warm where he had been holding it. He had turned to walk away and so had I, but it felt like any other time we'd parted ways only to fall into each other's arms hours later.

It was only as I neared the subway station that I realized that this is it. My time with him is over, and we won't be meeting for dinner, dancing, or even a cup of coffee this evening. I passed a busy intersection where a dark man with messy curls and a mischivious grin played the acordian. He was playing quite a melancholy song.

Something about the music made me stop in place and turn around. I couldn't leave yet. I needed to feel close to him for a few minutes more, so I crossed the same place where we had crossed hand in hand both yesterday and today, and entered a cafe to enjoy the sullenly sweet sounds of the acordian.

As I entered, I realized I had gone into a Portuguese cafe where I could get by in Spanish as opposed to the ever difficult frantic hand waving and mumbling I've tried to pass as German. Aventura's "I'm sorry" was playing softly above me as I sat down in front of a wide open full length window. I felt a part of two worlds as I sat motionless at the small square mohoghany table listening to both a heart wrenching bachata and acordian simultaneously. Spanish here, German there. I felt a pressure building in my throat, and a single tear made its easy escape, leaving a sleek trail of remembrance on my cheek. I smiled though my heart was in pain.

And so, here I sit, at the Delta Cafe in Hamburg, living with one foot in each world for the moment. Inside the walls is warm and well taken care of. The floors are swept, the tables spotless. Portuguese and German flags hang from the ceiling. A giant red lobster perched unflinchingly on the yellow wall seems to be watching me from his one remaining plastic eye. Maybe he's empathizing. Is his love on another wall in the restaurant that he can't reach?

Meanwhile outside the acordian has stopped. The musician is walking around with a small, broken plastic container requesting coins for his music. Across the street is an entire brick wall covered in street art. Grafiti of all colors, of all styles. There are several sleeping bags strewn about in chaotic order. There are three sets of old, torn shoes sitting on a step, placed carefully, heels touching, toes all facing forward, and a few dusty young men sit nearby idly chatting through shattered teeth while passing a cigarette and bottle of cheap wine.

My heart is not breaking. It's not broken. It hurts. It's bursting. It's happy. There is so much positivity and not enough space. There is perfection, and although he had turned to walk away and so had I, he remains with me in every moment, in every action. Every sound. Every smell. I've known him for lifetimes. Maybe then I was his husband and he was my wife. Maybe I was his dog or he was my cat. I can't help but smile through my tears at the thought of being a dog in a former life. As I sip my cafe con leche y mucho mucho azucar, I remember how as a child, I used to believe I had been a dog in past lives. Maybe he was my master then, my equal now, my soulmate forever.

A calm comes over me, as forever is a long time, and as long as we walk this world it will be hand in hand, in whatever capacity. I've found a home in his arms, and although I feel a bit homesick, I've got a bit of work to get done before returning to where I belong. And so, I smile through these tears of happiness, contentment, and assuredness of fate. I smile because our paths will cross again in October, and until then, we will be apart, but only physically.

Selling Sweet Solitude

I'm single. I chose to be single because I didn't like the man I was with. I felt I loved him at a point, but when it came down to it, he beat the like right out of my heart. He worked long and hard at it as if training for a marathon. Day after day, moment after moment. He worked at it like he was otherwise unemployed. Eventually, in order to gain space, I told him I needed him to leave. I needed time to figure out what I truly wanted, because in my heart I knew it wasn't him. He made me second guess everything that came naturally for me, down to how much space I used on a counter top when I cooked, and how I taught MY salsa lessons. He told me the things I did for him didn't matter, that he didn't care about my side of discussions. He told me all sorts of things, and the bottom line was: I didn't like him anymore, and by the time he decided to change, all of my energy had been spent.

I liked to hear from him, but I didn't like having a conversation with him. I always felt like I needed to console him. Like I was playing a role. Like he didn't really want to ever hear the truth. I knew he didn't like my sense of humor, and I made efforts to tone it down. He didn't like my approach to life, so I toned that down, too.

