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Sex/Life 38

“You are amazing. I love you” she whispered. I smiled and tidied up her fringe, stuck on her wet forehead. Stayed in silence, staring at her blushing face. HER face. The one who left me behind. The one who broke my heart. The one I had to imagine in other faces because I thought I'd never see her again. Her beautiful face, even more beautiful than every memory I had from her. And there she was, staring back at me. Finally together again, in the other side of the world.

A drop of my sweat fell right on her naked chest. She laughed and goosebumps rose all over her skin when I tenderly attempted to dry her up. “I love you too” I said.

Always have. Always will.

Tel-Aviv taxi

The driver looked back at my girlfriend in the rearview mirror. “Norwegian? No, no, we don't like Norwegians” he said roughly in his very basic English; “they only like Palestine and talk bad about Israel.” My gal, in her very polite Scandinavian custom, responded with a “but my boyfriend is Chilean.” The cab man changed his aggressive tone for a smile and said “oh, Chile! South America! Very good football! I like Chile!” I, condescendingly, replied “yeah, very good football.” Inside, I was laughing, ironically. If Israelis knew that Chile openly supports Palestine and has the largest Palestinian community outside of the Arab world, they would have treated me as bad as my girl. Ignorance is a blessing.

Love Trip, Episode 02: London, England.

What can I say about London? Not much, really. Only spent one and a half days there, so I'm not able to give an advanced talk on the city and everything related to it. But I can share some facts I saw during my stay. London is big, so it has a clock of similar proportions, The Big Ben. And lots of bridges. And very expensive beer. And many museums called “Tate”, of which I could only see the modern one.

London subway, a.k.a. “the Tube”, is massive, and has so many lines and colors that looking at its map makes you feel trapped in a fucking maze. Lucky me, I was with my girl. She definitely knew her way around. Well, didn't pick the hostel pretty wisely, but can't blame her. St Christopher's Inn sounded like a nice place, but ended up being shit. Mixing a busy pub with a hostel is not a great idea.

Anyway, and this may sound very shallow, there was something about London that got my attention: the racial variety. I mean, I know it's the 21st century and this shouldn't be a detail at all, but I come from the ass crack of the world. In Chile, there is no mix at all. We had our first black people 5 years ago, for fuck's sake! So, as you can imagine, London was a revelation. Variety wherever I looked, like being in a United Colors of Benetton ad. Amazing!

And, shallow as this comment is, I really liked the people in general over there. Most of them looked so good. Well dressed, fit, tidy. It was a real fashion capital. In Swansea, I felt so disappointed about the people there and their overall trashiness. “Where's the so called euro look?” I thought. But London was basically being in another world; a world of good looking citizens in which I felt a bit out of place. Ironically, many girls checked me out, which was new for me in Europe. The more multicultural the city, the more attractive you get? I don't know. Somebody should look into that.

And that's what I have to say about London. Huge city, very trendy and multicultural, with an apparently infinite subway and the most expensive pints of beer I've ever seen. Yeah, London is the shit. Chaotic, enormous, expensive and beautiful shit.

PS: I'm not joking about St Christopher's Inn, it is shit, and not in a good way -if there's any-!

Transatlántico. Capítulo 00: Expectativas.

Sinceramente, no sé que esperar de este viaje. Cruzar el Océano Atlántico, desde Chile a “las Europas,” no es algo que uno haga todos los días. De hecho, con suerte yo he salido de Chile algunas veces; volando en esos vuelos económicos que se sienten como viajar en un bus interprovincial, pero con alas y sin bingo a bordo. Y como si con cruzar la mitad del mundo, enfrentarme a las diferencias culturales e idiomas extraños no fueran suficiente, las razones que me llevan en esta travesía no son menores. Es un viaje de placer que, si bien de placentero tiene harto -reencontrarme con mi polola noruega después de un mes separados: ¡tiembla el Viejo Continente!-; también tiene un desafío bastante complicado: conocer a los suegros... y caerles relativamente bien.

Y pensar que hace un año, cuando conocí a mi polola, en mi cabeza sólo había conceptos genéricos de Noruega: nieve, salud y educación gratis, aborto legal, vikingos. Nada más. La cosa no ha cambiado mucho hasta ahora, un año después. Aún tengo miedo de que mi suegro, si no le caigo bien, va a tomar un hacha, decapitarme y clavar mi cabeza en una pica en la puerta de la casa, vikingo style.

Todo esto, más encima, en un contexto más raro que la cresta, partiendo por el viaje mismo. El itinerario no podría estar más alejado del clásico tour por Europa -Torre Eiffel, Big Ben, Coliseo romano- que hace la gente común y corriente -que puede pagarlo-. Mi vuelo parte de Santiago, hace una parada “corta” -espero- en Buenos Aires, y de ahí se pega un pique de 14 horas sobre el Atlántico hasta Amsterdam, Holanda. Ahí, luego de redibujarme la raya del poto con un plumón; deberé correr hasta el siguiente avión, que me llevará hasta Oslo, Noruega. Es ahí cuando la cosa se pondrá bastante rara.

En Noruega me reuniré por primera vez con uno de mis nuevos familiares políticos: mi cuñada, la hermana mayor de mi polola. Ella, luego del que asumo será un encuentro incómodo tipo “así es la cosa nomás, poh”, se encargará de alimentarme con un plato típico de la zona -salmón, ballena, o lo que sea que se coma por esos lados-; y se va a asegurar de que no me quede dormido a media tarde por lo extenuante del viaje y la diferencia horaria -unas 6 horas.

Al otro día, avión nuevamente; ésta vez a Londres. Pero de ver el Big Ben, el puente, la Reina y ese paso de cebra por el que cruzaron los Beatles, nada. No, ahí en Londres no alcanzaré a estar más de una hora. Tengo que tomar un bus que en seis horas se va a adentrar en una tierra extraña, donde por lo que he oído se habla un inglés como medio balbuceado y se toma más cerveza que agua: Gales.

Ya en Swansea, en la costa galesa, voy a por fin reencontrarme con mi rucia. Vamos a pasar un rato ahí, y mientras ella termina sus estudios y su tesis, yo voy a tratar de ver si el inglés que aprendí en el liceo sirvió de algo. Además, por allá estarían en verano. Por primera vez podría ir a una playa, sacarme la polera y no sentirme el ser más pálido del lugar, porque creo que los británicos son más blancos que leche con cloro.

Después de eso y de regresar a Noruega para hacerme el simpático con los suegros -y si sobrevivo-, le tocaría el turno a los amigos mi polola de conocer al ya, a estas alturas, famoso chileno. De nuevo arriba de un avión, esta vez a Israel los pasajes. Muro de los Lamentos, Mar Muerto, su selfie al lado de la cruz del Tatita Dios; o sea, todo lo que se hace por allá. Por lo que sé, ahí estaríamos en Medio Oriente -¿alguién dijo Al-Qaeda?-; pero no hay camellos ni pirámides, lo que vendría siendo una decepción. Igual yo ya he estado en Antofagasta, así que no me sorprende mucho el desierto. Tal vez hasta lo llegue a encontrar medio fome, así que voy a estar feliz de volver a Noruega antes de regresar a Chile.

Con todos estos planes y compromisos, la verdad es que no tengo muchas expectativas, pero sí muchas dudas. ¿Es verdad que el europeo en general no se baña nunca ni usa desodorante? ¿Son fríos, así como medios robóticos? ¿Voy a ser el hombre más moreno en Escandinavia? ¿Las mujeres del Viejo Continente pensarán que soy un latinlover irresistible si logro mover mis caderas en la pista de baile? ¿Echaré de menos los completos, las empanadas de pino caldúas y las sopaipillas con pebre cuchareado? ¿Saldré vivo de Israel? Espero poder resolver todas esas preguntas, y cualquiera otra que vaya saliendo en el camino. Al final, este momento en mi vida será único. Mítico. Impresionante. Transatlántico.

Love Trip, Episode 01: Swansea, Wales

Dylan Thomas, poet and Swansea's only renown character, once called his hometown the “graveyard of ambition.” When I had just arrived to this city in Wales, I didn't know this phrase, this character nor any reasons to judge Swansea.

After a few days there, I noticed something was fishy, and I'm not talking about the smell coming from tha bay. The city had this trashy atmosphere all around; something completely new to me, a fresh newcomer not only to this place, but to Europe. “Maybe it's just me” I thought. But it wasn't.

A friend of my girlfriend, when we asked him what did he think about us as a couple, simply said that we are equally weird. That was funny; yet not as funny as what I witnessed that night out at Wine Street, city's bar and club central. Slutty pink dresses, very short skirts, cutoff shorts showing half the ass. Girls did not know how to dress up nor showed any interest to cover up their excess of fat and abundance of cellulite. And the guys did not do any better, with extremely tight shirts, ridiculous muscles and “Douche 101” looks. “God, what's wrong with this people!?” I constantly said. But it wasn't until we decided to return to our place when the newly learned words from Swansea's most popular man came to my mind.

On our way back home, we saw a guy sitting on a bench, pucking while talking to his mates about going to a club afterwards. That and all the dog shit on our way back to our house made me realize that the poet's harsh words may have not been just a simple metaphor. Dylan Thomas was right. “Welcome to Swansea, the graveyard of ambition.”

