Between a rock and a wet place

I recall an instance, a few years back, when I was swimming in the sea with my ex. Well, I was swimming, he was on the beach. This must have been a few years ago, probably during the summer, and definitely in Whitstable. 

If you’ve ever swimmed in Whitstable you will remember that the beaches there are quite rocky with large stones. The sea is quite cold and, to be fair, relatively dangerous. Riptides and side currents can drag one away from the entry point. 

The reason why I recall this particular moment was because it was not that common for me to swim. I am quite a lazy swimmer (I absolutely love the feeling of water around my body), but I absolutely hate the admin that goes with it (getting into the water, all cold, my footsies hurting from the stones, having to dry afterwards, the sand and so on), you get the drift. 

In, yay. Before in, and after out, boo.

I think my ex had been swimming and had left the water to dry up, whilst I remained inside for a bit. 

What is the difference between a red flag, and a flaw?

Whilst my ex dried up, a child (probably around 12/13?) approached him. At that point I was relatively quite far away (not enough to be able to hear the conversation, but close enough to see what was going on. 

The child started grabbing stones and throwing them in my general direction. 

My ex laughed – how funny this whole thing was! 

I honestly cannot tell the sizes of the stones, but they looked more like tennis balls than pebbles – to the point that if one had hit me, it would have caused injury. 

At that point I was trying to get out of the water, shouting at the kid to stop, whilst in a way trying to avoid being hit by a stone. To get out, I would have to get closer to the kid, and therefore to the stones, increasing the likelihood of being hit. I was shouting throughout to stop and, most definitely, not joining in the laughter. 

In the end, I was not hit, but the absence of action from my ex, who remained standing there, chuckling at the whole thing, was surreal – painfully so. 

Did he not grasp the danger I was in?

If he thought I was not in danger, did he not see how distressed I was about the whole ordeal?

If he did not see the distress I was experiencing, was he so emotionally numb that he was unable to grasp the concept that someone else might be under distress?

I can’t remember much of the rest of the day, but I remember having the argument with my ex as to why he remained inactive and did nothing – his partner at the time – to help. 

A flaw is someone not “getting” someone else’s emotions. 

A red flag is not noticing that anyone else but themselves has emotions, and therefore why should they care.

I’m glad I got out of there relatively unscathed. 

All change…

And that’s a wrap!

I still need to run the final mileage figures and so on, but I estimate that in the last 3 weeks I’ve driven over 1300km (other mileages may vary), visited quite a few places, eaten in several restaurants, stayed in many hotels (including a couple of Paradores), met a few nice people and new friends, crossed borders back and forth without anyone giving a flying flamingo, and finally made it past our sovereign borders back into the UK, where we had to endure not one but two passport controls. 

The last leg of the journey has been quite fascinating – crossing an international border on a regional train (again, no fuss) between San Sebastian and Hendaya, cruised the TGV rail across France at 300+ kph speeds, travelled across the parisien Metro between stations, and finally screeched to a halt amidst bureaucracy and stamping of (blue, yay) passports, prior to embarking on another high speed travel across the channel. 

A lot of things could have gone wrong – but they did not, mostly (apart from air con in hotels that was well below par and a parking fine in Pamplona). Would I have changed things? Maybe, but I’m not that bothered and insistent on perfection, especially on trips I’m unlikely to repeat and that were, all things considered, not that big of a deal.

Which brings us to the point. 

Most of the people I’ve met in the last few weeks enjoyed the freedom of travel and work anywhere in Europe, without barriers or frontiers, and only people, bureaucracy, and language as an actual barrier. I met a friend in Paris who moved from Valencia years ago and is working as an architect. Staff in hotels and bars that were clearly from other parts of the country or continent working in a catchment area larger-than-you-could-possibly-imagine. Used my phone for calls, data, and so on, without a single hiccup. Crossed between France, Spain, and France again without anyone checking. Used local facilities without much of a problem. Hired a car thanks to the goodwill (which is not a legal agreement) between countries issuing driving licences which, I am 100% sure, was eased and skipped through because I had the right colour-passport and I spoke the language (so I could be trusted). Paid using debit cards without having to pay extortionate international fees, and so on. 

And we, the UK with an overwhelming 52% of the population or whatever, voted to throw that out of the window in order to… gain something we already had. We gained control of a dead horse, which we insist on hitting with a stick. A minister dedicated to realising the benefits of Brexit. A bit like having a minister to check that the sun is not blue, or that the gravity still applies. 