Essentially, I became a watered down version of Rita. I was Rita .05.

He was handsome, although his self esteem was low enough that if I didn't tell him that, he would constantly doubt it. He was a very bright man, although he got upset with me because his intelligence was what he called "behind the scenes," while mine revolved around tangible concepts for most. Languages, excitement, life.

I'm not sure why I stayed as long as I did. Maybe it was the "He understands what I've been through" syndrome. Or maybe it was because I wasn't sure I'd find someone else faster than me. Even now, I'm not sure.

I asked him to stop contacting me, because I found myself wanting to hear from him, but not wanting to talk to him. I wanted a way out, and I found it. It was that easy.

I haven't felt more whole than I do right now, without him in my life. I thought I'd miss him dearly, want him near, want to hear from him, but I rarely thought of him. I took the alone time to turn on my voice recorder, record my thoughts, and really dig deep into myself. I decided to take the time to try to find the demons that haunt my dreams, and sometimes cause my insomnia. I wanted to find it, nurture it, feed it, and understand it.

I've decided to write a book.

Some of you have known this for a while. Some of you haven't. There it is. I'm actively working on a book. That's all you get. :)

Recently we have dropped the Facebook friends thing. I told him goodbye over email, our first contact since the beginning of April. He responded that he thinks I'm lying to myself. I'm not really happy, and that I'm self destructing because I'm trying to "sell" my enjoy life mentality to anyone who will listen.

My feelings were hurt for a moment, because I don't believe that is true at all.

Then I thought about things for an evening. Before we split, he told me I'd be better off without him, happier, and life would be more fun for me. He told me that I didn't need him like he needed me, and he was probably holding me back. I told him that wasn't true, although there was a nagging need to tell him otherwise. I held back because...well, I'm not sure why.

But he was right. Without him, I've been free to think as I please, embrace people from all walks of life, shrug off the confines of societal norms, and truly enjoy life in its separate moments. The more I look at it, the more I feel encouraged to live that way, for returning to the lifestyle I led prior seems entirely too confining.

I'm not claiming to be healed. I have nightmares. I can't sleep some nights. Sometimes I have to laugh at myself because a crack or pop will make me jump so high out of my seat that people back away with that wary look in their eyes that's specially reserved for crazies.

Three times I've been in a situation where I've relaxed every muscle completely since I've been in Alaska. A yoga/dance class and two separate wellness/yoga classes. Each time when I completely relaxed, I was being blown up again, as clear and vivid as if it was happening THAT moment. It's there. I recognize it. I'm not feigning being cured or blissful forgetfulness.

I am, however, curious of the origins. I'm curious of the demons I have, and excited about the prospect of dealing with them one by one. I've taken my voice recorder out with me on runs daily. I have hours of thoughts recorded, and day by day, I put them into writing, and get closer to my answers. Closer by immeasurable distances, almost unnoticeable, but closer, nonetheless.

There are two ways to deal with this. Every day I could lament the 8.5 years I lost to the government, the nerves that have been frazzled and frayed by close calls, and the loneliness that is being by yourself in a foreign land (in this case, Alaska). I could spend my days sulking in my room worried about my past, my future, my savings, my mortgage, what people think of me, my faults, my scars, my shortcomings. OR I can seize this as an opportunity to enjoy the vistas, the solitude of river and running time, the differences of the locals, and the possible exploration opportunities in the local mountains. I could take the time to explore my heart, my mind, and my soul in positive ways instead.

I'm beyond beginning to enjoy being alone. It's addicting. Solitude is indeed something to be celebrated at times. Quiet moments that can be appreciated instead of suffered are something to smile about.

I will apologize to anyone who feels I'm trying to "sell" them on my happiness. I know I'm happy. I break into random smiles when I'm alone. I feel the euphoric high I used to associate only with dancing and running randomly throughout the day. Sure, I have moments of discontent, but again, MOMENTS. There are many moments, each with its own beginning and its own end. I don't have time to let a negative moment bleed into the next which could easily be the opposite.

I'm satisfied with my place in life. Sorry, it's not for sale.