(Spoiler: long post)
Indeed, ever since I announced at my old work place that I am moving to Malta, there was utter shock in everyone’s face.
Why would one leave the best city in the world for the bum of Europe? Especially being a high flyer at a corporate bank, who gets a ridiculously high salary and bonus?
Most acquaintances settled for the climate excuse. Those, who know me better, did not. And I faced a big dilemma deciding to publish my confession.
I love London for its bustle and unlimitedness (I know this is not really a word), and all but one of my friends live there. I spent there all of my adult life, acquired all of my education. The world, as I know it, is there.
Which however means that all of my heart breaks happened there, too. All of the crazy shit. I married at 21 to an Indian guy (I will write about that one day, too) , only to swiftly abandon him for another, married man. I like to believe that we really were in love, but since we were both married then, who knows.
But it was the most exciting three years of my life. Perhaps for the fact that we were constantly under the threat of being discovered. Perhaps for the fact that despite his wife finding out we somehow continued. When he became controlling and manipulating, I broke it off. He even signed up to the gym I was going to just to see me or followed the bus I was taking home from work so I would speak to him.
But by then I was divorced and I did not want to spend my life hiding away. On the last day I ever seen him, he was pulling his hair like a maniac and kneeled in front of me at a busy bus stop, ripping his hair out. That sight will haunt me for the rest of my life.
Soon after I got into a relationship with a guy, who became the end of my mental sanity.
See, if you have read the first post of this blog, you would have known that my childhood was not the easiest and perhaps as consequence of that, I am really not the easiest girlfriend.
And then I got together with THE guy. I knew him since uni, he worked at a Big4 and he was super-smart, gorgeous and simply amazing. He was pursuing me for a while, to which I was totally oblivious – only after my housemates told me that he wanted more than just a gallery buddy, I realised I was utterly stupid. The next time we met up (ah, Tate modern!) he simply grabbed my hand and kissed me. We then had the most amazing but also exhausting seventeen months together.
We were constantly in motion, gigs, trips, parties… but also my bursts of breakups for stupid things. Then things calmed down and I thought,well, this is IT. Next day, New Years, we lay in bed and he asked me why I was with him. The most random question. The obvious answer was that he was the love of my life. When I asked him back, he buried his head in the pillows and started sobbing.
I swear to god, at this point my heart stopped beating.
Then he said: you are my best friend.
It’s been almost three years now but thinking about it still makes me cry profoundly.
After much reassurance, he admitted that he hoped I would break up with him as he was being shitty with me (as usual, to which I was pretty oblivious),and it was because I was too perfect.
He was scared that I would be the one he would end up marrying.
But he did not want to marry his first girlfriend. His first sex partner.
I packed up and left that night. We were not in touch for four months. Then he invited me for a dinner. Got me drunk and we ended up in bed. This repeated almost every time we met since, there was just so much longing from my side and he was comfortable to be entertained. I can’t blame him.
When I realised that it’s just sex from his side, I was broken-hearted all over again. Almost a year after we broke up I finally met a guy and started dating him. He was ok, very handsome (especially for me!) but a bit of a dickhead. After a few months and couple of fucked up trips I broke up with him (he texted the other day to ask if I wanted to meet for sex).
Sometime during these months I lost touch with my ex (as I didn’t join him for some gigs, understandably) , and eventually got over him.
So when I broke up with this dick, my mind was freerer.
A mere week after I left this man, I started randomly chatting to another. We met up and I felt incredibly awkward that I just broke up with one guy and started seeing another. Despite the awkwardness, he kept asking me out.
I fell in love again. However, after a few months he decided that this is probably not for him, and we split up days after I introduced him to all my friends at party I organised, because he urged me to.
I was totally devastated as it felt like the previous relationship all over again. That I didn’t see the guy in fact wanted something different.
I did say it’s not easy with me so I cannot blame anyone for not wanting to be with me – I just didn’t see the end coming.
The way I deal with heartbreak is simple – I travel.
So as soon as we said goodbye (that possible after a month of his contemplation we might continue) I went to Switzerland and then to Malta.
I had a fantastic week in Malta, despite the heart ache (how cheesy)- climbing and sightseeing while enjoying the glorious sun. A mate of mine, who knew what happened with my ex, kept recommending me casual sex.
But then I went on tinder and started chatting to guys. I did not realise that the app shows my current location- I always thought it just says London. As I was so lonely, I was talking to everyone.
Including my current boyfriend.
Yep, that’s right.
When I realised that he was in Malta, I told him openly that in fact I didn’t want casual sex and that there was a mistake… but a few days later we met anyway.
If I said that meeting my ex for the first time was awkward, it was million times as bad with the current one. I could not find the Triton fountain (it was under reconstruction) and I had no internet, plus I was really wondering why I was doing this?
Eventually, we found each other.
I was wearing trainers and ridiculous leggings (however, I did have a great figure then!) and when we looked at each other, we could both tell that we had the same thoughts.
But fast forward a few bottles of wine (5 I think) I was bringing him to my flat. That was around 1am, when my flight was at 7am.
While he showered, I quickly threw my stuff in my luggage and we went on and did what you think we did. At one point I looked at my clock and realised it was 5am and my taxi was waiting outside.
I was out in 5 minutes, leaving him behind.
On the way to London I had the worst hangover, ever. I was just thinking to myself, what a crazy adventure. But what followed was even crazier.
We kept flying back and forth to see each other for months, up until he asked me to move over.
Five months later, I did.
It sounds simple but it was not. I was leaving a good job behind, as well as the adult life as I know it. Everyone thinks that I am crazy. I probably am.