Project life

 Si de algo me ha servido hacer project life durante estos últimos años, ha sido para tener algo más de perspectiva sobre mi vida. Cierto es que en esta ingente cantidad de blogs y diarios y papeles varios que he acumulado desde que entré en la pubertad también hay tremenda cantidad de información, pero siempre tendí a escribir en el momento, como me saliera. El project life me ha dado esa oportunidad de reflexionar, de tomarme tiempo para, por qué no, curar y programar el contenido que quiero mostrar y cómo mostrarlo. Por ello, leerme y ver las fotos después me ayuda a centrarme, a saber qué fue importante y qué fue solo un producto de mi ansiedad. 

Y claro, si algo ha salido a base de bien en estos últimos dos años has sido tú. Tú y toda tu circunstancia. Y no te quito mérito, todo sea dicho, porque soy la primera que explica por activa y por pasiva toda la mierda que me hiciste pasar, pero eso no quitaba que nos lo pasáramos muy bien. Pero claro, en mitad de una discusión no iba a hacer una foto para el project life, pero eso no quiere decir que no pasara. Pasaron, y muchas. Y tenía que escribirlo, y tenía que dejar constancia del dolor que me causaste, un dolor objetivo, con hechos, un dolor que decidí soportar en pos de un posible futuro juntos. Pero incluso viendo las fotos se puede intuir que todo fue desde el principio muy desigual. Con eso estoy bien, de verdad que sí, pero ni a día de hoy puedo creer que me quieras como dices que me quieres si no lo demuestras. Tus ojos nunca estuvieron llenos de amor. Dejaste de mirarme de reojo cuando estamos en grupos grandes. Te pudo la cotidianidad.

Ahora busco en los álbumes algo a lo que aferrarme cuando a mí me puede la nostalgia y las ganas de decirte que vuelvas a casa. Leo las partes de atrás de las tarjetas, las que están escondidas de ojos que no sean lo suficientemente privilegiados, buscando un atisbo de la realidad que fue estar a tu lado. Tu indiferencia, tu seriedad, tus mentiras. Y lo encuentro, claro, pero rodeado de un halo constante de felicidad. Y entonces vuelvo a preguntarme si no merecería la pena darte otra oportunidad, por lo que pudiera pasar. 

You're sick of crying for blue eyes

 ¿Y ahora, qué?

Me duele la barriga, como siempre.

He empezado a hacer una lista mental de las cosas que tienes por casa y tienes que llevarte, como siempre.

Tengo ganas de ver Love Actually, como siempre.

Pero este mareo burocrático y semántico es nuevo. Tener que pelear por hacerte entender que no podemos estar juntos es nuevo, como si te debiera una justificación. 

He bajado tu maleta, pero no soy capaz de poner las cosas dentro. He conseguido mantenerme firme en tu presencia, pero ahora no puedo dejar de llorar.

A couple of days passed and I kinda feel like I want to ask you how's the trip, how're your parents, how are you, but instead I put The Black Parade and I clean and I make chicken stock from scratch and I look out the window hoping to find a solution to these feelings. 

I search in my memories, in memories I thought lost from past eras when I was more insecure and more naive and I loved with the same intensity but less knowledge, hoping to find a similarity, a scenario that could help me dive into this abyss with a glimpse of what's coming.

But nothing comes up. This doesn't resemble anything. This is all brand new and I thought I was done with new.

Y vuelvo a él, a ellos. A aquel que debió ser pero la edad se interpuso entre nosotros. Y a aquel que no me dejó quedarme, no me dejó volver. Vuelvo a ellos y me reconfortan sus recuerdos, aunque los siento tremendamente lejanos. Hace diez años de aquel bañador. 

En un alarde de melancolía intento evadirme a base de música que no uno a nadie y a tareas de bajo rendimiento intelectual, sé que si hago algo más me romperé. 

And your suitcase is still there. Your things are on the table, on the couch, but not in the suitcase, I don't have the will yet. I know what I'm doing is right. I know it. Then why do I feel so bad every time I stop and think about it? 

