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.