Musicians cannot travel to work. Students are less likely to travel to the UK to study and work. Why are we, as a country, so hellbent on proving to everyone that we are the best of the best of the best, and that in doing so, we isolate ourselves from the cooperation which is being part of something larger? What happened from learning from each other, from others, from other countries? 

Instead, we spend resources, time, effort, in duplicating all that already exists on a misguided and pitiful endeavour that leads nowhere. 

I want to go back to the great efforts of collaboration and partnership, instead of the isolation of the alchemic path we have embarked upon.  

The holidays

There is nothing as impactful between partners as going on holiday together.
From spending “some” time together it suddenly becomes spending “all” the time together – from waking up in the same room, to going to the same places, at the same time, and so on.

There is, virtually, no break from each other.

Unless, of course, two (or more) have the emotional intelligence to say – listen, I want to spend some time on my own, or whatever. There is no drama necessary, just a factual, adult, request, to another adult.

The other “impactful” element of the holiday is, of course, money.

Hard cash. Who pays for what, how is it financed, how is it kept “fair”?

Of course, dear reader, I do not have the answer as I believe each party ought to make their own arrangements. But, if we talk about fairness, there is something to be said. Do each party pay in a % of their income (which may still not reflect the available amount to be spent on holiday and may just erode the “poorer” side’s savings), or does the wealthier party pay for “everything” (which may feel the whole thing as a sugar daddy trip?)

Or, do the parties talk about this and enter an informed, consented, and amenable way, listening to common sense, feelings, and so on?

It is not for me to answer this on your behalf – sorry – but isn’t it great to have the simple capability to talk about it, and to reach a working arrangement with your travel companion(s)?

I reflect on this as I sit having a coffee, as this was a point of contention on a previous relationship. I would insist on paying “half” of the holiday, as it was “fair”, even though my ex earned four times as much as I did. I could barely afford it, it would eat into my savings, and, basically, would cripple me financially. But I did not have the maturity to raise the issue (I did raise wanting to pay half as “fair”), but not “I am crippled by this financial decision, can we revisit?”

I am not trying to appoint blame here – just to raise and highlight something that I have experienced from the other side now – which has made for a much more enjoyable holiday altogether.

Worth the effort, I think – but requires a level of maturity.

An evening of contrasts

Here I am, once again, in what could be considered the capital of all pilgrimages, at least in the Western world. I don’t think either Canterbury or Rome can compare to Santiago de Compostela, in which pilgrimage feels very much alive “today”. 

Whilst all three cities “have” pilgrimages (either directly or indirectly organised, or what appears to be a coach-party), only Santiago gives me a tangible feeling of “life” and “pilgrimage”. 

I lived here when I was, eh, 13/14?, and the following year, having moved somewhere else, I vowed to return, this time as a Pilgrim. I wasn’t the only one, and in that year several other people completed the pilgrimage as well. I was 15 and eager to take on the world. 

The following year I vowed to do it more – more walking, more duration, more, more, more – as I was clearly hungry for the punishment that walking some 800km would cause to a young 16 year old’s body. But I did. I walked it, accompanied on the weekends by my uncle, his family in the car, meeting us after every day, followed by friends and family on my first mobile phone (purchased by my uncle for the occasion), and so on, and 30 days later, having formed a pilgrim family, I arrived in Santiago. 

I remember telling someone that if I felt I had found whatever I was looking for 5 miles from Santiago (or the equivalent in km’s at the time), I would simply turn around and go home. 

I didn’t, and I did not. 

But the thirst is insatiable – both for knowledge, for punishment, for the experience, for life – and yet some 15 years later I felt like I have to use the Camino as a fix for “something”, in this case, a relationship, and how “doing something together” would magically fix it. 

So, we set on. Every year, we would walk a week or so, before flying back home and continuing the life. 

The first year, we had an argument as to whether it was important to fill up a bottle of water, or to drink from a water fountain. It was a very important argument at the time. 

I can’t remember whether we had a second-year argument. 

The third year was supposed to be a hard one, walking across two major cities, and where we identified the middle point of the pilgrimage, where our vows would be exchanged as a sign of commitment to each other. We walked past the point, vows printed, and never did. We never talked about this, either, and we would never talk about it whilst the relationship was still alive. 

In the fourth year, my body started playing up, and I felt I could not continue. I felt deflated, not wanting to finish “this thing”, and wanting to give up completely. We used to walk in September. 

