I don’t think I have ever before thought that I had been at the right place at the right time at the exact moment of being there.
But two weeks ago I was fully aware of it. I was the right person to be exactly where I was. At that exact moment in time.
It was the last Sunday of the summer. We were on the way to the park near our home. There was a playground there (my daughter loved it) and there were a couple of ponds with ducks there (I loved those). We had bread handy for the ducks and were enjoying the beautiful morning walk.
As we were approaching one of the benches, we saw a young woman walking towards us. However, the second I laid my eyes on her, I realised she was crying. It wasn’t just a few tears running down her cheeks. She was weeping, howling and whimpering all at once. She was holding on to her chest and holding on to her belly. And she did not stop. She almost collapsed on the steps near the bench, just as we were approaching it.
‘I can’t just watch her and do nothing’, – I thought to myself.
I don’t remember what I asked her. I hope it wasn’t something ridiculous, like ‘Are you ok?’, when she obviously wasn’t. But I did say something to her. And she replied with the remark: ‘Take care of your families and of your children’.
Something was terribly wrong.
So I just took her in my arms and let her weep.
‘My husband killed himself last night’ – she said after a while. She nearly collapsed again. ‘And I have a two year old son’.
Life is so cruel sometimes. But almost 3.5 years later I felt strong and confident enough to share my story, trying to comfort her and calm her down. I held her close for as long as she let me, and I kept caressing her long hair and patting her back, repeating: ‘It’s ok, I know’.
I did know. I had been there. It took a lot of time for me to pull myself back together, it will take her a lot of time as well.
I motioned my head to my daughter: ‘Look, here she is, after 3.5 years.’ The woman looked at my girl. ‘You will be there for your son and you will be strong for him’.
I’d like to think I helped her some. And I’d like to know how she is today. But there, by the pond, we talked about moments, fights, and not getting a goodbye.
I think of Beno so often. I revisit the places, the conversations, the feelings. Everything that I felt immediately after his loss has mellowed, moved to the background.
I’m left with the immense feeling of overflowing love towards the little girl we created. The one who is my life and my biggest love.
No kidding. I never thought I’d see a message like that from my sister. My sister! Who is a well behaved, intelligent lady, way less attracted to risky activities than I am.
‘You are?’, – I texted back incredulously. I wondered what on earth could a family of 5 do, to end up in prison. I did not come up with one feasible explanation.
‘Yes, the tour is about to start’, – she came back to me minutes (longest, full of tension) later.
Phew! On one hand, I was so incredibly relieved. On the other hand, just wondering, what COULD a family of 5 do to get locked up?
As you see, that was quite the start of the week.
‘She was 3, and she was pregnant’.
That was Karla, my seriously good friend, currently touring Europe with her son, a.k.a. Mia’s Mexican boyfriend.
‘I had the weirdest dream. Your daughter was pregnant’, – she went on, as if I had not heard her the first time.
Now that unsettled me. I found it…. creepy, ew, to say the least! I know we can’t control what we dream about, but, Karla, can we at least try, eh?
At the end, I did not want to hear more, and, luckily, my friend did not elaborate too much.
Truly bizarre.
‘I want to live in a tree’.
That, of course, was from the lips of my little angel.
Say what now?
‘Do you want to live with me? In a tree?’, – she persisted.
Then, naturally, I had to ask: ‘Which tree?’
‘That one!’ – she pointed to the one from the balcony. ‘Or that one’, – she pointed to another one and looked at me with the biggest smile. She obviously had it all figured out.
‘Maybe’, – that was me being diplomatic.
‘Mommy, why do you have to go to work every day?’ – my daughter suddenly changed her tone, became all serious.
‘Well, my love’, – I started explaining, – ‘I need to work so we can buy food and pay rent for this beautiful place’.
‘But if we lived in a tree, we wouldn’t need money to pay rent’, – she delivered her closing statement.
‘You are not still restless in love, are you?’ – he asks me after reading my blog.
Yes, there is a ‘he’ in my life. And yes, I still am.
Although it’s been a few good months so far, since I came back, not wanting to run away, just being happy… being here.
Then he whispers something, while gently kissing my forehead.
‘What was that?’, – I am not sure I heard it right. I thought he said the words that every girl wishes to hear. But I have to double check. It hasn’t been long enough, at least not long enough for me.