Pasado

Hablar del pasado no es un problema, desde el punto de vista racional. Pero cuando se tocan temas delicados, como, por ejemplo, la vida sexual de tu actual compañero o algún trauma infantil; la racionalidad no se puede usar como parámetro válido para analizar las consecuencias de una conversación de este tipo. Si bien el tema del que se hace referencia ha transcurrido en un tiempo pasado, el hablar sobre éste lo hace presente, lo que despierta en la otra persona sentimientos reales en el aquí y el ahora. Esta reacción natural y básica humana ya no corresponde al terreno de la razón, si no que puramente al ámbito emocional.

En resumen: Usted no sea imbécil y deje el pasado donde tiene que estar, es decir, en el pasado. Así va a vivir un presente mucho mejor. Garantizado.

On tour: Europe and Middle East

When I started writing my story last year, I never expected to see such twist in it. I mean, c'mon, I'm writing this in English, just because of how events developed over time. Now the days in which I began my column Soltería 101 -Singleness 101- to help myself and others to deal with being single and sucking at it, seem very far away.

But there's no reason to go back in time and tell, once again, my whole journey. Because this right here, friends, is a call out for you, my readers. I wanna make a new experiment. After the interesting experience that turned out to be my bear-sexiness study, I thought “what the hell? Let's make this even more refreshing!” And this is where you come into play.

On June 2nd I am going to leave my homeland, Santiago de Chile, on a love related trip to Europe and the Middle East. Yes, crazy, huh? So this means I am going to visit, perhaps, your country, your city or even your home town. Whatever! The important thing is that I'll be around.

Then, what does this all have to do with you? Listen up: I wanna meet you! We can have a pint of beer, sit on a park, walk around, or just anything. I'm looking for a nice conversation and, why not, change your life. Yes, that's right: change your life. Because, technically, meeting some random guy from a blog is not something you do every day, do you? Taking it from there, everything that happens afterwards is a bonus. I think.

So I am just leaving the offer on. I'll be visiting London, Swansea, Sandefjord, Oslo, Copenhagen, Tel-Aviv and Amsterdam. Wanna give it a go? Don't hesitate and drop me a line on Twitter @edoher or Facebook /edoher. Looking forward to hear from you!

I died in San Pedro

I closed my eyes, the sun shinning on my face. “I'm dead,” I thought. My whole body was shaking, still shocked after sliding downhill over 90 feet. My left foot was broken and my ass was frying on the hot sand and salt crystals of the hill I was sitting on. I was in the middle of the desert, two miles away from the nearest town and at least one mile from the road; still just half way down the hill, with a thousand feet to go to get to the ground. I was pretty much fucked.

I had come to San Pedro de Atacama to die. I mean spiritually, not literally. Being suicidal wasn't one of my issues. I had enough already with my shit career going nowhere, my heart hurting after a bad break up and my sex life on hold, because I was failing miserably to get with the girl I wanted. I needed a change.

Got to town looking for some sort of enlightenment, a sign from the Universe, God or whoever that could tell me what the fuck to do with my life. Instead of that, I just got bored. So bored that I decided, the next morning, to go for a little walk in the desert. It was 11 in the morning, already 30 °C under the sun.

Should have know better. It was very obvious that climbing that hill, all alone and with no enough climbing experience, was reckless. Yet there I was, half hour later, about 500 meters -1600 feet- high, looking down to the sandy void around me. The view was stunning, but the heat at that time was too much. I had to go down.

It happened very fast, but felt so slow at the same time. While I was going down the hill, the terrain -basically dirt with salt crystals sticking out- yielded to my weight and I started sliding downhill. I held onto the scratching surface with all my strength, knowingly, even in my desperation, that rolling would have meant dying. Then I felt it, just when I had a free fall for a second. My left foot crashed a rock and broke. Luckily, the pain was diminished by the adrenaline.

When I finally stopped falling, the blinding dust and deafening sound of rocks falling on and around me, gave way to absolute silence, where I could only hear my moans and myself, heavy breathing. I tried to stand up, but the pain on my foot was too intense. I sat and closed my eyes. I felt hopeless. Doomed. Dead.

“Spiritual journey” my ass.

Then, a realization. I couldn't go like that! I thought about my family, my friends and that girl that wouldn't date me, no matter how hard I tried. “Fuck this shit! This motherfuking hill is not gonna defeat me!” I said out loud. I couldn't walk, but I crawled, sitting on the burning ground, scratching my ass and tearing my shorts on the pointy salt crystals of the surface.

Finally on the ground, at the foot of the hill, my mobile phone got some signal. I called Emergency, feeling safe at last. I wasn't, not yet. I spent over 2 hours under the burning sun of the Atacama desert, while help was trying to find me. No shade, almost no water left, only a light jacket to cover from the merciless rays and the 40 °C thermal sensation of the afternoon.

By the time the rescue team finally found me, I felt I was born again. And, as a new born child, I didn't care my scratched ass was exposed through my ripped shorts. I was even laughing and cracking jokes while they moved me in a litter to the ambulance. I was safe.

My life changed, yes, but not at all of how I expected. Didn't get a mystical revelation nor a sense of purpose. Got instead a big hospital bill, eight steel screws inside my foot, plus two months crippled and unable to walk. Although, there's a bright side to the story. All the good things that happened to me afterwards were only possible because of that fall. And, as bullshit as this sounds, if that was the price to pay for my current life, I'd do it all over again. Sort of.

Seekers, Settlers and real love

Our generation is fucked in the love department. Everyone born before the 2000's has grown up watching Disney animations and all sort of romantic flicks with perfect couples and happy endings. Those Utopian fantasies, subconsciously, crash against the reality we see around. Divorced parents, domestic violence, switched gender roles, the ever increasing race for financial or intellectual success, or the pursue of success in general. All this has led most people to take part of two toxic groups when it comes to approach their romantic lives. I call these groups Settlers and Seekers.

Settlers are the conformist side. Whether they are helpless romantics or extremely rational characters, they have the same factor in common: they always go for the wrong partner and stay with them. They may choose them for all “the right reasons”, like good financial situation, interesting hobbies, nice physical appearance, passionate career, and a long list of etceteras. Or, on the other hand, for many of the wrong reasons, from mommy/daddy issues to sexual fetishes, savior complex or fear of abandonment. Whatever the reasons are, none of them is enough to have a healthy relationship with.

No matter how unsatisfying, frustrating or even hurtful things are, Settlers will do everything they can to stay together with their partner. Why? Causes vary and may be very different to every person, although it is easy to detect the main problem for them. They just can't or do not want to be alone. The thought of getting old; peer, cultural or social pressure; insecurity and a large number of reasons, plus the obnoxious feeling they get when exposed to romantic stimulus while single. All of that leads to desperation, and desperation leads to the need to fill the empty space in their beds and lives with someone, regardless of this person provides what they require to actually satisfy their emotional needs or not.

On the opposite side of the scale we find the Seekers. They literally won't settle with anyone. The search for them never stops, because they are looking for Perfection (yes, capitalized). It's because, most of the times, Seekers are highly successful or remarkable people. Intellectually, financially, career wise and even physically; Seekers appear to be flawless, and that's exactly what they seek. They are after a partner as good as they think they are, or better. In the meantime, they'll try out different options, quickly moving on to the next one after finding the first flaw in the other person, as minimal as it might be.

Even though these two groups are very different, they are not as apart one from the other as it seems. A frustrated Settler, after things finally go to hell, can become a Seeker for a while or for good, not to suffer with the same mistake again. Or a Seeker, in a rough path of their life or just tired of the never ending search, can simply settle with the closest partner they'll find.

Nowadays, it's really hard not to fall in one of these two groups. Emotions have been replaced by individuality, and romantic relationships look more like business partnerships than selfless unions. But there is a third group that doesn't even need to be named; they are the people with healthy relationships. Not perfect, not ideal, not Disney-like. With flaws and up and downs, fights and disagreement, struggling every now and then. You'd hardly see their stories told in a movie, because they can be considered boring or too complicated to tell. They are real, and reality is not something attractive.

If you find yourself caught in any of the two toxic groups, don't feel hopeless. As you can switch from Seeker to Settler or the other way around, you can also step out that vicious circle and turn to the third group. Almost everyone there was like you. Stuck in a frustrating, life-sucking and unfulfilling relationship, or in a exhaustive search for Mr or Mrs Right. In any of those cases, always with the same consequence: failing to get what they needed.

I myself was a Settler. Spent years and years in an unhappy relationship, and after breaking up, became a Seeker. I was decided to get my life back, not wasting another day with the wrong person. Only dedicated my time and effort in the search for “the One,” jumping from one girl to the other and not getting attached with anyone. What changed? I met an imperfect person who was perfect for me. I realized that none of the approaches I had taken before in my love life were right. Either settling for someone who seemed perfect or looking for somebody perfect, none of those ever gave me what I needed. In fact, when I finally gave up my expectations and fears and just let myself enjoy and be surprised by the virtues and kinks of my girl, I fell in love. Real love.

Nobody is perfect, yet we feel forced to constantly look for or to create perfect romantic relationships, and to demand perfection from our partners. Truth is Perfection is just an illusion, product of decades of self-help books, consumerism, movie love stories and ever evolving technology. Once you understand that, pressure to be perfect fades away. Then you only need to connect with your own feelings and emotions; that'll help you comprehend yourself better and to figure out what you want and need. After that, finding a partner that meet your necessities and for whom you'll do the same, will be an easier task. Happiness will be yours and love -the real kind- will come naturally. Guaranteed.

Real love quote 07

Even when you look like shit, you are beautiful.

Incluso cuando te ves como la mierda, eres hermosa.

Real love quote 06

I love you for most of the right and some of the wrong reasons, in a very profound and shallow way.