El gato está en celo

 Hoy ha sido un día raro. Ocupado. Por un momento pensé que llegarías hoy, pero tu mensaje a las seis de la mañana diciendo que habías llegado a Bucarest me sacó de mi error. Tener que salir de un curso para coger el metro e ir a otro podría ser la definición de toda una generación: no me da la vida, y eso que ni siquiera me pagan. He vuelto, he almorzado y he aplicado a una beca en Dublín para algo. No sé el qué. Tiene que ver con comunicación e investigación sobre calidad de trabajo y de vida. He empezado la segunda aplicación, esta vez en no sé dónde de Italia, algo que ver con la comida. Qué apropiado que todo tiene su departamento de comunicación. He mirado el calendario y tenía dos tareas pendientes: ir a hacer la compra y depilarme. Pensé que lo de hacer la compra mejor mañana para no sentirme culpable por usar la cuenta conjunta cuando tú no estás aquí, así que pensé lógicamente en depilarme. Es temprano, pero también quería arreglarme el pelo, echarme potingues como si no hubiera un mañana. Y la cosa es que no sé por qué lo estoy haciendo. Por qué voy a cerrar el ordenador y me voy a pasar una hora metida en el baño acicalándome como si fuera una niñata que va a su primera cita. Tengo la sensación de estar arreglándome para un funeral. Pero vienes mañana y yo no quiero tener pelos en las piernas. Como para que sepas lo que vas a perder. También lo pienso y me pregunto cuánto de esto es mi decisión y cuánto es constructo social. Me gustaría que tú también te arreglaras cuando sepas que vas a verme, pero no lo haces, no sientes ese je ne sais quoi de que todo irá mejor, de que causarás una mejor impresión si estás recién afeitado, si te recortas los pelitos, si te echas desodorante. Yo lo siento de vez en cuando y creo que está bien, sea mi decisión o no. Me gusta tener un motivo para arreglarme, independientemente de lo que eso signifique para cada cual. Pero ahora mismo no lo entiendo. No quiero acostarme contigo ni que me digas que estoy guapa o que vaya pelazo que me traigo o nada de eso. Sé que no lo vas a hacer, pero no quiero provocarlo. Quiero que llegues y que te vayas. O no. Pero sobre todo sí. La cosa es que empieza a hacer buen tiempo y hace sol y empieza a anochecer casi a las ocho y me gusta esta época cuando aun hace frío pero apetece estar al sol. Apetece usar pantalones cortos y morir de frío con ellos. Apetece follar sin manta y que me comieras los pies. Apetece hacer pizza y recordar el tinto y las aceitunas en la ventana de Santiago cuando no podíamos salir de allí. Apetece ir a Mairena, todo sea dicho, pero no lo haré. Apetece coger carretera y manta con esas flamantes luces nuevas. Pero respecto a ti no sé qué me apetece, si que te quedes o que te vayas. Por ahora me voy a depilar y voy a intentar convencerme de que lo estoy haciendo para mí y no porque crea que así tengo más posibilidades de que me hagas sexo oral (lo cual, ya lo sabemos de sobra, es una quimera).

Last words

I thought... I really thought you could be the one. Crazy, huh? You were so different I could never be bored by your side. You were so handsome I could put you on a frame and just observe you for hours. You were so funny I wouldn't need jokes in Spanish anymore. You were so intelligent you could even try to win me at trivial (though you wouldn't because of the lack of cultural knowledge). So I thought you could really be the one. The one to get married to, the one to have children, beautiful, anxious and terribly smart children with, the one to share a life with. 

But that was when I was being very optimistic and naive. Those glimpses of time when it didn't bother me that you took so long to feel something for me, it always made me feel lower, less than the rest. All my life, because of just the fact of being a woman, as every woman in the planet, I have had to work more to get the same result as the guys. But I didn't expect to have to work more among other women to get your affection, like I was always missing something to make you notice me. It is not your fault and I am completely aware of that, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt because I will never understand why you are with me after all these crazy absurd love affairs you had with other people and the line of thought usually ends up with the classic "there wasn't a better option there at the moment".

And now I don't feel anything anymore. I lost my capacity to cry, to laugh, to be anything more than a jellyfish. I'm exhausted by this bureaucratic life, full of CVs and cover letters and applications that end nowhere. I thought you could be my stone through this. Through the masters, through the cinema and through the endless search for a proper job. And I wanted to be that for you in return. But you never really were. You left in the most crucial moments, when I had to deliver papers and I barely had time to make food, when I was the bussiest, when I spent the nights crying out of frustration over the British job working system and I thought all my decisions were wrong, when I just wanted to go back home. You weren't there when I made the shopping for the studio. You weren't there when I made the first dinner. I spent the first night there with someone that wasn't you, but it should have been you. I wanted and needed you to be there.

And, you know, in my anxious mind everytime you did something like that I wonder if you would have done that to any of the other girls. If you would have made them wait. You yourself told about that great time when you cross your country just to give a girl a surprise that ended up badly. Would you give me a surprise like that? You have never given me a surprise. Not a single time in two years. And I'm supposed to feel glad precisely because of the amount of time we've been together. How can I when you did and felt and said more in two months than in two years with me? And then it all ends up the same: I'm crazy, I'm jealous, that's just not true.

Sometimes I wonder if you really understand why I'm so pushy about certain things. The job. The language. The house. Beyond obvious reasons, all of them are proof that you are being serious about this relationship. I didn't make you pay for the studio, I opened my house to you, I helped you with all the administrative proccesses I could, I think I made my part. But you still feel like a guest here, a very comfy and long-lasting guest. And since you don't really make any efforts in learning Spanish, or getting a job, or actually care about anything in the house, I should not be what you're making me be: a mom, a handmaid, a whore.

Twin Peaks

 Twin Peaks is coming to Filmin. It was about fucking time, to be honest. And my first thought, of course, was "I can finally show him", followed up by the obvious "he's not gonna like it", to be summarized in an even more obvious "it doesn't matter anymore". You're leaving as soon as you come back and I won't have to see you again. It's strange how that feels, swimming between the inevitable of the situation and the fear of realising everything is true. I thought it would be complicated to not see previous partners considering how close we all live, but the truth is there has never been an accidental encounter. And yet, this feels way more real, if you go for sure I'm never gonna see you again. And I think that's okay. You drive me crazy to absurd limits, your lack of understanding, of care for details, of passion... I just can't understand why you can't love me like a normal person. Why do you have to be such a lovely human being just when I'm about to break down. It's not fair. I find myself being humilliated over and over just to get your attention, to get you to love me because that became my objective, but I don't know if what I got was love or it was just a natural reaction. Because you never felt them, didn't you? The butterflies. You never felt the longing, the need for connection, for words, for everything that was related to you. You were too busy being sad because you weren't able to be with someone else. And now you don't feel the need of structure, of caring for eachother, of having dates, of finding things together. Of travelling together, when it is so easy to travel for free without me. You know? I thought about new things to do, since you're always saying my only plan is going to the cinema (at least I have a plan): I found a swing dance class, I made a list of day trips, I checked cheap flights for easter, I even downloaded a very complete PDF of something called "partner summit" which I thought could make us both cry for quite a while, I even spent 15 freaking euros in multiplayer games for us to try, I looked for 2 players boardgames in English. I don't know, I tried. And I never got to tell you and now it doesn't matter.

