I’ve never had the patience to keep a journal or a blog for too long, even though by now I’ve started more blogs and journals that I can count/remember. The only thing I’ve managed to write in religiously is an agenda I kept for my second semester of my senior year of high school/adventure in Switzerland. However, that ended up with disastrous results involving my mother reading about my various sexcapades with my insanely hot/exotic (yes, I am self conceited; however, I can promise you he was hot, with a six pack and the works. My best french friend claims to have zeroed in on my major problem : six packs make me overlook character flaws that most people would consider to be a major issue) swiss boyfriend. So we’ll see where this blog ends up.
However, considering the state I find my life in right now, blogging might be therapuetic enough that I’m going to give it a shot, because it has come to my attention that apparently I have a lot to say (considering the amount of time I’m capable of spending on the phone) and not a whole lot of people to say it to (I guess this comes with the territory of moving abroad to a foreign country where the language they speak isn’t your first, nor your second, but your third, and your best friend and boyfriend both live not just across the atlantic ocean but on separate countries). Also it’s not like if I’m giving this address to anyone so it’s mostly for myself and if anyone stumbles across it and actually finds it interesting then hey, go figure. At least this way I write for no one but myself, having to make no excuses along the way for my writing style/probable rambling/boring life.
To be honest, my problems have probably been long coming. I have trust issues, I could probably fall under the category of a “pathological liar” if a professional ever got his/her hands on me, I’m impulsive, I cannot stand not being right, I’m probably one of the most impatient people on planet earth (this is a trait I highly value in my father ; I just wish I had gotten this from him instead of getting my mother’s uncurable craziness). I tend to blame the fact that my life is in complete shambles right now on my tendency to make rash decisions without really thinking things through. That’s how I ended up in switzerland in the first place, after I graduated high school in ‘05. I decided I wanted to be a lawyer without completely thinking through all of my other options. I also decided I didn’t want to pay 25K+ dollars a year in tuition money to go to an american university even though in Nicaragua I graduated from an American high school, especially not if I couldn’t go straight into law school. Since spanish is my first language and I was born and raised in Latin America, I decided to pursue other options (in all fairness my original pick was London but daddy put his foot down and said it was too expensive). Since it had been my mother’s dream for one of her children to go to La Pontificia Universidad Catolica de Chile (or something like that), and since it’s one of the top law schools in the world, I decided heck, why not. Let’s go there. If anyone is familiar with the gringo/latin school calendars, you’ll realize they don’t match up. This meant I had 6 months to do nothing after graduating before I could even apply to the school.
So off to Switzerland I went to finish learning French, a language I had been studying (on and off) and struggling with since the age of about 12. Adventure of a lifetime, everything people say a stint in europe should be. I was living the high life : the school I went to caters to some of the world’s richest, BMWs and Mercedes came and went, Lausanne is an amazing city in its own right, the student life is absolutely amazing, and I managed to score one of the hottest (by general consent) guys in the dorm as my boyfriend. Charming, adorable, perfect, in my eyes. Except, if you’re following the story, after some of the most amazing months in my life, I had to leave. And leave the bf, of course. Which is the last thing I wanted to do. What kind of girl wouldn’t want to date a guy that was rich AND an amazing bf? It’s true, he had flaws…and big ones, those being mainly a complete lack of any kind of work ethic unless it included throwing away his dad’s huge piles of money, and drugs. However, I was more than willing to overlook this. So when Chile fell through, instead of looking at the what now is painfully obvious was my SANE option (Syracuse University in NY), I came to France.
Lyon, to be specific (picked for it’s location : 2 hours away from Geneva).
So many things I had overlooked about our relationship. Mainly, the language barrier. He spoke english, true. I spoke some broken french, true. Still, I had overlooked just HOW important it is to be able to REALLY communicate with someone. Also the fact that Marc (I see this NOW) is the type of guy to fall in love with a lot of girls. Not that I’m underestimating myself ; but don’t underestimate lust either. I should’ve probably changed my mind when I started noticing how few emails I was getting from him; how the became shorter and shorter and days, then weeks, apart. But I thought “fuck. He’s working and studying and his parents are nazis…cut him a break.” WRONG. I get to Lyon (which was a nightmare; don’t EVEN let me get started on the french administration because that’ll be another ginormous post, maybe even bigger than this one), where I knew no one and still didn’t consider myself fluent in the language, and no word from Marc. School starts, it’s hard, I’m lost, have no friends, feel the beginnings of what is to be the loneliest experience in my life…and still nothing. I finally get the courage to call him one day.
“Tu m’aimes, encore?”
Yes Marc, I still love you with all my heart and soul and want nothing more than to be with you. However, pride gets in the way. “No”
“Moi non plus”
And just like that, it was over…with three little words, it was over. I hung up and cried for weeks on end. I had no friends, I had broken my ankle and had a cast, I didn’t speak french well enough, classes were fucking me over and they had barely started…I was lost. Lost.
After a string of one night stands/british flings to deal with the pain, in comes my now current boyfriend. Him. Saved me from all that was lonely and hard and brutal. France was (is) sucking the life out of me.
But now…now I don’t know anymore. So much shit has happened…infidelity, lies. Long distance. For almost a year now. LD has brought to light a series of character flaws I find in him that I’m not sure I’ll be able to live with forever. One of them is what prompted me to start a blog ; I needed to get a rant off my chest. Now, I’m just tired. Because thinking back on what my life used to be, every possibility open at my feet, nothing stopping me save my own decisions…and now, the lies to my parents, the feeling of unaccomplishment that eats away at me daily, the long distance relationship that has wore me down slowly over the course of these past months…the having to face my own faults and mistakes and fears head on with nothing to cushion them, nothing to stop the uncensored reality from hitting me full on…it’s exhausting.