Te amo por casi todas las razones correctas y algunas de las erradas, de una forma muy profunda y superficial.

Sex/Life 37

Tuesday, April 29th, around 9:02 AM. That was the last time we had sex. Rushed and quick sex before hitting the shower to go to the airport. A mock shag compared to the exhausting erotic sessions we had in the previous three weeks together. Now, 8 days after she left, frustration is taking over. Shit, not much more than a week and I'm already going crazy! It's been such a hard change. From an average of three shags a day to nothing. From her smell, her sounds, her softness, her warmth, her laugh, her presence; to nothing at all.

This entire sacrifice is supposed to pay off in the near future. Her absence now will become a life together afterwards, hopefully. Every hour without her will turn into a kiss, an embrace, a hand caressing my face or stroking my hair. Every day apart will convert in a belly laugh, holding hands while staring at each other eyes, a nice meal with friends. And making love. Hours of mutual touch, skin on skin, our bodies so close against each other that we'll forget who is who, and we'll be One. Us. Forever.

Sex/Life 36

A piano. Say something, I'm giving up on you. She looks at me. I'll be the one, if you want me to. Her blue eyes turn red, tears stream down her cheeks. “Say something” by A Great Big World plays in the background. We are having a bowl of cereal, naked in my bed. She's crying. “I'm so, so sorry” she says, weeping. I draw a sad smile on my face. “It's ok, babe; you are here now” I reply, wiping her eyes. Anywhere I would've followed you. Now I'm crying. And I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you. Everything is so fucked. I kiss her. Her skin is still wet with her tears. “You are here now” I say again.

Sex/Life 35

My breath has enough alcohol to get someone drunk. I'm not. Wish I was drunk, maybe that way I'd forget that I'm alone. She's gone. 2:42 AM. This will be the seventh night I'll sleep without her. I miss her so fucking much. My whole body longs for her. Autumn. Nights feel colder than ever, her side of the bed frozen, abandoned. It was 5 de Mayo just now. Tequila runs in my blood. My guts feel warm, my heart is cold. L, my love and lover, thousands of miles away, waking up now as I'm falling asleep on the keyboard. Fucking long distance.

Real love quote 05

Yeah, I'd marry you right now. I'd wake up and everyday would be sunny, just because the first thing I'd see would be you.

Sí, me casaría contigo ahora mismo. Despertaría y cada día sería soleado, porque la primera cosa que vería serías tú.

Long distance

Long distance relationships are shit. Without the sex and the physical contact in general, you are left only with your feelings and thoughts. If these are good, everything is OK. Add some Skype, emails, Facebook messaging or any other type of communication the 2000's has brought to us, and you are set. But, what if everything is pretty much fucked from the start?

I'm currently in the most complicated relationship of my life. It never was easy. We met in Santiago last year and we got together a month before she left. In total, we spent less than a month and a half dating, and couldn't keep things alive for more than just another month through long distance. I was faithful and devoted, she wasn't. She was traveling around, having fun, and doubting the whole thing. Cheating came as the logical option for her, consequence of the lack of communication, my constant whining and the temptation she had right next to her, while I was just this Chilean guy stuck in the other side of the world and whom she'd probably never see again.

I never stopped thinking about her, but didn't stay at home crying. Dried my tears fast and started getting my shit together, sex-wise at least. When I could finally get back in touch with her, I had already moved on. Didn't know she was with another guy during this awful month apart-but-together, not until we started talking again. I didn't care at the time, I was really excited about the chance to get back with her. And, well, I was also high on emotions with this other girl that was coming back to live with me after a very good week of passion in Santiago. Then cheating, this time, came easy for me. It was the logical thing to do, a fucking vendetta for what she'd done to me.

Was it worth it? Nope. I thought I would feel we were even and from that point we could restart our relationship with a clean slate; but only got a month of mixed emotions living with another girl while loving her in the distance. Instead of leveling things, I destroyed all the trust she had in me and ended up breaking her and the other girl's heart, creating a dark spot of guilt and regret in me.

I can't say our relationship started off on the right foot. She fucked up, I fucked up, and stuff looks very fucked up. I'm hurting. I know what I did was dreadful, probably way worse than what she did. Yet her fault pains so deep inside I sometimes wonder if I took the right choice getting back together. But why does it sting so hard in my head and heart? Is it the simple fact of imagining her having sex with somebody else while I was struggling to remain faithful and suffering for her distance? Is it the betrayal? Or maybe the hateful comparison I am forced to do between this other fucker and me? Because this man represents everything I am not; all the strengths I don't have, all the features she didn't see in me at that moment and dragged her to his arms instead.

Insecure as I am, I was never jealous; not until nowadays. Ironically, I don't believe she will cheat on me again. She's changed. She's devoted, caring, open, and I can really feel the love she says she feels for me is true and similar to the one I feel for her; but she can't seem to understand my feelings about the past, nor can I get to explain them to her. It's so fucking annoying, but, is it her fault? She traveled all the way back to Chile for me, there's no room to doubt her commitment now. We are great together, and while she was here we had a great time; a time that showed us that this is what we both want. Even though, I'm constantly haunted by these negative thoughts, this jealousy over her past, especially about her sex life and her affair with this other person. She is willing to help me with that, but I can't avoid getting lost in these dark places of my mind sometimes, and even more now that she's gone again.

Long distance relationships are shit. Being apart from her is shit. Feeling like shit because of past shit is shit. So much shit in my life makes it feel like a fucking toilet. Which, now that I think about it, may not be completely bad. Toilets can be flushed, right? Now I have to find the way to flush all this shit out, once and for all.

My apology

- Do you want to have sex with me? -I said.
- Really? - he asked, surprised.
- Yes.
- Just like that?
- Sure. Works every time -I replied.


I was telling an ex schoolmate my ultimate technique to get with a girl. Being as direct as it gets, which, shit you not, works like a charm. If you don't believe me, ask him. A few days after, he came back and told me that he had followed my advice and it did the trick for him. Since that day he calls me “Captain.”

Captain. Sounded good. It was a nickname I never thought I would get, especially not for my womanizer skills. Yeah, me, a ladies man. Unbelievable! Me, a guy who lost his fucking virginity at 21 and stayed with his first and only girl for over 8 years just because he firmly believed he sucked at getting laid and, basically, everything related to the opposite sex... or sex, period.

What changed? Well, I was miserable and the sex with my ex, if I got any, was extremely boring and frustrating. Breaking up was a good start, I guess. Coming back to the “meat market” also helped. Experiencing things I should have experienced during my 20's in only 4 months, before turning 30, was an excellent boost, too. But I wasn't quite there yet. I wouldn't think of that version of myself as the ultimate Casanova, nor I would expect to be called Captain for that. What changed then? More than what, it was a who. She changed me.

I loved her. And, along with her, I loved the man I became while being with her. Because even though, before she appeared in my life, I had already realized I was way more attractive and interesting than I used to believe, I was still ashamed of my performance under the sheets. She changed that. Oh, God, the sex! Un-fucking-believable. If there's something she left in me, besides a broken heart after dumping me, was the sex.

I had nothing to brag about before. Then, all of a sudden, I found myself in a spiral of sweat, warmth, nudity and pleasure, seasoned with some awkwardness and emptiness every now and then. I felt like I had a power, a gift. Thanks to this new found arousing knowledge and the improved sexual performance that came with it, I rebuilt myself as the character I always wanted to be, but never had the guts to. Yes, I had changed, but to be this new person I had to leave behind fundamental values. I cheated, I lied, I fucked up and around and, when I had the chance to stop, I kept doing it for one last time, because it wasn't enough yet.

With her, my beloved, out of the picture, I was devastated. But soon the devastation gave way to a fruitful sex drive. The more I got laid, the better I got at it. My self-confidence reached the skies and I was feeling like I was touching the stars with my dick. I got cocky and stupid. Met a very nice Danish girl and, despite I knew she was interested in me, I just kept her as my fuck buddy while I tried with some other girls. Breaking a foot didn't stop me. Internet became my allied to keep shagging other girls while I was with her. One of them, a British girl, was the more important. So important that almost made me forget the Norwegian who'd broken my heart. Almost.

The British girl was on her way back to me, after being traveling around. I knew things could get deeper than occasional sex, and I felt ready to give myself to this new relationship. I cheated on my previous girl before to be with her, and now this foul was going to be worth it. Yet I had a hunch, a distracting feeling that wouldn't allow me to fully focus on what I was starting to feel for her. To shake this thoughts off my head, I contacted my Norwegian ex. “What if there's still a chance?” I thought. Miraculously, there was. But there was also lots of resentment on my side; so much that, although I loved her, I let the British girl come to live with me anyway. It was a fun month, contaminated by mixed feelings of joy and self-loathing, and that ended with me telling the truth on the last days and breaking the Brit's heart.

Now that everything is over, I'm back with her. She, my first and only love. She, the one who showed me there's more to life than the depressing sexual and affective ways I'd suffered before with my ex. But I can't be with her at peace knowing what I did. I can't enjoy her as much as I'd like, not without offering her my apology.

I am very sorry for being a jackass to you and to your gender, in general.

Sex/Life 34

She's gone. While I write this, her plane takes L thousands of miles away from me. She left and the emptiness there is now in me can't be filled with the remains she left behind. Instagram pictures, Facebook posts, a stack of Philippine coins on my drawer and three books. Unmade bed, dirty dishes, a towel drying in my terrace. All signs that she was here, reminders of the three weeks we spent together. Memories of laugh, tears and sex.

L, my lover, my dream of a future.

Jeg elsker deg. Te amo. I love you.