Me dices goodbye en tu nota tan ricamente

 Hace ya años que empecé a ver mis patrones, a darme cuenta de qué papel tengo en todos los círculos (pequeños o grandes) sociales en los que entro. Y es que ya por 2012 Celia me decía que era la madre del grupo, la que se preocupaba de que todos recibieran la comida en el sitio de cenar de turno, la que siempre tenía pañuelos para los dramas inesperados, la que les compraba condones a sus amigas para asegurarse de no ser tita antes de lo previsto. Soy la que no quiere hablar pero habla en un grupo nuevo, para que nadie tenga que ponerse en la tesitura de hacer el ridículo. Soy la que invita a casa, la que abre las puertas, la que ofrece desayuno, merienda y cena y tiene miedo de cómo vayan a dejar el sofá cuando se vayan. Y lo cierto es, todo sea dicho, que no me desagrada tener ese rol. Mis amigos me apreciaban por ello y los que tengo ahora también lo hacen, aunque en una forma mucho menos efervescente y más callada.

Sin embargo, no es lo mismo estar en un grupo de personas en las que cada una asume un rol distinto, con más o menos acierto, que ser solo dos personas. La dependencia es enorme. La injusticia también. Tiendo a asumir este rol absurdo por culpa del complejo de salvadora que dios me ha dado y no soy capaz de romper el círculo. Ya con Sebas lo vi, incluso con Julio, y eso que éramos unos críos. Pero todo fue siempre idea mía, todo surgía de mis iniciativas, desde los viajes a las obvias rupturas. Siempre he sido yo la que ha llevado la maquinaria pesada mientras la otra persona se dejaba llevar. Ahora no iba a ser menos. Ahora es exponencial la desigualdad. Ha llegado un momento en el que me siento una máquina de hacer personas más preparadas para la vida real. El problema es que por el camino suelo salir malparada. Leía hace un rato que pedir reciprocidad no es algo malo, que tiene sentido en una relación equitativa. Siempre he leído lo contrario, que todo lo que haga tengo que hacerlo sin esperar nada a cambio, que debo ser solidaria hasta unos extremos enfermizos. Suena también a doctrina católica. Y tiene sentido, ¿no? Porque en ese acto tan simple de pedir reciprocidad toda la culpabilidad se abalanza sobre mí. Hago un esfuerzo sobrehumano por ignorarlo y mirar por mí un poquito, pero cuál es mi sorpresa cuando veo que nada cambia. Así que espero. Y vuelvo a hacer de tripas corazón. Y nada cambia. Y me empiezo a sentir no ya culpable sino estúpida. ¿Cuántas veces el pie y la piedra?¿Cuántos chocazos contra la pared? Demasiados, demasiados.

Dónde estabas entonces

 Imagino que el dolor pasará tarde o temprano. Bueno, no imagino, lo sé. El problema es que esta vez es diferente, no puedo irme y anclarme a otros grupos, salir, beber y el rollo de siempre, a la vuelta estarás ahí. Tener que esperar hasta el 11 sin arrepentirme se va a hacer cuesta arriba, eso también lo sé. Mi propósito de este año era tener una relación sana contigo y henos aquí, 31 de diciembre y viviendo en un limbo de decisiones y, sobre todo, indecisiones. Tú somatizas y yo me bloqueo. La vida se me hace bola en este último día del año, sin ganas de escribir, de traducir, de vivir. Tu apatía me supera. Y tú sufres y no ves que yo soy la destrozada, en una inmensa cantidad de amor tengo que elegir el dolor de dejarte atrás. Si al menos me dieras un resquicio de esperanza al que aferrarme...

I am wasting all this time

 Should I tell you what I really think?

Would it change something?

In these past couple of days I've been reading my evolution since we met, the problems we (I) had at the beginning, the mistery, the fear, the pain and it all came from the same: an absolute lack of communication. You didn't let me in, you had your reason and that's fine at this point, but the problems evolved and the cause was the same. Me needing information and you not giving it away. Just a bit, just enough to not be paralyzed during the whole day because you're on the other side of the continent not wanting to come back.

In the end I was right: I don't miss you, I miss the idea of having someone that gives me conversation and companionship, but it could be you or someone else. We haven't built anything and people are starting to be very adult and I just feel stuck with you. Stuck in the monotony of blaming someone else for our problems, stuck in how easy it is to live at someone else's expenses and I'm seeing you getting too comfortable here and I need to get out of this place. This is not your home and it's not mine either anymore, disassembling the bed was definitive proof of that. I need to get out of here and you don't seem to understand it. Because you come and you go as you please and want a job that you like and at this point in life that's too much to ask for.

We will go to Mexico and we will have a good time, I am sure of that, but I don't think you will stay for much longer after that. I told you if you didn't get a job before Christmas it would be over and I stand by that, because if at least I would have seen you trying, things would be a bit different, but you decided that we would make the NGO and that would be everything when, since day one, that wasn't the plan because we knew we couldn't live from that for now. What do you want me to do? What would you do in my shoes? Love isn't everything, it never was. I have my masters and I know that's no excuse but it is my reason (and the savings I have from the time I actually worked), what do you have? Anxiety? Boredom? Lack of motivation? I don't care, I told you I would follow you wherever you could find something and I refuse to believe you are useless to everyone, you are just not trying and that is killing me. Because you keep taking me for granted and I am not, you think I will eternally forgive you and say things will get better while you play your things and forget that looking for a job is, in fact, a job. 