In the fifth year, we would arrive in Santiago, happy memories, everything would be sorted and fixed. But I pushed our September date to be moved to May, as, secretly, I knew I wanted to leave the relationship, having finished the “business” of the thing that kept us going. 

So, we arrived and it all ended with a whimper rather than a bang. 

We had arguments about my not walking the last few hundred meters with my ex, and instead walking with a chap we had met a few days for beers. Of course, he never told me this when I could have done something about it, but by that time I had ruined 5 years’ worth of anticipation. 

My ex had an argument with a waiter because the waiter would not do anything about someone playing music on his phone in a terrace. 

And so on – what was started in deep snow a week earlier, ended up with warm and sunny 27c lovely weather. 

My ex spent the next day or so in the hotel, feeling ill due to exhaustion, or heat, or the apnea issues my ex refused to get addressed and looked at. 

I was alone, feeling very bitter. I contacted friends and told them I was there – friends my ex didn’t know they existed because they were “forbidden”. 

I felt so, so alone, so I threw myself out there. Absorbing life, pilgrimage, and thinking about what I had wasted in the previous 5 years committed to something that was, in all honesty, a waste of time. A stupid “wouldn’t it be nice”, without talking about “this isn’t working”. 

A couple of days later we were meant to walk to the end of the world. We took a bus instead, and my ex kept feeling ill. 

So I was now, once again, alone, sitting on the edge of the world. Alone. 

My ex kept feeling ill, so an earlier return trip was arranged. 

I resented that, but I didn’t have anything else to do. 

This time is different. 

I can talk. I can say. I can discuss. I can disagree. I can agree. 

I am not lost, wandering, trying to find meaning to an inescrutable path under the field of stars. 

I do want to walk again, but at least I know why I am here. 

I can show my husband what I missed the first time around. What he does not know. Retake from my ex what the memories he took from me,

And the most important thing – I have been able to confess to him that I have accepted that I will not be able to show him everything I want to. 

But as I it here, naked in our terrace, under the moon and stars, cooling off after a long, hot day, isn’t this what it is all about?

A cheat

I spent some time between Christmas and NYE 2014 with friends in Manchester. 

This was, partly, because my ex decided to spend that same period of time in Venice with their friends and family. Because of work, I could not easily escape during that period. Instead of spending that time on my own, I decided to go to Manchester to visit friends. 

Because of how things were at the time, I did not feel able to tell my ex about this, and I decided to lie about it and make up some stuff about my family coming over, when they were not. 

I came clean when I collected my ex from the airport in early 2015, having had a long chat with my friends, and not really wanting to be living the lie. 

So, the wedding that was supposed to have happened in September 2015 did not happen – it was postponed “indefinitely”, we make some excuse to our friends and family as to why we were postponing the wedding, and we lost the deposit. Obviously, and to keep appearances, we did not tell them that it was because I had lied, or that the relationship was not in the right place to have honest conversations, or whatever. 

We did have a few rough days where my friends supported me. My ex was supported in turn by their own friends and, I was told much later, the advice received was to dump me. 

After the initial storm, we did not talk about it until in June 2018 when I had packed all my earthly belongings and I was leaving my ex’s home. Apparently, that was the right time to address the elephant in the room. 

Too little, too late. Should have listened to the advice. I am glad to have left – in a much better place now! 

Conflicting Halves

Everything is made of two halves. Left and right, up and down, and so on – you get the drift. 

More interesting for me however, is the consideration that the halves, whilst being contradictory with each other, manage to coexist in “one”-ness. 

At least, that’s for most cases, lest not go nuclear with halves not actually being able to coexist and exploding spectacularly. Let’s tame the metaphor. 

This has mostly come to mind in recent times in relation to people’s opinions on “things”. Whether they can be from Big City, and support the team from Small Town. Whether they like savoury and sweet, or drink both tea and coffee. 

Or, whether one can respect father’s day (similarly to mother’s day) and not feel like one’s being an ungrateful sod to their progenitor just because the relationship isn’t going tickety-boo. 

My relationship with my father has certainly improved with time (it is, in fact, much better than the relationship with my mother). Mostly due, of course, to the fact that I could tell him that I loved him, and that I found it upsetting that he seemed to only want to call me when he needed something from me. This would cause me to resent him, dreading the time when he would call me. I would plot strategy in my mind, flowcharts, and so on, trying to find out what he really was calling for. When, eventually, he’d ask for my help, I’d have an internal “aha!”, knowing that I was, all along, absolutely right about my suspicion. 