Sex/Life 33

We fucked on the couch. We planed coming back to my place from the airport in complete silence, and once back at the flat, throw away all of our shit and clothes to have wild sex on the table. That was only one of the many things we planed during these two months of endless Skype conversations, unstoppable Facebook messages and occasional Snapchats. One of the many things that, 9 days in, we haven't done.

Expectations hit the brick wall of reality and our dreams of passion and romance got so disfigured after this crash that they needed urgent plastic surgery. Now they don't look as beautiful as before, yet I couldn't say they are ugly. They look normal now; as normal as it feels going to bed and wake up next to each other every morning. As normal as it is for me to cook and for her to wash the dishes, or just sitting in my terrace to have a laugh drinking cheap beer. And, you know what? I fucking love it! I've never felt more comfortable in my life, so understood, so accepted, so embraced... so loved.

Nope, we did not have wild sex on the table, but it was great anyway. We fucked on the couch.

Once again

I can clearly remember the song I heard the first time I got drunk. I was seventeen and, while I zigzagged to the bathroom of that beach bar, Space Oddity by David Bowie started playing. I can also recall that, the first time I kissed my long lasting ex, we were listening to Travis and their version of Britney Spears' Baby one more time. But when I think about who I believe to be the woman of my life, the song that pops in my head is one I fucking hate: Get Lucky, by Daft Punk. And I don't hate that song only because I literally heard it EVERYWHERE for several months. The reason because I hate it the most is because it reminded me of her, L, during that horrible period after she broke up with me.

I was a complete mess for over 6 months. L had taught me how to love and showed me this feeling is real, despite of what I'd learned before with my previous experiences. She became the sweetness that justified living 30 years of bitterness. So you can imagine it was really hard for me to let her go after she called the end of our relationship. How was I suppose to do that? My head understood her words, her rejection; but my heart was stuck on her past “I love you's.”

Had to go through many processes, from unconditional love to unleashed hate, to get to a point in which I could feel I finally moved on. And, right then, the impossible happened. L, having realized she never stopped loving me, came back into my life. It was great, yet absolutely shitty in its timing. Moving on hadn't only meant turning the page and jumping to the next chapter of my personal history. It also implied starting a new relationship and a life change; all things I wasn't willing to give up so easily.

Did what I had to do, or what I thought I had to. In the end, I just fucked up. Gave a try to the new relationship while I wouldn't stop talking to L. When the new girl realized there was something odd going on, I had to confess the whole deal. She left me with her heart broken, but she wasn't the only one hurt. L suffered the whole time, knowing that after I turned off Skype I would go and sleep with another person. And I can't even say I enjoyed myself either. The guilt for the damage I was causing to everyone involved in this strange situation wouldn't leave me alone.

After the new girl was gone, things didn't get much better between L and me. She was half way around the world and I was surrounded by temptation. Add a great deal of resentment on my part, justified mistrust on her side, and you get an awful mix. Plus, the distance wasn't helping. What's the point of having a disfunctional relationship if you can't even have epic sex to make it be worth it?

Nowadays I wonder if there's a happy ending for this story. I could only rely on wishful thinking to say “yes.” I made a big mistake, and L did her own share. Don't say it's gonna be easy to leave all that behind us and focus only on our common present and possible future together. There's a lot to fix yet. Although I cannot say I'm pessimistic about it, because she already took the first leap of faith to make up for her errors. Right now, as I write these words, she's on a plane from London to Santiago de Chile. I have no idea how tomorrow's reunion is gonna be and I won't hide that I'm very nervous about it. However, this feels right. Messed up and all, I think our love story deserves we give it a try, at least once again.

Real love quote 04

I never wanted to marry or have kids, not until you came along in my life. Now that I want the whole package, I wonder: did you change me or is it just that I was waiting for you the whole time?

Nunca quise casarme ni tener hijos, no hasta que apareciste en mi vida. Ahora que quiero todo el paquete, me pregunto: ¿me cambiaste o es sólo que estaba esperando por ti todo este tiempo?

Sex/Life 32

We spent over half of our relationship in bed, naked, both physically and emotionally. It was winter in Santiago. Too cold and gray outside to go out, too warm and cosy under the sheets to ever leave them. But she left. I didn't wash those sheets for more than a month after that, until she broke up with me. I listened to Keane's Hamburg Song and cried every time. “I wanna be the place you call home” they sang. I was home, but it never felt like it was my home anymore. She was. Could feel it in each embrace, stare, kiss, smile, shag...

...I'll be home soon.

Real love quote 03

Sometimes when I see you smile I feel I was made to love you from the womb to the tomb.

A veces cuando te veo sonreír siento que fui hecho para amarte de la vulva a la tumba.

The boy done wrong again

Has it ever happened to you that there's this song you've listened to for a while now but you've never really payed attention to the lyrics, until once you did and it absolutely changed the way you felt about this particular tune? Today it happened to me. Walking back home, listening to Belle and Sebastian, I played this quiet song, The boy done wrong again. Standing in the corner, blank staring at the traffic light, the music streamed from my ears to my soul, making guilt take over my feelings with these lines: “What is it I must do to pay for all my crimes? / What is it I must do? I would do it all the time.”

Looking back in my love and sex life I can't but regret so many things I did. I've hurt anyone that's ever been with me, everyone that's liked or just cared about me. It's like a reflex, a mean instinct from some dark place in my mind. Why am I like that? How is it possible for me to get away with that every single time to move on to the next “victim”? I have no idea. Ironic as this sounds, I consider myself a good person. There are never bad intentions behind my acts, nor I do any of this things on purpose. Just happens.

Daddy issues? Sure! Growing up in a home dominated by psychological violence -or even physical sometimes- didn't help me to get the notion of a right behavior towards women. My father, an old fashion sexist Latin man, set the perfect example of what I didn't want to become. I admired my mom for how she remained a strong woman and did her best to raise me and my three siblings as good persons with profound values, given the circumstances. After that, I tried to keep on her good work, but failed miserably every time.

I spent way too long stuck in a relationship that didn't fulfill me. She, among all the other girls of my life, was the one who had to put up with the more shit. I can partially understand why I did that. I was unhappy, frustrated, nagged. Never loved her and I never felt loved. Probably it was this phobia I got after breaking up the cause of the damage I caused afterwards. Relationships scare the shit out of me. Remind me of those almost nine years of constant emptiness I went through with my ex. Each start with a new girl, even if it was just a one night stand, took me back to those gloomy days.

There was just one girl I never hurt; on the contrary, I was nothing but good to her. I fell in love. But it wasn't enough, or maybe it was just me who wasn't enough. She treated me very poorly and then dumped me, despite she said many times that she loved me as well. The grim era that started after she left me was in which I caused the more sorrow. I had opened my heart and all I got in return was suffering. Therefore I was closed, a huge wall guarding my deepest feelings. Fucking around I tried to forget her, but only got to replace my pain for the one I caused to others.

Now I'm retired. The girl that I once loved came back into my life, and guess what? I hurt her too. The only difference this time is that I could say I was hurting her back, but that doesn't make it any better. I'm not seeking revenge. I am on a quest to find and experience true love and, finally, to establish a relationship with all the ideals I write and dream about. Because if I have learned something from all the wrong I've done is that it hurts both them and myself. This has to stop. That's why I'm retiring from the market. Seems my journey has come to an end, and that end looks pretty much like love. She and I brought sadness to each others life, yet the joy that came with it shines a light more powerful than the darkness we've been blinded with. For the wellbeing of she, me and all the girls that'd come after her if this doesn't work, I hope it's fucking worth it this time.

Real love quote 02

Thinking about all the men you've fucked feels like peeing kidney stones, only that my penis is my heart and the stones tear my soul on their way out.

Pensar en todos los hombres que has follado se siente como mear cálculos renales, sólo que mi pene es mi corazón y los cálculos rasgan mi alma al salir.

Sex/Life 31

11. At this very same time, 11 days from now, she'll be lying in bed with me. 11. I'll be so deep inside her mind, body and soul she won't be herself anymore. Neither will I. It's gonna be Us, one single entity made of flesh, sweat, warm fluids and skin, wrapped in the sheets of a broken bed. Hands on fire, eyes wide open, absence of consciousness. Breathing heavily, moaning we'll break the silence of the room. Hours shall pass and we'll never lose the embrace, as we try to erase all what happened since the last one. And we will. 11 days to go. Just 11...

Tripping

Tuesday. No, wait a minute. It's 3:53 AM already, so it's Wednesday. I look myself in the elevator mirror. My eyes are practically black. My pupils are wide open. I'm fucking tripping. Had a third of a LSD stamp like 3 hours ago and this shit feels like it's never gonna stop. I don't see new colors or shapes talking to me. My body feels really weird and the back of my head is pretty much like a helium ballon, floating over my neck. I can't think, walk or talk straight. And I've laughed for over an hour to a guy who was joking about how he raped baby Jesus' anus. Yeah. I smiled again while writing it. Keeps being hilarious. Fucking trip. Fucking LSD. Fucking distance. I miss her and I can't seem to stop fucking up. Fuck!

Real love quote 01

Your past made you what you are, the one I love; but the less I know about it, the better.

Tu pasado te hizo lo que eres, quien yo amo; pero mientras menos sepa de éste, mejor.

Real love quotes

I grew up learning all about love and relationships both watching telly and my parents. On movies and series everything was amazing. No matter how hard it was at first, there was always a happy ending and love triumphed over all. My parents, well, they had a happy ending too. After years of fights and frustration, my mom left my dad, me and my siblings and went to live with her new partner. She wasn't happy ever after, but the separation of my parents was good for all of us... except for my idea of love and my emotional balance.