But I am getting very tired and I definitely do not need you. I never did, and at this point (I'm sorry) I'm pretty sure you did actually need me to become a bit more mature and a bit more like a normal human being, and that was a very fun experience to be part of, but it took away my mental health along the way and it is still doing it, you are still making me feel sick and it doesn't compensate the times I feel good. So if this is who you are it is fine by me, it really is, if this is all you can aspire to be then by all means be yourself, but you will have to be yourself without me, because I want more than this life of expectation and sadness.

No hay música

 I am in a limbo again. I wonder between the possibilities, hearing and reading about contradictory points of view, asking myself what am I going to do, but at the same time not wanting to answer. The sky is grey today, it's cold and wet and there were people dancing in blue vests in the middle of the park, it looked like a cult. I should've told you that, right? But we are not talking, we haven't talked in over a day. I want to ask my mum if she speaks a lot with my dad when they are apart, to have some perspective. I have Ro's one of calling each other everyday, but I still think that's excessive. But if I ask her she will know something's wrong and I don't want to talk about it. So I don't know if this is a mature relationship or just one without passion. I mean, I would speak to you all the time, but I don't because I am pretty good at controlling myself and I don't want to end up like last year, with a bag full of yes and no. I tend to compare with the past but there's no point, I feel I'm at a different life point right now and nothing from before is valid.

I see the red flags and I am scared of them, I just feel everything is wrong, from the beginning it was wrong and I just decided I could fix everything, like always. I can get your attention, I can make you fall in love with me, I can learn to love you properly, I can make you want to be with me for the rest of our lives... but I forgot about being happy in the process. I forgot about the compatibilities and that maybe if we were fighting so much it meant something. If I always felt left out, ignored, and I had to be mean to catch your attention, maybe there was something definitely wrong.

Creo que, después de tanta reflexión y tanta tontería, toda esta situación podría definirse en dos sencillas frases: no hay música y mi instinto dice que aquí no es. There's no music and my instinct tells me it's not here. La música no deja de sonar cuando estoy sola, al igual que sonaba con frecuencia con ellos. Los grupos cambiaban, de Manel a Twenty One Pilots, pasando por Smash Mouth, Estopa y Fun, pero siempre estaba ahí. Cuando pongo música no te mueve nada y tú nunca pones música. Cuando bailo no me sigues la corriente. No tenemos grupos en común.

Exhausted

 It must mean something, mustn't it? If every time you leave I want to leave you.

At first, believe me, I was convinced it was just a way my brain was using to catch your attention since you were barely talking to me, so I tried to not think too much about it, not give it too much importance.

Then I thought "oh fuck, there's a pattern here, let's try to break it, let's try being mature and rational about it, he's just busy, he doesn't have wifi, he's not him and after three weeks of not answering you he will say he doesn't want to see you again, he only takes five hours to answer, not two days". "Only". 

Then I started listening to my guts and they were doing a demonstration trying to tell me to get the fuck out of there. That it doesn't make it right to take that much to answer without saying anything before just because there were people before that were even worse. That is not fair to justify not showing me off hanging to the "what they may say" and then post things that could make people talk even more. That I don't deserve to be temporary ghosted every time he leaves, having a good night and an I love you the first day and then barely nothing for the rest of the week.

And then, finally, I spoke to Ro. And I didn't tell her anything, but she started talking about her situation and I saw the similarities and I saw her trying to justify herself, clearly hurt by what Gigi did but saying she understands. And I realised the problem is not me, it's the society and how it has told us (women) to hang in there because is worth it. Because our man can be complicated but oh, isn't he nice when he's nice? Isn't he cute in his independence, but then he needs you like he needs a mother? 

So I am done justifying myself, saying "he's still learning, poor thing, he hasn't been in a proper relationship before", I am so done with that. Mostly because no one has ever said that about me. Isn't that curious? I have always known my stuff, how to handle things, how to cook, how to clean, what to say when my "man" needs fucking reassurance, but nobody wonders how I got here, how I got my heart broken over and over by men that didn't think I was worth it to hang in there for, how after months and years I was still the one adapting to the guy's needs, because they are always more important, because it's going to be easier to bend myself and shut up than trying to explain that I also need some fucking reassurance, some stability, because they wouldn't understand. I would be crazy, I would be in those days of the month, I would be lead by my hormones.

I am so done with all this fucking shit.

This is the last time that I will say these words

 Me miro en el espejo entre todas las fotos que he ido recopilando a lo largo de los meses. El pelo comenzando a encresparse, las clavículas siempre presentes, independientemente del peso, la forma rara que tiene mi boca en la unión entre el labio inferior y la barbilla. Te veo donde estoy, cada mañana en calzoncillos peinándote y con legañas aún en los ojos. Me veo desde la cocina mirándote mientras preparo el desayuno, día tras día, admirando tu belleza cambiante.

Cuando te fuiste te dije que tenía miedo de que volviéramos a pelearnos y tú lo solventaste con un simple "vamos a intentar romper el patrón", pero nada ha cambiado, ¿no? Tú sigues no contándome qué pasa en tu vida y no interesándote por la mía. Ya ni siquiera siento celos. No me da miedo que te acuestes con otra persona, me da miedo que esto sea todo a lo que podemos aspirar. Una vida simple, sin pasión, en la que en realidad no nos escuchamos. Una vida en la que algo tiene que pasar para que haya la suficiente iniciativa como para salir por ahí. Una vida en la que nos lo pasamos mejor cuando nos echamos de menos que cuando estamos juntos.

