They Say History Repeats Itself – Entry 79

Dear Diary

My Father and I have been in Seville for a few days now. We parted ways with my friend in Barcelona as she had to return home. Seville doesn’t seem as exciting as Barcelona, but a holiday is a holiday.

To my surprise, The Spaniard is still in contact. He asked which days I have tours and also if he could visit. He also sent a song that we danced to whilst out in Barcelona, a photo he took of us the night we had dinner and one of him and his son with the caption “Hola Anastasia”. I honestly wasn’t expecting to hear from him again after our secret night of passion. Let’s be honest, most men would take the prize and move on to the next challenge. The Spaniard seems different and this is what has me concerned…

Let’s go back to around February 2011 – my trip to Rio de Janeiro for carnaval with a dance school tour. During that stage of my life I didn’t want to meet a guy as I was happy being single…at the hostel we were staying there was a particular individual who I felt drawn to – we shall call him Bear (as this was my nickname for him). He was a Peruvian Bear, but not Paddington Bear. Bear felt the same way, apparently. We met at the breakfast table of the hostel and went out dancing as a group that night. The next day he asked if I’d like to go for dinner but I declined as I had a parade to see. I said afterwards could work. I had issues with my phone that night (sound familiar with The Spaniard who lent me his phone?) and the night unfolded in a way that Bear had no idea of when and if I was coming back to the hostel to meet with him and also with me having no idea if he’d be there when I got back (sound familiar with the restaurant situation with The Spaniard?)….it was almost midnight when I returned to the hostel. I held my breath as the taxi pulled up – would he be there? Would he wait that long? Would he think that I stood him up? He was, and he was very relieved to see me. We went for a juice as nothing was open at that hour and then spoke about our lives and families.

It came time for him to walk me to my hostel. I remember wanting him to kiss me and I lingered as we were saying goodbye. I touched my lips and said something like “my lips are cold”. He looked at me and then leaned in to kiss me. We kiss and smiled at each other. He then said he had an early flight home the next morning but that he wanted to spend every last moment with me. I liked the sound of that as I really didn’t want to say goodbye. So we walked a few blocks to Ipanema beach and sat and spoke until sunrise. The way he looked at me made me uncomfortable because I felt that he knew something that I didn’t – that he loved me.

The condensed version of the rest of the bittersweet tale with Bear is that we had a long distance relationship for 2 years. I went to Perú three times and learnt Spanish. I lived with him and his family each time I went and fell in love with their Country and people. He did visit me twice and in the end moved Country for me. There were moments of jealosy, touch and go and misunderstanding but it lasted. I really wanted to marry him and at the two year mark, the month he planned to propose, I felt I wasn’t in love with him anymore. We were best friends but he didn’t romance me the way I wanted to be. Almost heartlessly, I told him I didn’t love him anymore. He began to cry and went to find the ring and showed it to me. I turned my head and apologised. I just didn’t feel the same way anymore. My theory was that it was best to show respect and honesty so that both could ne free to persue otber avenues (rather than be unhappy and potentially unfaithful). We have remained friends since and after four years I’ve had fleeting moments of wondering if I made the right decision. I’m sure I did though.

So, yes. The glimmer in the eyes that Bear had is the same that The Spaniard has. This is what concerns me as it could be the real deal and long distance intercultural relationships aren’t the easiest of things. Before the trip, I did think to myself it’d be ironic if I met someone on holiday again…

My Father hasn’t said no to The Spaniard staying with us next weekend. Only, that it’s my choice and that he can sleep in the spare bed in his room. This is really diplomatic for my Father as normally he would be sharpening his axe to chase men away from me. The Spaniard has been warned about my Father’s dislike of fertile, straight males within a 10 metre radius of me but has already booked his flights and will be staying three nights….I haven’t told my Father of this confirmation yet as I’m still trying to find the right words and the opportune time. This coming weekend could be really awkward or really amazing.

The voice of reason is asking about what happens after the holiday? Would I move to Spain? What would I do for work in Spain? Would he want to have more children with me? Would he move Country for me? What if it doesn’t work out? Would I be able to get work easily again back home? Will my Father kill him during his stay with us? Is that look in his eyes really the same unnerving one of love that I’ve come across before? Will three nights and two days together so soon be too intense and scare him off? Who is this guy, I mean he’s practically a stranger?! What about Karate Kid? Does Karate Kid think that we are an item and therefore this could be seen as cheating?

I don’t know how I feel about any of this. But, I do promise to keep you posted.


Image: [Jana Gouthova] ©

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