As a 30-year-old man I didn't do much better with the mix of concepts I had in my mind about how love supposed to be. I had a very long relationship that never matched the romantic story one were meant to live to find the love of their lives. I ended that and started my own quest for a significant relationship. I expected struggle and I got a lot of that. Shit loads of that, but no happy ending.

A year and a half in the journey for romance wore me out. Nobody warned me that finding love is as beautiful as it's horrible. The search may become exhausting, and once you fall in love things won't get easier. Because movies, songs, poems, they were all right: to love is the most amazing feeling one could have. What they forgot to mention is that it also takes out the worst of yourself. Insecurity, jealousy, sexism. The whole spectrum of negative emotions pour out of you like an endless fountain of challenge. Outdaring your demons to become the best version of yourself is the hardest task one must surpass to build a healthy relationship.

Right now I am entering Hell. This last few days my ghosts have come back along with whom I think may be the love of my life, the One. She came and went, leaving my heart broken in countless pieces that have taken me several months to put back together. Loving her feels good, and that's why I took her back when she reached for me, regretful. But this choice haven't come easy. The sorrow she caused me before is hard to forgive and forget, and the baggage she brings along is hard for me to accept.

I know that the path I've taken it's not going to be a walk in the park. I already feel the first flesh wounds this battle is leaving on my heart and my head. Yet next to the bad there's always more good. That keeps me up and running, hopeful on a future that'll bring a healthier relationship, a better version of me and, why not, a happy ending like the ones I saw in all those movies when growing up.

PS: I think it's also going to be therapeutic and interesting to express myself and my process on a new category in my blog, Real love quotes. My idea is to make some romantic quotes from a realistic point of view more than the classic cheesy way we are used to. Let's see how it goes.

Sex/Life 30

She didn't cry, but I saw the sadness in her green eyes. The Mancunian girl looked at me and said “she's better fucking worth it.” I agreed. “Me too” I responded, feeling like shit. It was me who provoked that sorrow in her, but not even I was sure I was making the right choice. Felt the need to confess that I had been talking with my Norwegian ex, the infamous “viking”, and that she wanted to get back with me. And it was me too who invited her to live with me, knowing beforehand that I was still in love with that ex. It was me who couldn't let go the opportunity of being with both of them again. I was the one who got his feelings confused every day of the three weeks she had already lived with me as my lover. And it was me who cried. For her, for my ex and, most of all, for the old version of myself who used to believe that the British girl with whom he bonded so easily could be one he could love. It were tears of mourning I cried. He had died.

Disclaimer: I'm human.

My breath smells like shit when I wake up in the morning and it won't get much better during the day, no matter how many times I brush my teeth -which, of course, are yellow and a crooked. My feet are horrible with my white toenails and countless hair and veins all over them, plus two ridiculous scars on the left one, product of a nasty fracture. And am I skinny, Lord! Have the body of a 13-year-old with chest hair and a couple of tattoos. Oh, and a hipster wannabe beard, topped with a huge nose next to a couple of jumbo ears.

I sometimes stutter when I talk; my mind goes faster than my mouth and it's really hard to keep up. Because I think all sort of things, all day long and even at nights, to the point I have problems falling asleep and remain like that for over 6 hours a day. I think that's why I like writing. Gets my mind out of all the other deeper or shallow thoughts and focuses it in one thing at a time, word by word, one sentence after the other. This doesn't mean I'm good at it, or if I am I couldn't know. I'm a perfectionist freak and never think the result of my creation it's a right fit to what I wanted to express. I'm a bitch to myself.

English is not my first language, and it's very easy to tell by listening to me talk. When I'm not struggling to find the right word -my vocabulary is not as extensive as I'd like-, my Latin accent or my nervous stuttering get in the way, making me curse to get by. Despite that, I got the nerve not only to write in this language, but also to advice about love, sex, relationships and life in general in my writings. Even worse: I publish it!

I do not base my columns in other authors or studies. I share my own experience and biased point of view, decorated with a few nice words and patronizing tone. The truth is that, although I am constantly preaching about how honesty is the way to go, I don't always follow it. I try my best to keep on the right path, but I have lied and cheated as well. And I have made mistakes. No, more than mistakes, I've fucked up. Friends, family and relationships, I fucked it up with all of them and myself.

“Do what you feel like when you feel like it.” That's my motto. I have fallen so many times sticking to it that got used to the floor. Still, for some reason, I keep getting back on my abominable feet over and over again, just to fall anew. And I use it as inspiration to write. Wonderful, ain't it?

So there you have it, my friend. If you ever happen to read any of my self help intended columns, I hope you get to read this first. I'm human, just like yourself. Don't take anything I say for granted, unless it makes sense to you. If it does and actually helps you somehow I'd love to have some positive feedback from you. On the other hand, if you hate it and have the uncontrollable urge to give me some insulting shit, please make it witty and funny. I always enjoy a good laugh.

PS: and in case you haven't realized so far, I don't actually consider you my friend. I don't even know you! But don't worry, it's okay. Would you wanna be friends with such an imperfect character as me?

Us

I met a very interesting girl that Tuesday. It was my first time there and we started talking at random to soon realize we had a good chemistry. I wanted to see her again, but time passed and that started to seem impossible.

Sex with her at first was really weird. Though, we had a connection our first date, and it was enough to make us connect bed-wise as well. Sex wasn't weird anymore. It was the best I've ever had.

I fell in love with her. I could only tell when I met her again in Buenos Aires, after she left Chile to go back home. Sometimes we looked into each others eyes and I was so immensely happy that some tears would drop from my eyes. Tears of joy.

It was impossible. Our relationship was doomed after she left. We tried to keep it alive, but the distance, the doubts, the suffering; all led to the end. She broke up with me from a hotel in Vietnam. She broke me.

Coming back from the darkness was hard. I met other women, but never felt a connection. Sex was just a distraction, but never really enjoyed it. She was in my head all the time. I even got to the point when I couldn't take it anymore and would write her, just to get it out of my system. A cry for help. Calling out her heart. All I got back was rejection, if I ever got an answer.

Months passed and my heart healed. She was a ghost that kept hunting me, but it hurt less. Until I met another girl. No more darkness.

I spent a week with the new girl, and she left promising she'd return. I didn't think about my old love anymore. There was a new one taking form in my heart. Still, times would come in which a little sting would bother me. "What if she comes back?" I thought. I then immediately would shake that off my head. It was impossible.

To finally move on, I made something that seemed stupid but necessary. I wrote the old girl an email entitled "Last chance." Just got my last deepest thoughts about her out of my head and into words. Wasn't expecting for an answer. Against all odds, I got it.

She was afraid. Ever since she felt our connection the first time, she was terrified by the idea of feeling something profound for me. It was impossible. But she felt it and although she broke up with me and hid that feeling away, it never faded out. Reading my last email made her realize that, but it was too late. I had already moved on.

She confessed she still loved me. I did the same. But when the new girl asked me if she could come in a few days, I said yes. I was afraid. I was hurt. "Is she coming back for good or will she leave me behind again?" I thought every time I talked to old girl.

New girl lived with me for a month. She became my friend and lover. At some points I felt traces of a love that could have been and would doubt my choice. Because I kept in contact with the old girl the whole time. She knew almost everything, except for my ever changing feelings. Didn't want to lose any of them.

In the end, love came through. I couldn't wait or lie any longer. A few days before the new girl was to leave, I told her everything. I had always show my emotional distance and warned her about it, but my doubts and the way I was to her led her to get deeper feelings anyway. She was sad and felt stupid after my confession. I felt like a heartless monster, but I had made my decision. I loved the other girl. Always did.

Now the hard part of the story begins. The new girl is gone, but the wound is very fresh in the old girls heart. I fucked up. I fucked things up big time, but can't see another way in how things would have gone if it wasn't like this. Explaining it will be my mission. Explaining myself and rebuilding our story, her trust. Forgive her for all she made me suffer, and forgive myself for hurting her back.

I am human. Full of imperfection, insecurities, weakness. I have fallen and taken ages to get back on my feet again. I have made mistakes. So has she. Now we are both standing next to the other. We both fucked up in our time, yet here we are, looking forward to meet again. "It was impossible" we thought, but we chose to love, we chose each other. This is/was/will be our story. The story of us.

Us.

Sex/Life 29

A number. I'm drunk and stupid and all I can think about is a number. Her number. Left the party early, overwhelmed by Saint Patrick's celebrations and all those green and happy people. I thought about her and her bloody fucking number. One, two, five thousand figures. It was a mystery to me. Rushed back home. On the bus, more joy. Saturday party people going somewhere to have fun. Me, already drunken, felt pathetic. Why was it so important? What difference did it make? Whether she slept with half the men in the world or with just a few guys, did it really matter? Was it so important if, after all of those motherfuckers, she chose me? Should I hate them all or actually thank them for throwing her into my arms? Opened the door, spread my stuff all over my flat and sit in front of the computer. Started writing. “Her number” I typed. Outside, people laugh and drink and fuck. And cry. I cried for her. She cried for me. And we fucked. And we laughed. Now her number seems irrelevant. I love her. She loves me. Only me. “Thanks guys. Thanks for being so shit. So shit she couldn't but fall for me” I type. But don't smile. I remember her. I miss her. Shit, I wish I could just keep thinking about the stupid fucking number.