Esta vez no sé si te echo de menos, mucho menos si es de una forma madura o no. Vuelvo a hacer planes a medio plazo y no sé si te incluyen.

When am I going to learn from my mistakes? When am I going to be able to break the freaking pattern, since you are not doing it? I love you but... That it's just not enough. And the worst part is that I have my one year ago self screaming at my ear that what the fuck am I doing. Well, maybe not a year ago, a year ago I already knew how things worked with you, but maybe a year and a half ago. Anyway, she's there, looking at me with disapproval and telling me I will regret it. She doesn't know what I've been through with you, she still doesn't know about the lies and the yes and no as answers for months and the unknowledge of your situation around me. She just knows about your smile and how much she wants to rip off those clothes of yours. She wasn't in love with you yet, she was just sad, horny and destroyed. But I am not anymore, now I am angry at you for not even trying, for thinking that a "how's your weekend?" is gonna erase the fact that you have barely been in contact since you left. Again. But this time I am not going to tell you about it, this time I'm gonna let you enjoy while you can becase I'm afraid this is the end. I gave you an ultimatum, a last opportunity and you haven't taken it. And I am tired of myself trying to catch your attention by doing this. I don't need your attention that much. You will come and you will leave again and this time I don't want to see you again. I don't want to wait for you anymore, I am tired of waiting for something that is never going to happen. And I will be strong enough to keep my promise because you have to leave sooner or later and you actually don't have a ticket back, you don't even have to leave the keys. I am exhausted of trying to find something that should be there when obviously is not. I'm sure you will find someone that can love you the way you need to be loved and you will love them the way they want, but you just don't love me how I need right now to be loved. I want more. I need more than what you can offer me and it is not your fault. I just don't want to feel like this for another month. I don't think I can handle it.

A very productive Sunday

 We are still very far from each other. The initiative is there, but it's not real. You say you're less sure than other times (good to know, now, that you weren't that sure before) about breaking up being the right choice, but you don't give me alternatives. You don't give me valid reasons. And I don't know if I have the strength to carry on trying given the past experiences. I breathe once or twice strongly and I do my best to remember why I want to have a life with you. It was easy to see it with the others, professional routes were taking us to different paths but things and a culture in common kept us together. We don't have that but we talked about having a professional project together. The idea of making an NGO with you sounded like a dream, specially with the disenchanment of the masters. But it doesn't seem like something you actually want to do, since you haven't done anything about it. And the masters and the cinema completely drained my energy and I promised myself that the moment I finish the semester I would join and work alongside with whatever you had created by that time. But you haven't done anything in all these months, how do you expect me to trust you if the pillar that is supposed to support our life hasn't even begun to be planned? We could apply this question to almost any aspect of this weird and dysfunctional common life we have created. I opened to you since the moment you let me and I vomited to you all the emotional charge I was carrying for months and I know it wasn't right. But there were tremendously important stuff for a relationship that you didn't tell for months. You should have told me a lot of things a lot before. And now all you say it's reduced to a lie because I can't know when you will surprise me again with some exclusive news you should have told me almost a year ago.

You have been lying to me since we met. Sometimes by omission, sometimes openly, but you never told me the whole truth. Our relationship is based on you telling me half-truths despite the fact that I only asked honesty from you from the first moment, and me forgiving you because by the time I found out about the first lie I was already so in love with you that the idea of being in Croatia without being able to talk to you, touch you or kiss you simply terrified me. On the other hand, I know we could be more that this fear. I know the intention is there, but I'm not sure we have enough will and resources. I love you like I have never loved anyone before, I have seen you grow as a person and a partner without losing your essence, but there's too much at risk. And I took off the ring. I read myself and remember all the bad, I read about attachments and the resources to build a healthy relationship and I trust there is still hope, but not too much. Because, after all, all I can think about is you flirting with (or rather being flirted by) all the girls on the exchange, getting drunk, having sex with someone at the hotel, we know you have experience on that. And everything goes to shit again.

It's Sunday and the body knows it

 Last night I was not sleepy. Today I am not sleepy. I woke up at 7:30 like I used to do when we were in Daruvar, after only five or six hours of rest. I remembered the day we went for a walk, it was still the first month, you wanted to go to Lidl and you didn't want me to go with you. "Maybe I want to call some friends". Honestly, I thought you were the most social guy in the world, I was jealous of it, of the thought of having friends that actually keep in contact with you several times a week, I thought you must've been really special if you had friends like that. I never considered the concept as an eufemism. It never crossed my mind that friend could mean girlfriend, specially given that, seeing my sadness for not letting me go with you, you kissed me on the spot before leaving.

I have always tended to think the best of people, that they are true, they are good, they don't hide on purpose because that's what I want people to think of me. Of course I knew you weren't telling me the truth (I'm not that naive) but I didn't think you were lying to me. But you lied so much that, after all this time, now I can't believe anything you say. And it hurts because I really want to. I want to build something beautiful with you, but the foundations have never been strong enough. Maybe we could, with a lot of effort, work, time and money we don't have.

It was stupid and reckless since the first moment. You coming to my house as a friend, without a return ticket, putting my world upside down. And me letting you in, opening completely to you without receiving anything in return beyond some sex. It's raining today. I can't concentrate. I have to start doing things. But I just want to go back to bed and lie down. I want to hurt myself a bit, just enough to feel something different from this emptiness. I'm gonna clean instead.