Instead of feeling like a calm sea, the way I did before he showed up, I feel gentle waves, now that he’s in my life. Sooner or later they will either turn into bigger waves, bigger still, maybe even a storm. Or they will simply disappear.
Nothing lasts forever.
The funny thing is, I don’t believe in ‘forever’ anymore.
All the times in the past when I’d get involved with a guy, I’d want us to be together forever, no other way around it.
Now, I just want us to be together, for as long as it lasts.
My daughter asks me why people die. I tell her they do because that’s how it is in this life. I do tell her too, that nothing lasts forever.
‘People are born and then they die. That’s the circle of life’, – I explain. ‘Everything sooner or later comes to an end’.
Life has showed me that there is no ‘forever’, and the fairy tale endings should be left at ‘they lived happily’, without the ‘ever after’.
She may not understand it yet, but she repeats it back to me.
‘One day you will die, too?’ – she’s curious.
‘Yes, I will’.
‘One day I will die, too?’ – she’s getting it now.
‘Yes, you will, but not for a very very long time. We’ll be together for many many years’.
‘When we celebrate death, we celebrate life’.
Sometimes at night, when I‘m stroking her hair while putting her to sleep, my girl in return caressess my hair. ‘Sleep, mommy, sleep’, – she shushes me.
‘This is what my extraordinary life is all about, and she is all mine’, – I think to myself at moments like that. ‘I would not exchange this to any other kind of life’.
And even though in many ways I could never be like Carrie Bradshaw, I have a passion for writing just like her.
‘Maybe one day I’ll write about you in my blog’, – I tell him playfully.
‘But I don’t want to die’, – he objects. ‘The men you write about die’, – he looks a little bit worried.
‘They do’, – I silently agree. That is my story before you.
‘You are the best mama’, – my daughter just whispered in my ear. And even though I know that, many times us, mothers, are so hard on ourselves, often too hard. Hearing her say that simply melted my heart.
A few days ago my mom was less forgiving.
‘You don’t look like a 41 year old. But you do dress like a teenager’. Still, I took that as a good thing.
I turned 41 a week ago, and I’m not afraid to say my age out loud anymore. It does seem scary, seeing the number. But you know what? My daughter keeps me young and lighthearted (when she doesn’t worry me to death).
I am also not afraid to admit that I am as naive today as I was 20 years ago – when it comes to men. The only difference is that now I understand that I’m naive. Still, it allows me to take things easy and have some fun along the way.
Take London boy, for example.
‘ I wonder what your blog will say about me if we ever get to meet’, he wondered one day. Trust me, boy, I’ll dedicate the entire chapter to you.
Every once in a while he says he’ll visit me. Every once in a while I believe him. He gets me excited and then he backs off. It’s a typical game that men like to play. But I got used to it and I enjoy it and I no longer expect him to keep his word.
‘Two girlfriends down and you are still talking to me’, he wrote. Surprisingly so.
I am also extremely busy, so I don’t have time to even think about men, let alone do anything about it. The past two months have been crazy. Not only I left Mexico and moved back to Europe, but I found a gorgeous place for us to live amidst real estate crisis, and landed an awesome job. I did so much in so little time, I’m surprised I’m still alive. It would not have happened if not for my perseverance, a big chunk of good luck and continuous support from my family and friends, especially my mom.
Of course, it all doesn’t just stop here. But I am so excited to have reached the point where I currently am.
I got asked by my new colleagues recently whether I had a man, a child…
‘Yes’ to a child, the most beautiful almost four year old, and ‘no’ to a man’, I replied.
And there was not even one grain of sadness as I said it. It was a beautiful summer day and the sun was shining bright in the blue sky. My girl was safe and happy, and the absence of a man in my life seemed to be just an irrelevant detail.
Which made me wonder – have I finally found my inner peace?
As I write this, I see the grey sky. Which is perfect.
You know how some things in life are a grey area? I’d say grey is my least favorite color, dull and boring. I’d much rather choose white or black, or better yet, all the rainbow colors.
But some things are just too intricate to be labeled as one or the other.
I may not know much about it, but let’s look at the definition of ‘gender’ nowadays. It sure has changed from the time I was a little girl myself. Some of us just don’t belong, or belong to all, and can’t be labeled as ‘a man’ or ‘a woman’. Call it what you wish, but that’s a reality. By the time my daughter is old enough to talk about this (she may already be, actually, as she is very curious and we try to talk about everything openly) I hope to be able to explain things better to her, instead of just saying that it’s a little bit of a grey area these days.