Sex/Life 28

She couldn't begin to understand what was so different about me, what was this thing about honesty and emotional openness. “I'm naked all the time... metaphorically, mostly” I said. She laughed. She always did it, a lot. I really liked her for that. “You are a fascinating man” she responded. So she came back. The Mancunian came back to Santiago for a second round of the Eduardo Experience. But things changed not long before she arrived. “I came to be with you, but feels like there are three people in your bed when we sleep together” she said, a couple of weeks after coming to live here with me. She had a point. Being in touch again with my Norwegian ex collapsed my inner self and brought back to life zombie feelings of past love. I wasn't that fascinating man anymore.

To beard or not to beard?

I once let my beard grow more than I was used to, and just for fun I took a couple of selfies before and after shaving. I then posted those pictures to Facebook with the caption To beard or not to beard?. For me it was kind of obvious that the answer to my question, if I got any, was going to be “without beard.” I not only got surprised by the amount of comments I got, but also for the result of this spontaneous survey.

All the persons who responded to my Facebook status were women, and the bearded look was the most voted. On top of that, girls who went for the facial hair option were the ones I felt attracted to. Curiously, those who chose the “baby face look” were friends or ladies I wasn't interested in. So beard, according to this quick informal study, makes a man -or me- more attractive. Interesting, huh?

But it's not only my own experience that has a saying in this matter. Scientists all over the world had researched this as well. I mean, actual research. So I went through some of those investigations and found some refreshing facts. I specially found this study from the University of New South Wales particularly interesting, because they even defined a determined period of beard growth as the most attractive. But I wasn't satisfied. I needed to try this scientific evidence in real life, using myself as the test subject. I shaved and started to post a selfie everyday on Instagram with the evolution of my beard. Here's my story.

Day 0: I wasn't actually going to conduct this experiment. I was happy with my almost 2-month full beard. The only uncomfortable -and nasty- thing about it was the mustache that kept going into my mouth ALL THE TIME. After trimming it, I realized I looked stupid with an almost invisible mustache above the rain forest of hair on my face, so I had to make a decision: let it grow for a couple of weeks -looking horrible during the wait- or just get rid of the whole beard. Chose the second alternative. I like to go all the way, specially when I fuck up.

Being out in the open with a clean shave was weird. Hadn't done it for ages, which made me feel a stranger, even to myself. But apparently a sexy stranger, since I noticed more looks at me than usual by the opposite sex. The theory of beard sexiness wasn't proving right. Should I believe these scientists after this day?

Day 1 to 4: while my face became more scratchy, the ladies reaction towards me got colder. This proved the study right to certain level. My beard is not patchy at all, but density at this stage wasn't enough to show my masculinity -regarding instinctive attraction standards- to my surrounding female counterparts. Plus, in my opinion, the untidy appearance this unshaved look gave me just made me look more of a slacker than anything else. An unattractive slacker, that is.

Day 5: and I reached the fifth day of this experiment. Scientists used this stage of beard growth as the first measure to determine the level of attractiveness. I did notice some difference. Not saying I attracted much more attention than the previous days, but the bearded look was starting to take form. And it did, in fact, got noticed. My lady friend complimented me, without me even asking, and literally said the beard look was going well. If she says so, do I need any scientific evidence?

Day 6 to 9: pretty much like day 1 to 4. Not much variation in the level of attraction to my beard or my person. Started to feel that science did have a point when it comes to sexiness after all.

Day 10: the day had arrived! “Where them girls at?” I asked myself while walking around in the city with my perfect 10-day, heavy stubble beard. Reactions? Not many. To be honest, after day 6 o 7, the beard didn't have a significant growth or change. Still I got a couple of compliments by my special lady and a female friend, but only after I pointed the fact I was letting my facial hair, slowly but surely, take control of my face. Though, despite the cold reception my so awaited beard had reaching the supposed boiling point of sexiness, it did reinforced the conclusion I had a few months before, when I did my Facebook experiment. Girls do prefer me with a beard, as they would with any other man with a bushy face. I was right, scientist were right and -hating myself for saying this- hipsters were also right: beards rock!

Bonus study: Instagram Reaction.

If you head to my Instagram account @edoherto, you'll see nothing but selfies. I, as an amusement and a self-esteem booster, use this social network to show the world my ever growing beauty. To leverage the reach of my precious face in this app, I use two cocky hashtags: #beard and #latinlover. I always got likes from random girls or even dudes. So, since I wanted my experiment to be unbiased, I created a new hashtag for it, #SexyBeardExperiment. But, as a little trick, I also used #nofilter, to see if I could attract any attention. Didn't work. No likes whatsoever.

Do you also wanna be part of the experiment and help in the follow up article? Shave and post your progress to Instagram everyday, or in days 0, 5 and 10, using the hashtag #SexyBeardExperiment. Happy growing!

Sex/Life 27

She broke my heart. I broke my bed fucking other women, trying to forget her. Couldn't. It was her whom I was shagging. She, with different face, smell, taste. She and only she. How many of those girls did I hurt? One, two, four, all of them? I did feel bad. Felt bad but did it anyway. Brought them close to push her away. Pushed them away to get her back. But she was gone. Long gone. I was alone, and even lonelier while accompanied in my broken bed.

Sex/Life 26

Her room was a mess. Dozens of papers, magazines and books piling up in every corner. Clothes spread all over the place, like victims of a fashion terrorist attack. Pictures, notes, newspaper scraps, all taped to the wall. And her bed... oh, her untidy bed. We laid there, me hugging her from behind, while she was going through her music on her laptop, singing along. Me, silent, watching her whispering lyrics to the beat of the music. “I know you are in love with me” she said. I wasn't. Not there yet. Changed the subject and had sex with her, not minding she was on her period. She was a mess, just like her room. Soon after I was caught in love with that mess.

Don't fall in love

Do you want a piece of advice? Do not fall in love. You see, loving is a gigantic task you may not want to get involved in. Need any reasons? I'll give you a few for you to consider.

Loving is caring. It means taking care of somebody else than yourself, committing to look up for their welfare and your own at the same time. Exhausting!

Loving is dangerous. It awakes your worst nightmares and demons. Jealousy, pride, prejudice, insecurity; you name it. It requires you to be strong enough to fight them, smart enough to ignore them and firm enough to choose love over them all.

Loving is weakness. Makes you vulnerable because it forces you to open up completely to the other person. It's brutal honesty, humbleness, physical and emotional nudity. You must be who you are, your true self, no masks nor faking. It's leaving your comfort zone and exposing all your wounds and flaws.

Loving is losing. You give up part of your freedom and independence, adjusting your life and space to be with the object of your affection. You forget about all “the fishes in the sea”, because you are already taken, off the market. Your roofless individuality now ends where the other's starts. Kiss goodbye your selfishness, there's no room for it anymore.

Loving is growing. It requires you to improve yourself to the fullest, because to deliver the best of you in the relationship means also that you must be the best version of yourself you can be. Doesn't mean you have to be perfect, because imperfection is part of the package. You must embrace your imperfection, using it in your favor. Because imperfection is what makes us human, and a human who, despite its own flaws, reaches a higher level of personal growth, defines perfection itself.

Loving is investing. Your time, energy, tears, sweat... sometimes even money! Though as an investment it's the worst you can make. You can't expect anything in return; is giving selflessly, limitless and in good faith.

Loving is adventure. When you jump into it, you start a quest. Every day is a challenge, an exploration in the unknown. It's discovering the other and yourself, constantly wondering in the deepest boundaries of the soul and the worldly whatnot of life in common. This search, this journey, is not to take the relationship for granted, to make it stronger over time.

And, over all, loving is sharing. It's to deliver the most of you. Your happiness, your dreams, your sense of humor, your weird kinks. It's to be there for the other because you want to, not for obligation, not for need. Searching for balance all the time, avoiding the game of “master/slave.” Bear a part in the life of your significant other as well as them are part of yours. It's quiting for once and for all flying solo and hold hands to start walking towards a present and a future as Us or We, instead of Just Me.

So, after reading all this, do you still think you wanna fall in love? Because, as Roman Krznaric says in his article, love is a word nowadays is used lightly. The increasing rate of divorces around the world, the ever growing cases of violence among couples of all ages, the inhumanization of society due to the importance they now give to individualism. All the above are factors to take in consideration when we talk about love. Is it what it used to be? Do you think you can give yourself to it for real and not in the shallow way most people do these days? If not, and I say this for your own good, just don't fall in love.

I don't need you

I've had a terrible love life. Mistake after mistake, disappointment and abandonment, pity and guilt. Been there, done that, and it was shit. So I constantly asked myself what I was doing wrong, or why girls couldn't appreciate me. I mean, c'mon, I was cool! Or was I?

Nevertheless, as usual, my questions never got answered by the girls that dumped me, rejected me or treated me like dog shit on the sole of their shoes. Frustrated as I was, I started blaming all on them. It was easy, and it came easier when I turned up the volume of my music player and sang along one of the most misogynist songs I've heard: I don't need you, by Die Antwoord.



Practically vomiting this abominable lyrics, I released my grim thoughts and my hate towards those hurtful ladies. Over and over again, I unleashed the darkest part of myself to the beat of that song, until one day I got it. It wasn't them who I was shouting to. It was myself.

I was a mess. Didn't know what I wanted for my life, didn't like my work and I was basically living just to keep breathing, with no purpose whatsoever. How under this conditions could I love or be loved? I only could aspire to have mediocre relationships or meaningless affairs, all of which ended badly because I was needy and looking to find completion to my own self with my partner.