Conversely, my mother does not want anything from me apart from unbridled attention, so I can never give her what he needs, so when we speak it’s all about her anyway, so I don’t plan my paths the same way. 

Anyway, two opposites. They do NOT attract (at least, not anymore), and I would not want to merge them or mix them. 

The difference is, of course, that I have talked to my father about what he used to do (calling with a plan), and now instead we talk every now and then about nothing, everything, and all is well. I’m even more than happy to offer my help when I know he’s struggling with something (usually some IT thing he’s purchased on the recommendation of a technician who will never have to deal with the actual real-life scenario. Thanks, stranger!)

With my mother, I tried. It seemed to work, for a bit, until it did not, and just became an exercise of me telling her off, her forgetting what we had “agreed” in the past, and her trying to change history to her benefit and my being a negligent child towards his mother. 

Again, opposites do not attract on this occasion. 

But, I still live with a mixture of love and hatred for what my parents do, what they have become, and so on. I can acknowledge that disparity, insofar as I can like both tea and coffee. I would not necessarily want them at the same time – at the end of the day, some things are best kept REALLY, REALLY separate. 

On the other hand, the current (political and otherwise) discourse means that folk are less likely to seem to be able to live with contradictions or, at least, to accept that other people will live with contradictions without seemingly going nuclear or exploding. One can like The Beatles and the Rolling Stones, acknowledging their similarities, which ones were first, and the fact that both can be enjoyed (although, once more, playing Helter Skelter and Wild Horses at the same time may be a strange experience). 

Some contradictory opinions become slightly harder to wrangle on a day-to-day basis: having certain beliefs, and beliving that the Government is doing a “certain” proper job on certain policies. Opposing Women’s ordination, and supporting Gay rights. Liking one’s rice pudding creamy and dry at the same time, or coffee Black and with milk at the same time. 

You get the drift. 

I don’t think it is up to an external observer to challenge those beliefs, but at least we can try to understand what on Earth is going on or, at least, why people feel that way. 

Of course, then we’re faced with a three-option answer: 

– They’re unaware of the contradiction (I always thought mixing salt and sugar at the same time with black-and-white coffee was the thing!), which gives us a chance to convince them of their strange ways, or 

– They are aware of it, and are also aware of the contradiction, and somehow live with the contradiction without exploding, or

– They are aware of it, and refuse to acknowledge the contradiction, by either changing the definition of the problem, plugging their ears with their fingers and going LALALALALA, or simply screaming and running away from the difficult subject (you). 

As an observer, I am fascinated by this contradiction held within one person. 

I am on a train back from a memorial service. I did not know this gentleman, but from the eulogies and the way people talked about him, I formed the impression that he was a bundle of contradictions, all in one man. 

He would break the rules, and at the same time respect the institution enormously, with quasi-zealous devotion. He would tease and keep people off balance, but at the same time offer them the opportunity of a lifetime. 

So, despite the rule breaking, he was a tradition-former. Despite the “naughty” Francis, there would be the “good” Francis. 

A contradictory man, without going nuclear. I have no doubt he was fully aware of the contradictions and, in a way, embraced them fully. 

And, isn’t it much more exciting when you find someone like that? To get to learn from them what makes them tick (without going boom), or how they manage to do everything without melting away?

Anyway, happy Father’s Day.

We are not alone

Travelling through time is a curious thing. Who actually controls the flow of relationships, those who go, and those who stay? 

Not me, by the looks of it. I seem to have a tendency to have a past life that absolutely loves following me around and has this annoying habit of nagging me and not.just.letting.me.move.on.with.my.life. 

We’re not talking about lovely memories or whatever. If only! We’re talking about the nuisance of civil action on stuff that happened in 2018 which, in all honesty, should be written off. 

I may post here some of the things that are being brought up as “evidence”, but maybe not as yet. 

On the other hand, we do have our past friendships and relationships, and what that “life” well lived means once they move on, whether to the next city, or to the next life. 

Those are usually well worth remembering, even though they may be painful to remember – they are painful for the good reasons! Yes, there’s an element of loss, but at the same time there is an element of “worthiness” which, at least in my opinion, makes it all worth it. 

Would you rather die not having known love, or would you rather go through the pain of loss, knowing that you have loved? 

A bit like dog (or pet) ownership, but with humans!

Mother’s day

I always feel a bit pressurised to “enjoy” and celebrate things just because others do.

One of the things I won’t be doing anytime soon (or as a matter of fact, a thing I did not do yesterday) is to celebrate mother’s day. By all means, enjoy yourselves, and don’t feel guilty about me not celebrating it.