It’s kinda the same when you have a thousand questions and the only person capable of giving you the answers is not here. You can make up the answers yourself. And you can make yourself believe those answers, be it good or bad, because there is nobody else to prove you otherwise.
Or simply don’t question it. Let it rest in peace. What I learned is that when you ask a question, you have to be ready for an answer, which may not necessarily be the answer you wanna hear. And if you are not ready, it’s best not to ask.
Which brings me to the following questions:
Do I really do myself bad if I refuse to believe something? If I bury it as deep inside as I can, because it hurts to think about it, do I do myself a favor?
How do I know what is the truth and what is the lie? We can only be sure of our own actions and our own words. What’s inside anybody else’s head, your guess is as good as mine. Only you know what’s in your head, why you said this or did that. And whatever comes out of your mouth is not always the truth. But who’s truth? Mine or yours?
I had always wondered why people believed in something/someone. And in the recent years I came to realize that we believe in something because it makes us feel better.
My life in PG with Beno was full of surprises. The biggest one happened one Sunday. As I had mentioned previously, the house of Beno was always full of people. Most of the time it was filled with the blaring sound of the R&B music. There was always loud talk and laughter, it rarely was a silent place.
On that particular Sunday one of local lads stopped by. The house was full of young men and somehow the talk turned to God. The man who came started reading the Bible. And then suddenly the house turned extremely quiet. The only noise was the voice reading. I was mesmerized. I had not seen all of the youngsters grow quiet so suddenly and so completely. They were paying full attention, they were listening to every word. They believed in God.
And I believe in whatever makes me feel better. Can you blame me?
My three or so months without Beno were not easy. I was missing him very much. At the same time I had a little girl growing inside of me and being surrounded by my family felt so very special.
Beno was back in Mexico. We kept in touch as much as we could (not enough for me, never enough).
In reality, our time apart is a grey area. It used to be black or white, depending on how I looked at it. But then one day it became the story of ‘he said, she said’, and the person who could tell the truth is not here. But who’s truth, mine or yours?
I painted this chapter a thousand shades of grey and I continue to believe in whatever keeps me at peace. As I write this, the sun is out and the sky is blue. Which is perfect.
‘I love daddy, too’, – I feel my eyes swelling up.
‘I love Spiderman, too’, – she adds.
My face instantly breaks into a smile. The ways of my daughter never seem to amaze me. Our time together is precious.
Call me a hypocrite.
For someone who has zero patience and can’t stand to wait, for anything, I sure am happy that time exists. Time heals. Time softens the sharp edges and helps us forget.
What happened in London four years ago does not seem as dramatic to me today as it did back then. Maybe because I had been through worse, and still, today, I am ok. Time does heal.
I had not been in a detention center before. I do not see myself having the need to be in one for anyone else but Beno. He was that kind of person – he’d find himself in the worst and the best situations, and he’d always manage to take it easy and smile.
I had gone to see him the next day. I was allowed to swap the heavy backpack with the rolling suitcase, which was much easier for me to handle. I had to go through so many security checks I stopped counting them. Beno was on his way to visit my family, yet he ended up in the stone cold building surrounded by barbed wire.
It felt like a movie. Never ever had I thought I’d be in a place like that. But there I was, amongst the other women, having come to see their men.
I broke down when Beno finally came in. I expected him to be equally crushed. Instead, he was close to smiling. How was that possible?
‘Baby, I just finished the game with the boys’, – he told me. I had seen him down, but this was not the occasion. It really annoyed me that he seemed to be ok.
He had a roof above his head, he had a bed and he had food, and he had plenty of time to work out. He told me that many men staying at the detention center had nowhere better to go, so they kept coming back there and play basketball all day long.
Seeing Beno did not cheer me up. I wanted to be as close to him as it was humanly possible, as I felt that ever since we were ripped apart, I could not manage to feel whole without him. Unfortunately, we had to sit on the opposite sides of a plastic table and we were not allowed to touch each other. Life during that hour did seem cruel.
I left in a worse mood then when I had got in.
In a couple of days they were sending Beno back to Mexico. What was I supposed to do?
I’m sure by now you have all heard about the Oscars this year. The incident between Will Smith and Chris Rock reached even me (cheers, Kristina!), deep into the prep for my move back to Europe.