Truth is I, and actually nobody, can be completed nor fulfilled by someone else. Love is not a magical thing that will immediately fix all your flaws and transform you into a perfect person, making your problems disappear at the same time. You are responsible for this, not love, not your partner. Once you realize that and start improving yourself just because it's yourself you'll be helping, you will be able to find true love. Because love is a decision, not a necessity. I am happy with myself and I choose to share this happiness with somebody else, someone I can tell “I don't need you” and mean it. Because I'll be with her not because I need her, but because I want to.

“I don't need you, I want you.”

Can you say that to the one you love? If you do, your are in the clear. If not... well, check yourself. Nobody likes needy.

Romantic 14

Todos mis demonios huyen de la luz que tú traes a mi vida.

All my demons run away from the light you bring into my life.

Sex/Life 25

She's leaving today. My Danish friend, the Scandinavian lover, my Nordic nurse. She, who has taken all my broken hearted shit, who has dealt with my commitment phobia , who has taken care of me while I couldn't walk. She, M, has shown me that I can be treated right, that I deserve better than I've had before, that no matter if I haven't achieve any of my goals or that I hardly know what I want, I still can be appreciated for what I am. All of that even though I've been an asshole to her. Yet she's always been there, always caring and, on top of that, willing to have sex with me. Because she's great at it and, after all, that was the nature of our “no relationship.” But it was that and much more.

Here's to my lover and friend. Here's to M. Farewell, baby. Your latin lover won't ever forget you.

Moving on, easier said than done

It hurts. Breaking up is never easy, but when you are the one who's left behind, it hurts even more. You cry, you do stupid things and lose every trace of dignity and self-respect. All you think about is coming back to that person, because you feel you can't live your life without them and the only thought of continuing to exist alone makes you miserable. Basically, you are pretty much fucked.

Your friends tell you that time heals all wounds, but yours seem too deep. More than wounds, it's like some of your limbs have been amputated, and there's no healing for that -unless you are a lizard, which is not the case. Then, when your face is still having a moisturizing treatment with your own tears, the magic words come to play: moving on. And they say it to you all the bloody time, like if repetition would ease the process. But it's not easy, not at all.

Moving on after somebody broke your heart is a very difficult task. You love them for the wonderful past you shared together, but you hate them for how grim your life has become after they dumped you. They can be your perfect partner to live happily ever after, and at the same time you forsake them for how awful they've been to you during and after your relationship. This way, you keep them in your head all the time, jumping from one extreme to the other, love to hate, mixing your emotions like if your heart were on a blender.

I've been ditched myself, and I can speak from my own experience: moving on is really fucking hard. I cried my heart out, until I was out of tears. I partied, I drunk, I danced and I fucked around to exhaustion. No matter what I did, I couldn't get her out of my head for long. She always came back to my mind and I felt helpless. Didn't have control over this constant thoughts, those flashbacks and this belief I lost my soul mate, the love of my life, my lass.

How did I move on? I wouldn't say I'm totally out of the woods, since some ashes of that fire I once had in my heart still feel hot. Anyhow, life now looks promising as I can see and sense the warm light at the end of this long tunnel. I managed to get to this point thanks to time, that surprisingly did heal my wounds. My friends and family did a great job too, as well as never ceasing my social life nor the activities I enjoyed. But, most of all, analyzing from a distance my so called “perfect partner” and the whole relationship gave me an approach I didn't have before. I was idealizing this girl and what we had together, but ignoring all those details that were far from perfect.

Everyone have their own process and timing, but time, in the end, is the key ingredient to move on. So hang in there, my friend. Better days are coming. Nobody said it was easy, but they did forget to mention how hard moving on was. Though, if you can do it, next time it won't be that hard. Actually, there shouldn't be a next time. That's the whole point of this: learning a lesson to never repeat the same mistake again. Or, at least, get to be the one who breaks up instead.

Selfie-esteem

Having a nasty accident really fucked me over. Besides the financial and physical impact, my whole lifestyle took a turn I wasn't expecting. All of the sudden, my active day to day was no more. I exchanged running for lying in bed, cycling for sitting on my ass the whole day, dancing for a wheelchair. No more walking for me. From one minute to the other I stopped being a totally independent young man and became a burden to my family and friends.

My self-confidence was crushed, my ego was just a good memory. Latin lover days were over I assumed, and ghosts from the past started haunting me. The bullying at school, my bad luck with girls up until I ended up trapped in a relationship for years, just to be dumped by the girl I fell I love after breaking up with my ex. Add crippled on top of all of that. Brilliant.

Call me shallow, superficial or whatever the heck you want, but discovering Instagram was a nice treat for my self-esteem. Of course there were other factors that helped me get it up again, like starting to walk, having a good lover by my side and the support of all my loved ones. Still, publishing selfies as an homage to myself (and my beard) every now and then has been refreshing. I may continue to have a limp with a therapy in the works to get myself able to do most of the things I was used too. Plus, my left leg is, literally, half as thick as the right one, which is not very appealing. But, nevertheless, getting a like always makes me smile. How bad a duckface really is then?

Wanna take a peek at my selfies? Head over to Instagram @edoherto

Weird dating advice that actually works

I'm no dating expert, but I can't complain. Even in my worst moment, lying in bed with a broken foot, I managed to have a good caring lover by my side. This is no coincidence, it's a consequence. A consequence of over a year of practice, a trial and error process which included a lot of fucking up and around, getting my heart broken by a girl who travels and building myself from scratch after that. This list includes most of the things I learned during this period and it's aimed to help you as it helped me.

Confidence: this is the Golden Rule; you have to trust yourself. If your self-esteem is low, nothing will come through. There's no deal breaker like insecurity, so shake it off your head. If you don't know how, there's nothing to worry about. The list is just starting.

Make the best of yourself: I won't tell you to “become the best version of yourself”, because unless this is a true change, it'll be fake and people will notice. You have to do with what you have, and from that point taking advantage of being yourself. Whether you are short, tall, skinny, fat, nerdy or plain boring, there has to be something in you that somebody will like. You gotta find what it is, improve it and find a niche where to exploit it. Believe me, kiddo, you have it in you.

Get your latin lover on: there's nothing better to improve your confidence than feeling secure about your skills bed-wise. But adopting the pose of this mythical Latino sex creature requires more than just being decent for the good ol' intercourse. A latin lover makes his lady feel like a woman. He pleases her in every way possible, not only between the sheets. He caresses her with his hands, acts and words. He doesn't shag her, he makes love to her, because that's all he knows. He's caring, chivalrous and kind to her. And he dances. Oh Lord, he dances! Because he's passionated and not afraid to show it. So learn good manners to treat a lady properly, rehearse a few good taste compliments and, for Christ sakes, start moving those hips to the beat of the music!

Work out: I couldn't tell if being muscular is a guarantee of success in the dating arena. Personally I think not. I am very slim and I do pretty well, and I have a friend who is ripped and haven't got laid in over a year. So I'm not saying that your should lock yourself in the gym and not coming out until you look like the Hulk. But if you wanna become a proper lover you gotta have a good endurance and, let's cut the crap: why would you wanna rock at dating if you won't live past next year to enjoy it?

Embrace your imperfection: nobody is perfect, so don't feel the pressure to be it. Imperfection is what makes us human, and once you recognize your own humanity you'll be able to see that in the rest of the people. You like a girl too much and think she's impossible to get with? Imagine her taking a shit. Yes, she shits and is imperfect too. Not looking so impossible now, is she?

Be cocky, not a cock: it is true that a high self-esteem is really important to attract the opposite sex, but better not taking it to the extreme. Showing off here and there is no big deal, if you have something to brag about. Feeding you ego is always a good thing, but don't become like those who are so full of themselves that don't have room for anyone else in their lives. You are looking to get laid or a significant relationship, not winning some stupid contest.

Grow a fucking pair!: have you ever gone out clubbing or to a bar and haven't been able or didn't wanted to drink? If not, give it a try. When you do, you'll see a lot of very drunk guys hitting on gals, making a total fool of themselves. Yeah, that's what you look like while you are at it in a regular night out. Do yourself a favor and don't be that lame dude again. Man up and go out there sober, or not more than tipsy. Girls will appreciate it and you will too. Next time you are more likely to wake up next to a woman than with yet another hangover.

Wait no more, my friend. Following this advice we'll surely grant you a very good time and, who knows, you may end up dating the woman of your life... or of that night, depending on what you want.

More tips to survive a girl who travels

Didn't have enough with the previous list I wrote before (How I survived a girl who travels)? Well, me neither. Here I'll share some more tips of how I could move on and keep living after my tragic experience with a gal who suffers of wanderlust.

Write about it: broadcasting your love life on a blog for the world to see may not be your cup of tea, but locking yourself in your room and just think about your tragedy won't fix anything. Alright, perhaps your writing skills are lower than a 6-year old boy's, but it's worth to try it. Or, if you rather, just talk about it. You, mate, are not a robot. The pain in your heart is feelings and emotions trying to escape. Let them out! Sing your blues away, paint your misery, act the play of your broken heart. However you can express what you are feeling is good. Every time you do it, it will hurt a little bit less.

Listen to Keane: you can listen to all kinds of music that will remind you of the girl who abandoned you, but no band is as good as this one to talk about it. Not only because the music itself is pretty good. You have to listen to the lyrics! Besides the couple of songs I'll put below, there are 4 records of these guys that you'll wanna listen to. Keane gets you.





