In September 2024, I had my heart broken really badly. Slap-in-the-face badly. Gut-wrenching badly. Feel-the-blood-rush-down-from-my-face badly.
Just as I was supposed to reunite with a certain ex, I find out he’s with another girl. How? Something tells me to go on her Instagram, and it’s sickeningly clear: she has pictures of him waking up in her bed, their faces side by side, his hand on her leg as they’re driving somewhere far. She was not just “some friend” he was visiting near Mexico City. And he was allowing her to make sure everyone knew that.
“Well, we’re not a couple at the moment anyway.”
“Technically we’re not together so he’s allowed to do what he wants.”
“He’s not in the wrong.”
“It’s my problem if I’m hurt.”
This was the dialogue floating over my head, clinging on to any belief that he hasn’t hurt me. I needed him to not be the guy who hurt me.
But for the first time in my life, I said, “I don’t care.”
_____
Did I learn that lesson? I did occasionally kurcala* with that boundary. We dipped in and out of our dynamic. Unsatisfying like a mirage. I let him fade away into his own abyss. I know he’s miserable and I’m glad he is. Because it means we can rely on karma to do what she says she’s going to do.
It’s two years later. The moon is mooning in the sky, lingering through the zodiac towards the fish. I’ve changed countries three times. Tried on a few new careers. Learned how fun it is to be an Auntie. Made friendships, lost friendships, learned languages, forgotten languages.
Now I have one foot in the past and one foot in the future. Today, I am visiting family in a city I have nothing to do with. It’s where I stop to transfer between lives. And what better way to celebrate than to order a martini?
Is there anything more fun than a date? Sometimes it’s not even the other person, but enjoying a reflection of yourself. I got to be my cleverest version, red lipstick and all. He was intelligent enough to receive my humour. Some spark had been injected back into my life. But more so the delight of coincidences.
Upon first glance, there are no significant similarities between this dude and the one from before. One has his shit together, the other doesn’t. One loves like a little boy, the other keeps it packed in a neat shelf where it belongs. But a few things stood out to me:
They have the same nationality, their names start with the same letter, same tall-and-skinny, same sun sign. And for each, you could roll your eyes and say -
“Same Country: European dudes are everywhere,”🗺️
“Same Initial: Um, French has so many names that start with…”
“Same Built: So what? You’ve got a physical type,”🤷🏽♀️
“Same Sun Sign: K, so is 8.35% of the world’s population…”🌎
But then my favourite moment of the night arrived. He led me to the dance floor, put our drinks down, and put his arms around me. And that’s when I knew.
Immediately: my skin felt like it was made of sparks. Slow warm flood. This guy and my ex are separate humans, but my nervous system did not know the difference.
I have forgotten what the point of this blogpost is. That I am some evolved version of myself since 2024? That I’m about to embark on some big breakthrough? That I’m barging into the world with all this fresh power? That there was no sending and unsending of a text? That the old patterns of what-ifs and insecurities never resurfaced?
Nope, no words of empowerment today. They say that when eclipses remove something or someone from your life, it’s for a reason. How many more people (and places) will you remove and insert, Universe?
I just thought it was cute how the past hologrammed itself into the night. That I found myself repeating the words, “The way he moves is so sexy.”
I’m in the seat of a roller coaster, wondering if the ride has started. If anything, I’m disappointed by the boredom of the pattern. I sway between raw and numb. Soda gone flat.
I’ll keep you updated.
*Kurcala: Turkish word for tamper, interfere. The image in my head is to take a weaved cotton ball, poke your finger around inside it.
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