I had pasta and I didn't finish it

 Sebas wanted me to watch this film we laughed about for years. I remember when it came out, six years ago, when it was still weird if a non-Ghibli anime film arrived to the cinema. "I want to eat your pancreas" and we just couldn't believe that was the real title. Critics were nice but just the name was so stupid we couldn't go. He watched and said to me today it's probably one of his top 10 films (he didn't specify if general films or anime), that he had only cried more with Coco. That's worth watching, then, and there I went, downloaded it and put it. I don't like anime anymore, it only has four or five types of stories repeating themselves over and over. This one, after all, was another slice of life. With an interesting plot-twist, yes, but nothing more. I was there crying, of course, when you replied to my text. Almost at the same time the girl who is gonna die (spoiler alert) was giving a speech about what living meant to her. Connection. Interaction with people. A lot of very nice drawings of people loving eachother. And there I was, pretending I was not falling apart while replying to you. Debating about answering to the good night. Thinking what to do next, the subtitles desyncronized, it lost a bit of the magic but I wasn't liking it that much anyway. I'm becoming a potato little by little, hiding in the ground, not even wanting to cry anymore, wondering if you will ever ask about the cold I was having but probably you won't even remember so I hide a bit more. I don't want to cry, I don't want to make a project plan, I want a bit of sun and a coffee place open after five and I want you to ask about my cold and to bring me some stupid souvenir that reminded you of me. But I can't expect you to love me like that. I don't. But it is what I need. After all we will all die from pancreas stuff and I don't want to eat your pancreas, eugh, I don't want your soul to live inside me but deep down a little piece is already with me.

English below

 Es que no falla. Lucía está triste, Lucía escribe. En este caso es más necesario que otras en las que solo vengo a quejarme, intento dejar clara mi postura, hacer una declaración de intenciones, de principios (y si no te gustan, no tengo otros, como Marx...) y hacer en la medida de lo posible un juramento católico, apostólico y romano de mantenerme fiel a lo que aquí diga, que por otro lado viene a ser de lo más sencillo: quiero dejarte. Es una jodienda, si yo lo sé, estamos perdidamente, no, asquerosamente enamorados el uno del otro, nunca las hormonas me habían durado tanto de forma tan constante, es verte y que el cerebro se me derrita. Y precisamente por eso necesito escribirlo, recordarme de alguna forma que no todo es eso (porque no lo es) y cuando no estás conmigo me acuerdo de por qué no deberíamos estar juntos. 

Voy a empezar por lo más sencillo: dices que una relación a distancia no funcionaría y yo te doy la razón. Te la doy tanto que me parece extrapolable a una relación sin distancia. Quiero decir, estoy bastante convencida de que para que una relación normal funcione también debería funcionar a distancia, al menos durante un cierto período de tiempo. Y está claro que nosotros no funcionamos y, seamos realistas, no sabemos cuánto va a durar este ir y venir ni si en algún momento después de esta semana tendrás que volver a irte y yo no quiero estar así mucho más tiempo.

No tenemos nada en común. Y esto ha sido así desde que nos conocimos, el problema es que al principio tampoco importaba tanto, la prioridad no era conocerse a fondo, no fuera a ser que nos pillásemos (ejem, ejem...). Pero ahora estamos aquí, un año y pico después y yo no sé qué hacer contigo en el sentido más literal de la palabra. No sé de qué hablar, no sé qué música poner, no sé qué película enseñarte, no sé qué libro regalarte. Nuestros temas de conversación se reducen al Erasmus y a las comparaciones entre países y me aburro. Tu falta de iniciativa me agota y me molesta terriblemente que estés dispuesto a salir y a socializar como si no hubiera un mañana cuando estás por ahí y conmigo no quieras hacer nada más que salir a dar un paseo.

No consigo entender el por qué de tus acciones. Me he pasado la última semana leyendo artículos sobre neurodiversidad en un intento desesperado de entenderte, pero simplemente no te encuentro en las definiciones y no sé qué puedo aplicar a tú siendo tú y qué es parte de esa cultura báltica a la que no consigo encontrarle sentido. 

Eres un manipulador de órdago. Lo volviste a hacer en Jerez, llorando y diciendo que tú también te merecías algo de amor. Oh, cómo sabes cómo pierdo los papeles cuando lloras. Cómo se me va todo el razonamiento a la mierda cada vez que siento que te puedo estar haciendo daño de verdad. Y lo sabes y lo usas en mi contra, confío en que no eres totalmente consciente de ello pero eso no impide que esté mal.

Estoy harta de sentirme insegura a tu lado. Y soy plenamente consciente de que esto no es culpa tuya, pero tampoco me había pasado antes. Mi autoestima nunca ha estado para tirar cohetes pero ahora mismo me soplan y me caigo y es, inevitablemente, culpa tuya. Porque yo te dejé tratarme así de mal en pos de un futuro imposible y dijiste que me tratarías mejor si pudieras pero el daño ya está hecho, lo que estaría bien es que me trataras bien ahora y tampoco lo haces. Decirme que me echas de menos cuando te amenazo no es tratarme bien, es puro miedo.

¿Pero miedo a qué, exactamente?¿Qué te estoy dando que tienes tanto miedo a perderme? No soy tan especial, nunca lo he sido, siempre he sido una intensa y una llorona pero poco más. No entiendo por qué no me dejas seguir con mi vida después de este parón imprevisto, por qué no vuelves a tus youth exchanges completando la pokedex cuando es claramente lo que te hace feliz, no yo. Usa tus nuevos conocimientos sabiamente y deja que esté sola un tiempo prudencial, que bien me hace falta también. Volveré a mis playlists de cortar, a Manel, Mika, La Oreja de Van Gogh, Keane, los Red Hot y Dire Straits, a ver Amélie, Enredados y Las Chicas Gilmore (#TeamJess) por millonésima vez y se nos terminará pasando, como todo.