Go mystical: everything happens for a reason, remember that. The Universe did not put this girl in your way to make your life an unbearable piece of shit. She was there in your fate because you needed to learn something. Probably the lesson is as simple as “don't fucking date a girl who travels”, but there could be much more to it, like some life changing experience or a new attitude when it comes to love. Whatever is is, embrace what she taught you. Don't be rational about it, it's better to look at it from a wider point of view. And, just between us, some girls kinda dig that spiritual pose too.

Grow a beard: somehow I've had more sex since I don't shave. Hipsters made it mainstream (yeah, ironically), and now walking around with facial hair makes you more appealing for the ladies. Won't hurt giving it a try, right?

Don't stop believin'!: I cannot be more emphatic about this point. The fact that you were dumped by a girl, traveler or not, doesn't mean this will happen again. So grow a pair, man up, get out there and take your chances in love. Not saying it will be easy, but in time you'll meet somebody else that will erase the one who's gone away from the picture.

And that's pretty much it. I think there could be a couple of tips I've forgotten, but you'll have enough with these. I totally feel your pain, my friend. I've been there in the darkest places you can imagine, but I came back, using the tips I'm now giving to you. Be wise and start using them. As I say: “you can only win when you have nothing to lose.”

How I survived a girl who travels

I don't consider myself an extraordinary guy, but I do feel somehow special. This feeling has led me to always search for different experiences, places and people. The same applies to my love life. As a Chilean who has lived his whole life in the same city of Chile, I find it extremely boring to settle with the obvious choice. Well, not gonna lie to you. I did settle for over 8 years with a Chilean girl. A very long relationship destined to fail, that then made me decide to go for the total opposite: short affairs with foreigners.

I had pretty clear what I wanted, until I met a girl who travels. I started dating her and it all went great at first, when there was no attachment and the fact she was leaving Chile in a month was keeping me from committing in an actual relationship. But when the sex is the best you've ever had, the connection you feel with the other goes beyond normal and this person starts matching all the parameters of your perfect partner, well, stuff gets complicated.

There were tears. The Norwegian traveler left Santiago and took a bus to Buenos Aires, Argentina, to take the plane back home in a few days. She cried the whole way there. Before leaving my bed, my city and my country she told me she loved me. I could have just let her go, but I couldn't. Despite my sensibility, I decided to go after her and took the first plane I could catch going there.

I spent the happiest week of my life with her there in Baires, but after this magical time, coming back to reality was Hell. I missed her too much, and she traveling constantly just killed communication between us and, with that, the long distance relationship we had. A month after she left, she broke up with me. There is where the nightmare began. Lots of crying, almost no sleeping, never ending suffering, emotional breakdown... basically, shit all over my existence.

I thought this was never going to end, but I took some steps that helped me to finally leave this whole mess behind. The following list doesn't represent the ultimate solution to heal your wounds after a girl who travels, but it's what worked for me and may as well work for you.

Cry: let it all out, baby. The more you do it, the sooner you'll get rid of the acid melting away your heart and your will to live.

Be social: sitting on your ass at home the whole day stalking the girl on Facebook won't make you feel any better. Get out there! Go check on your friends, party, get shit faced, see new faces. There's a world of possibilities around you. Discover it!

Fuck around: thinking you will never find love again? Looking yourself in the mirror and feeling like the most unattractive person in the face of Earth? Nothing like some shagging to shake those beliefs out of your head. Probably you won't feel any better at first, or even will question the whole point of doing it with some random girls, but those minutes of healthy sexual workout will help you to improve your beaten up self-esteem. Not to mention you'll feel lighter both in your head and your balls.

Have a near to death experience (optional): you probably will not wanna do this, but in my case being near to die in a climbing accident while I was alone in the middle of the desert changed my perspective on life quite a bit. You, just like me, won't think about her while your biggest concern is to survive. Plus, the life changing story this experience will become is gonna make you immediately more interesting, which always helps to get laid.

Whine!: don't keep anything in your system. Pathetic as this sounds, if you feel like writing her an extensive email about your feelings, your thoughts and whatnot, do it! There's 1 in a million chance she'll change her mind, but at least you'll get all that shit off your chest. Whether she answers you with some pity message or never writes you back, after a while you'll realize it doesn't hurt anymore. And that, my friend, is the time when this and all of the above will have finally worked.

As I said before, this list is no guarantee of success and I don't recommend applying every item in it. This is how I survived and moved on after falling in love with a girl who travels. Do this at your own risk, always keeping in mind that you already took the most dangerous decision first: to date a girl who travels.

There are more tips here!

What happened after the girl who travels? Find out here!

Sex/Life 24

Closure. After six months of suffering varying from zero to “I can't fucking take this shit anymore!” levels, I decided it was time to move on for real. Yes, she was the most beautiful woman I've been with, and yes, she is still the best shag I've ever had, but holding on to her memory and keeping remains of hope that I could eventually be with her again was a big mistake. Her ghost haunted me constantly, invading my everyday life, some of my dreams at night and, most of all, my sex life.

I couldn't shake her off my head, no matter who the new girl was. Nobody could live up to her image or make me forget about her for too long. Even if I was having a great time, I could close my eyes and from the deepest and darkest places of my mind, she emerged. Not anymore. Today she responded to my yesterday's email, intended to be the last, and killed all hope in me. This, which may sound devastating, was the best start I could have for this weekend, this month and most likely, the rest of my life.

I'm free! She is no more, not in my head nor my heart at least. I now can finally be at peace and devote myself for somebody else, starting by me. Now the viking's soul is in peace, her ghost fading away to become a precious memory and a lesson learned at last.

Closure, what a beautiful word.

Sex/Life Special 04 – Left behind

A friend of mine a few weeks ago asked me for advice. He met a Canadian girl who was soon going to leave Chile for good and he wanted to get with her. I told him my ultimate technique: no fancy dates, no clubbing or eternally delaying things, just be direct and tell her “I want to have sex with you.” He first freaked out, but realized he didn't have anything to lose and tried it. He spent the following three weeks having a very good deal of fun with this woman. When she left, we talked about dating foreigners and he shared with me this article “Don’t date a girl who travels.” Reading it got me to think about my own love life and some transcendental moments I've lived.

Scene 1. Ezeiza Airport, Buenos Aires, Argentina.

We hugged so tight I felt our bodies merging in this tender embrace. I still remember that like it was this very morning and not six months ago. Her face, beautiful even though she was crying ever since we left the hostel, sought comfort on my chest. I caressed her thin blond viking hair, trying to catch its scent as long as I could, until it was finally time to let her go. We kissed one last time and she walked to the counter, passed her ticket and walked through the boarding tunnel, looking back at me with a sad smile. Once she was out of sight, I sat in front of the waiting area window and patiently waited for her plane to leave, weeping. A couple of texts she sent me from the plane cheered me up a little, but once it took off, I couldn't help crying again. My Norwegian girl was gone. The one I loved, my soul mate; flying back to Norway, away from me.

Here there's some more to that story and tips to survive a girl who travels.

Scene 2. My apartment, Barrio Brasil, Santiago, Chile.

She faded away at the end of the hall, leaving my story as quickly as she's got into it. Our “thing” was short, but intense. We had less than a week to know each other, and time flying when we were together didn't help at all. Despite that, I liked her a lot and I could always tell she felt the same for me. Sex was amazing and we could spend hours talking, laughing or just cuddling. This English gal was very pretty and I loved her British accent and humor. But she was passing by Santiago in her way to keep traveling up South America to Mexico. Her plans didn't change for me. I was never part of her plan to begin with, so moving on was the sensible thing to do for her. A hug, a few kisses and a goodbye. That's all I got before she walked out my door, waved her hand at me and took her way down the hall to the elevator, to turn in that corner and disappear both from my sight and my life. Perhaps it was for the best. The “thing” could have got way more intense soon and the imminent farewell would've been devastating.

The story got way more fucked up. Some more details here.

Scene 3. TBD (To Be Determined).

In a little more than a week she, my lover, will be gone. I met this cute Danish girl unexpectedly. I came to that party chasing a British gal I knew before, so things between us worked organically. In less than 10 minutes we talked, danced and said our goodbyes. I kept chasing after the the Brit and left the building, what was a big fucking waste of time. Nevertheless, next day my future lover had friended me on Facebook and the following week we were shagging at my flat. I said I didn't want a relationship nor commitment, and she agreed because she knew she was leaving a few months after that. We maintained an only sex thing intermittently, while at the same time I was fucking around as much as I could. Only my accident in San Pedro de Atacama, with the whole near to death experience, made me settle down for a bit and scalate our business to a more official level, yet keeping it as non exclusive. We became lovers and friends. Very good friends. But after all my suffering I just couldn't do or give more than what I have so far. Again, I think not getting attached is for the best. She will soon go back to Denmark, half way around the world from me

After all this, I wonder why I keep doing the same to myself. Why do I keep engaging in relationships that are going to be over in a predetermined period of time? I think I'm terrified of serious commitment. Spending almost 9 years in a relationship messed me up apparently. But, on the other hand, I also believe I'm a romantic. Why does love have to be right next to you? Isn't it more poetic to find it in the other side of the world? I mean, what are the odds? Why not believing in fate for a while? Why not just live this adventure instead of being sensible, at least just for a moment?

Just before I started writing this I read the response to the column that inspired me. It's “DO date a girl who travels”, and there was a part that really got my attention. It says that a girl who travels will know when to change her plans for the chance to love. Yes, no woman has really changed much her plans for me before. I'm still waiting for that to happen. Will I finally find love when this occurs? I'm not sure, but wouldn't hurt that much to keep trying, expecting not to be left behind again.

Things have changed a lot! More to that in "Long Distance."