I find this hard to celebrate this when my mother told me a few days ago a few of her facts. Luckily, my sister was with me, and therefore I know I am not going insane. Unluckily, my mother was sober when she said what she said, which means I can’t just attribute it to being drunk, but to being actively malicious.

In short, she told me that my father (they divorced about five years ago) had had a number of affairs over the years (nothing new there). She also told me that he is shock in fact shock a bisexual Man (oh no what am I meant to do with this information).

She then told us that in fact we should be grateful to her for the fact that before my sister and I were born (nearly 40 years ago, mind you) my father had had an affair with someone. Because she forgave him, they got back together and eventually my sister and I were born. So we should be grateful for her having forgiven him.

A child has no bearing whatsoever in their parent’s decision to have them. I cannot be held responsible for the sins of my father, and certainly won’t be held responsible for the forgiveness of my mother – forgiveness or else, by the looks of it.

The most frustrating thing was not what she had said, but the fact that she seemed to be completely oblivious to the absolute bomb she dropped into our relationship. As if it hadn’t happened. Just like that, she decided to ignore this, and simply not mention this ever again. Not a “I’m sorry for the way I said what I said”, or anything.

Needless to say, I find it utterly impossible to have any sympathy for my mother. So, happy mother’s day to everyone else. I will not be feeling guilty about not celebrating it.

Threshold

Readers –

My apologies, once again, for the delay in writing anything. Life is hard, and has been so for everyone for the last year now. We are all celebrating a year of Covid-19. If we had the 20-20 vision we have now of 2020…. But we didn’t.

Life feels like being on a threshold.

From the past to the future. From what was to what will be. From what should have been done to what could be done. And in an instant, it’s past. Gone.

I guess that being in (partially self imposed) full lockdown for the last year is starting to take a toll. When will we be able to socialise again? When will we be able to celebrate all those past birthdays/weddings/special events that have been put on hold permanently? When will we be able to go on holidays once again? Attend public events? Concerts? Cinemas?

Or, put simply, be able to enjoy the freedom that being outdoors brings, without feeling that every other human being outside your bubble could simply just kill you?

I guess I need to learn to simply try and avoid controlling everything around me. But how can I?

Must try harder.

Current times

It has taken me a while to write this post, with one thing and another.

I want to cry for the world, but I feel I lack the energy.

I look at the situation in the UK, and the Government’s actions, and I fear for those around me. I don’t want my friends to die. I don’t want my family to die. I don’t want my colleagues to die. And yet, around 50k people have died to Covid-19 in the UK.

I look at the situation in the US, and what is going on after the George Floyd’s death murder. I grieve for those who are taking this opportunity to loot and riot, and yet I am reminded that the situation in the US is different to the UK, especially in regards to Police action and accountability. How easily it feels to see police brutality over the US, and how scrutinised the Police is in the UK. We have had our fair amount of racist incidents, and I am certain those happen on a daily basis in the UK.

I remember the Tottenham Riots in 2011 and I remember speaking to a neighbour in Ealing the day after one neighbour had been murdered by the rioters. Nothing to do with police protests, but indiscriminate rioting, looting, and, what appears to me, an attempt to “balance the tables” between all sides of society.

Seeing videos on the internet of people stealing Nike trainers, and being reminded that some trainers cost over £700. Or £950. A pair. Nobody needs those trainers. But they exist. They are wanted. They will be looted.

The queues after McDonald’s have recently reopened, calls made to Police to help manage the queues. The increase amount of littering we have noticed at home because of those fast food places reopening to the world.

The queues in Parliament after remote voting has been stopped. MPs trying to get to vote, and having to face either being exposed to Covid-19, or not being able to vote. Democracy eroded, and at a stake.

I used to understand the world, but I feel I just don’t “get it” anymore. I am certainly not qualified to give an opinion on US politics, and probably shouldn’t be qualified to give an opinion on anything for that matter. The world (and especially the internet) appears to be a minefield of opinions that cannot be had, either knowingly or unknowingly.

And yet, we appear to be taken for a fool by Governments.

We lose track of what matters – each other. 

I feel lost, confused, and scared.

“Forgiveness is a strange thing. It can sometimes be easier to forgive our enemies than our friends. It can be hardest of all to forgive people we love. Like all of life’s important coping skills, the ability to forgive and the capacity to let go of resentments most likely take root very early in our lives.”

I do hope things will be OK in the end.