(Translated with Deepl because I'm lazy)

It doesn't fail. Lucía is sad, Lucía writes. In this case it's more necessary than others in which I only come to complain, I'm trying to make my position clear, to make a declaration of intentions, of principles (and if you don't like them, I have no others, like Marx...) and to make as far as possible a catholic, apostolic and roman oath to remain faithful to what I say here, which on the other hand comes to be as simple as possible: I want to leave you. It's a fuck-up, I know, we're madly... no, disgustingly in love with each other, my hormones have never lasted so long in such a constant way, it's seeing you and my brain melts. And that's precisely why I need to write it down, to remind me somehow that it's not all that (because it's not) and when you're not with me I remember why we shouldn't be together.

I'll start with the simplest thing: you say that a long-distance relationship wouldn't work and I agree with you. I agree with you so much that I think it can be extrapolated to a non-distance relationship. I mean, I am quite convinced that for a normal relationship to work, it should also work at a distance, at least for a certain period of time. And it's clear that we don't work and, let's face it, we don't know how long this back and forth is going to last or if at some point after this week you'll have to leave again and I don't want to be like this for much longer.

We have nothing in common. And this has been the case since we met, the problem is that at the beginning it didn't matter so much either, the priority wasn't to get to know each other in depth, lest we get a thing for eachother (ahem, ahem...). But now here we are, a year and a bit later and I don't know what to do with you in the most literal sense of the word. I don't know what to talk about, I don't know what music to play, I don't know what movie to show you, I don't know what book to give you. Our topics of conversation are reduced to Erasmus and comparisons between countries and I get bored. Your lack of initiative wears me out and it annoys me terribly that you're willing to go out and socialise like there's no tomorrow when you're out and about and with me you don't want to do anything more than go for a walk.

I can't understand why you do what you do. I have spent the last week reading articles on neurodiversity in a desperate attempt to understand you, but I just can't find you in the definitions and I don't know what I can apply to you being you and what is part of this Baltic culture that I can't make sense of.

You are a manipulator of the highest order. You did it again in Jerez, crying and saying that you too deserved some love. Oh, how you know how I lose my temper when you cry. How all my reasoning goes to shit every time I feel I might be really hurting you. And you know it and you use it against me, I trust you're not fully aware of it but that doesn't stop it from being wrong.

I'm sick of feeling insecure around you. And I am fully aware that this is not your fault, but it hasn't happened to me before either. My self-esteem has never been in a state to throw rockets but right now someone can blow on me and I will fall down and that's actually, inevitably, your fault. Because I let you treat me this badly in pursuit of an impossible future and you said you'd treat me better if you could but the damage has already been done, what would be nice is if you treated me well now and you're not doing that either. Telling me that you miss me when I threaten you is not treating me well, it's pure fear.

But fear of what, exactly? what am I giving you that you're so afraid of losing me? I'm not that special, I never have been, I've always been intense and a crybaby but little more. I don't understand why you won't let me get on with my life after this unplanned hiatus, why you won't go back to your youth exchanges completing the pokedex when it's clearly what makes you happy, not me. Use your new knowledge wisely and let me be on my own for a while, which I need too. I'll go back to my break-up playlists, to Manel, Mika, La Oreja de Van Gogh, Keane, the Red Hot and Dire Straits, watch Amélie, Tangled and Gilmore Girls (#TeamJess) for the millionth time and it'll wear off, like everything else.

I'm sick of...

 Estoy harta de tener que seguir conociéndote, de sentir que he pasado estos últimos meses junto a un completo extraño. ¿Cuentan a estas alturas las mentiras por omisión? I said the other day that I am missing you in a very mature way and I am, but it's more than that. It's me talking to him for an hour and not being able to talk to you for ten minutes straight. It's me not knowing what to tell you, and you not knowing what to tell me. It's us boring each other to death. Because you pretend to be interested and I try to be but we're not. The only thing in common that we have is the life we were trying to build together and that's taken away. And I just can't wait to see you but if I don't it's gonna be okay. This studio was never yours, it was never ours. It was just mine with sparkles of your presence, like a traveller passing by. I don't miss you. Echo de menos alguien con quien hablar, con quien hacer el amor, con quien compartir la comida porque no sé cocinar para uno. Pero no echo de menos tus conversaciones, tus ideas, mi absoluta inseguridad a tu alrededor. Me siento mejor ahora, siendo ajena a todo, sabiendo que puedes ponerme los cuernos cualquier noche, me da igual. Me da igual si hablas con ellas, si les dices baby por la noche o si les mandas fotos eróticas, me da igual. Tenía la intención de intentarlo pero teniendo en cuenta el éxito de la última vez creo que me puedo quedar con mis fotos. O del simple "what are you wearing?". I'm just not in the mood anymore. It is actually quite sad, quite naive. I really thought you could teach me something new, but you are so lost in yourself that you will never see anything beyond your nose. The thing that you like about me the most is the effort that I put in making you fall in love with me? In fucking seducing you? You have no idea, and after all this time you just don't get it. I didn't make you fall in love with me, you fell in love with me because I was in love with you and I was giving you all my attention, because I just wanted to know you. And I deserve more than that. And you deserve to love someone for who they are, not the attention they pay to you, like the ones you've told me about. You know, deep down, why it bothers me so much that you talk about them? It took you so little time, just hours even to feel something for them, to love them. How can you expect me to not compare when there's this group of people that you fell for in a matter of days whilst it took you over a month to just start noticing me?¿Cómo pretendes que me de igual? Y ahora otro campamento con muchachas guapas de Europa del Este a tu disposición. Simplemente estoy un poco harta de esperar a que me pongas los cuernos.

