The idea was in theory excellent.
Return from my travels in northern Argentina, Bolivia and Paraguay, continue to Buenos Aires to pick up my remaining luggage and spend some time with the Argentinean I grew to love very fondly. Figure out if I can convert him to follow me once again on my journey, and if not mentally prep for another emotional sacrifice. Visit the friends in La Plata I traced down in the mountains of Salta. Zoofffff, hitchhike straight to Brazil, my personal promised land.
As always, reality always has a way of playing around with your perfectly crafted planning. So yes, I returned. In the lorry of a warm-hearted almost retired truck driver bearing the weight of a sluggish and agonizing divorce on his slowly shattering shoulders, delighted with our carefree conversations that for once didn’t involve screaming and threats.
It felt good to finally have the arms around me of a person I sincerely care about, opposed to the pleasant but volatile contacts traveling usually entails. However, the hug included the undeniable feeling of decay… the end of something. Like you walk into a party when most people are already about to go home, and only some vague acquaintances are lying scattered around on the floor and couch too drunk to even be entertaining. I painfully realized the moment I always knew would come had just made its entrance. My lifestyle founded on instability had always put love on a sidetrack, my stubborn mind driven by exploration only allowing the concept of a ‘relationship’ to happen if he would be willing to follow me wherever my restless mind would take me. I realized that the charm of one man will never win it from what the world can offer me, even though love is an incident where also my soul isn’t resistant to.
I found him, that guy, willing to travel not because he likes traveling, but because he loves me. Quitting his job, his education, his life plans and his comfortness just to throw himself into the deep with me without a dime in his pocket. For a year he followed my trail, hiding in one stable place while I solely followed the tentacles of all corners of each country. An introvert in the tranquil shadow of an extravert, searching quiet places within the privacy of 4 walls to finally breathe within the madness, while I, the explorer, went out every day to not waste a single second of the life granted to me.
We did many things together, but as many things separately, as we were different, you and I. I was guiding you but you didn’t always want to be guided. You were anxious as you thought you couldn’t offer me what I was looking for. But I never loved anyone so intensely. You were home in my nomad existence.
In the hurricane that is my life he was my anchor. But an anchor drops down at one place and remains set, holding down the ship that wants to go places.
I tried it, I went back to Argentina for him to give him the space to work, study and spend time with his beloved family. Granting stability. But I couldn’t do it, being in one place makes me sincerely unhappy. I shriveled like a barren rose. Being motionless makes me feel like my wings are pinned down to the ground, routine thickening the air I’m breathing. Every few weeks I escaped for months to follow. Every moment I left the city I felt like I could see again, feeling the tingling of life being sucked up by the pores of my body like an eager sponge. I would always come back to him, yes, I simply love him too much. But I knew there would be one day that I wouldn’t, and he knew that too. People say that when you find that one love you will do anything to make it work, but I beg to disagree. Love means that you want the other to be happy, even if that is without you. Letting all sense of ego go (“I want you to be happy, but only with ME”). He knew I could never be happy if he made me stay, I knew he would never be happy if I forced him to go. Again, the second time in my life.
I packed my bag and left when he was sleeping. A goodbye note my only trace, like I ripped out my heart and left it on the table for him, and continued my journey heartless. Drama. Tears. Tears of processing, tears of sadness but many tears of gratefulness. We had each other in our lives, not everyone is granted such a fortune.
I needed my friends now more than ever. My long-term friends I all left behind along the travel trail, so I grab any short-term contacts I can lay my hands on. It’s no guarantee of anything profound, but we had lots of fun on the road, so I was sure their laughter could also fill up my self-inflicted emptiness this time. Students, in their early 20ies… I left my own student times behind a while ago, graduating from my bachelor and master degrees when I was only 22 years old, but if there’s one thing I clearly remember it's the intensity of the parties that clangors in my consciousness until the day of today. I could use a bit of that right now, to be honest. So I traveled to La Plata and was served at my beck and call.
I guess it’s my way. Compensating with an overdose. Celebration, drinks, parties… the other side of the equilibrium, balancing it out somehow. It worked, kind of. After a few days my smiles were honest again. For sure better than lying in some mountain in a tent all alone, overthinking the inevitable. A few more days of this and I would be ready to go to Brazil, alone.
However, life had a little twist for me.
While working on one of my blogs I wanted to listen to some music. Well, my 2 iPods (one ‘shuffle’ for running and one normal one) were carefully stored in my safe bag, a thorough steel and securely locked portable locker… but hey, where was my safe bag? I’m sure I left it there hidden under my clothes. No panic Steph, you’re probably being your absent-minded self again. Probably you thoughtlessly moved it in some corner of the bathroom when brushing your teeth, or accidentally threw it behind the fridge in some cooking frenzy… you move stuff without thinking, that’s what you do. Just breathe in, breathe out, this is a small apartment, it can’t be gone.
TO BE CONTINUED… Read the sequel HERE!