Little spring of inspiration

 I think we should get married. I don't know if I'm totally convinced by the idea behind it, the possession behind the whole thing, but I can't help it, I like the idea of being married to you. I have never felt that with anyone else, of course I have talked for hours about how my dream wedding would be, but I never considered it a real posibility. And I know for now it's not either, we don't have money and the UK hates us, but we have been apart for almost two weeks now and I feel weird. I miss you tons, I miss watching series in the night and sleep with you and walk around the center the days when I don't have to work, but I am not particularly sad like I was the other times. I am missing you in a very healthy way and I am very proud of myself for that. I can't wait to see you in Sevilla and enjoy the real spring and eat outside everyday but in the meantime I don't dwell on my misery, I have too many things to do (she said, writing this instead of doing the marketing plan).

Siete horas, te voy a volver a ver

 En siete horas estarás aquí. Como la canción de Bebe. Siete horas corriendo por la ciudad. Siete horas y muchas más pensando en qué te voy a decir, en qué va a pasar, en los besos que te quiero dar. Siete horas para disfrutar de la soledad antes de que inundes mi universo de nuevo; esta vez, definitivamente, sin billete de vuelta. Y me molesta un poco, ¿sabes?, haber tenido que andar detrás de ti durante todos estos meses y, sobre todo, estas últimas semanas. Me doy coraje, tenía superadas estas cosas, había dejado de pensar con los ovarios y creía que mis estándares estaban bastante más altos. A la altura de alguien que me preparara el desayuno de vez en cuando, que sintiera el peso de la responsabilidad afectiva, que no dudara al decirme que me quiere. Pero estás tú después de más de treinta horas de viaje cruzándote Europa por mí (aunque no te lo haya pedido) y no soy capaz de ver que igual es suficiente. Quizás porque siempre fui una persona que se regocija en los pequeños detalles, en el día a día, en el "te he comprado un paquete de galletas porque me acordé de ti". Las grandilocuencias, la atención, los grandes estallidos de amor nunca fueron santo de mi devoción. Y tú nunca has sido capaz de verlo. Y yo directamente no sé cómo quererte.

It's true and I was angry (in that order)

 Me duele la barriga desde que te fuiste. Somatizo con el estómago, siempre lo he hecho. Hoy tenía la sensación de que me había bajado la regla de nuevo por culpa de los retortijones. No sé qué hacer, de verdad que no lo sé. ¿Estábamos de verdad haciendo algo bien simplemente porque nos dolía la idea de no estar juntos? También duele estar así. Esperando. Intentando entender. Haciendo listas de mierda.

I'm here and you are not. The flat doesn't feel like mine but it definitely doesn't feel like yours. Like ours. You keep saying you will come but at this point is not a matter of believing but facts: you are not here when you should have been. And I keep telling myself that you will be extraordinary once you learn to care for other people's feelings, but I don't think I deserve to be the test field for so many months. I keep telling myself you have improved but actually I don't see how beyond the fact that you love me and that's not an improvement. You always say that you don't want to hurt me, but you never said that you want to make me happy. You care for me but you don't know how. And I pretend you don't feel anything so I can put all the blame on you just because I have more experience and I know how to see the red flags, and I know that's not right either. I feel small and I feel big. I feel bad because I constantly think I am making the universe turn around me and it shouldn't, but at the same time I am so insignificant. I could stay in this tiny studio for the rest of the year and no one would notice. I still don't understand why you are doing this. I have never seen a love like this. So small and yet so capable of destroying everything. You say you ended up loving me like it's not weird that you wanted to come to my home without feeling almost anything for me, not to mention the stupid fact of me saying yes. Yes, please, come to my house, let me introduce my family, this is Juhan, we are not a thing but he's staying in the guest room and he doesn't have a return ticket. But he doesn't want to be with me. I am just so blind I would do whatever he wants me to do at this point. But now he wants, though he's never coming with me to Leeds, that would be insane. Nothing changes, maybe we hold hands a bit more, out of my insecurity I have to ask him if we are something real because I can't believe what is happening. Who would? But I felt so happy, so touched by god's hand because somehow you wanted to create something beautiful with me. But it wasn't that, was it? You were just afraid of losing me. It was so comfortable to have the attention and the food and the sex and well, I am not the prettiest girl in the world but I am not so bad either. I suppose you decided you could settle for that.

Meh

 He had the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen. Depending on the light they could turn grey, green or blue, but blue (the original) was always my favourite. He had a very ugly nose that bothered me a lot when we kissed, but I usually didn't care. He had a smile that could calm me down just by watching it, the warmest smile and funniest laugh in the world. And he cried. Quite a lot. The first time I saw him crying we were in my house, upstairs laying on the futón. I don't even remember why he was crying, something related with his father I think, but my natural instinct was to dry his tears and he didn't let me. He didn't let me touch him. I didn't understand. The last time I saw him crying was three years ago, the last time I actually saw him. That time the depression was clear, his necesity to talk everything out. I let him speak and I asked him if I could hug him. He said yes. I wanted to kiss him but I didn't dare to ask, I knew the answer.