But no matter what you think of this moment and the behavior of the men above, you gotta admit – Will Smith was brilliant in King Richard.
‘If you fail to plan, you plan to fail’.
It’s not that we didn’t have a plan. Beno and I spent months getting ready for the trip to Europe. We had an appointment for his Shengen visa scheduled in London. We had his invitation letter written. All the papers were in order. We were so excited about the brighter future in Europe. Beno, having grown up in Belize and not been anywhere else besides Mexico, was especially looking forward to it.
But brighter future it wasn’t. The weeks that followed our flight to London were full of questions, frustration, tears, disappointment, chaos and sadness.
Beno did not need a visa to enter the UK at the time. Yet he was detained by the border security officers . Imagine us, happy as we could be, splitting up to form two security lines: me – for ‘Shengen area’, Beno – for ‘outside the Shengen area’. Imagine me almost reaching the officer, but quickly running to the other line as I sensed trouble. Imagine me being told they were taking Beno away for questioning, and I was free to continue my journey.
‘Welcome to Europe’, – announced the officer.
Say what?
Just like that, I was left on my own. I was told I’d be able to call a number in a while to get an update on the case. I believe I spent about 5 hours waiting. I have not felt this alone in my entire life. When I finally got to speak to somebody, I was asked an awful lot of questions about the purpose of Beno’s visit, his past employement, his future plans, his step by step itinerary. I admit, I was so shaken up that I forgot the entire plan. I mentioned bits and pieces, I kept telling them I was pregnant and Beno was the father of my baby, but the officers were not moved.
It got dark by the time I was told I could call a different number next morning for another update. At the rate this was going, I was not sure I wanted another update.
Dear god.
Now imagine me trying to figure out my way from the airport to my friend’s house. Imagine me dragging the heaviest backpack and some smaller bags with me to the subway. Imagine me swearing from the weight and wondering what this could possibly do to my baby. Imagine me telling some kids on the subway to please give me the seat as I was pregnant could no longer stand on my own two feet. Imagine me finally reaching the house of my friend and telling him the whole sorry story through the tears.
Imagine him saying: ‘Yes, Vilma, you should have come more prepared. They show cases like this on TV. You must have answers to all their questions’.
I cried when my Peruvian said goodbye to me in Berlin. It was all too familiar. I’d been in tears leaving Petoskey behind me. I’d had teary eyes when I said goodbye to Parga. And now I was sitting on a bus going from Berlin to my home country. After a strong hug and a brief kiss, he was gone.
We had left Latin America and came to Europe. My Peruvian was eager to visit. He was eager to visit every continent! To me Europe was home. It could never compare to the majestic mountains of Peru, vast desserts of Chile or Caribbean beaches.
He wanted to keep travelling. I wanted to sleep in the same bed for longer than a week. I needed a break. And just like that we parted our ways.
I had never seen him again.
I was so happy to see my family. It was great to be back.
But after two weeks a big ‘What now?’ crawled upon me. I had no idea. What DO I do now?
Back then I was the girl that lived day by day. I didn’t have a plan and I was just happy to go with the flow. Somebody called me that recently: ‘A girl who lives day by day – that’s you’. But they are wrong. Today that is definitely not me. I may be lost trying to create a perfect plan. But I am no longer the careless girl who’d drop everything at her heart’s desire.
I was 35 and I had nothing. Or, if you will, I was 35 and I felt richer than I would have ever dreamed of being. Seeing the world was my greatest achievement and the memories and experiences will stay with me forever. It’s funny how once in a memory from those hitchhiking years pops up into my head. Completely unrelated to what I am doing at that moment, yet always so welcome.
I remembered then, being at my mom’s, how much I enjoyed teaching English to those kids in Guatemala. And so I decided to get a TEFL certificate, which would allow me to travel and live abroad and make a living out of it. It was right up my alley.
200 hours online course was not easy, but it was great to remember the ins and outs of the language that I loved since I was a child. I remember how eager I was to lay my hands on the English books and magazines that my cousin got me. How I practiced my English from an old pocket book with my mom, while she did laundry (and kept telling me that she couldn’t remember much of the language!) That’s what I wanted to give to the children – that desire and that love that I had when I was their age.
I passed with flying colors and got my certificate. My poor mum couldn’t get anything out of me in the meantime, I was always sitting at the computer. I couldn’t wait to finish the course and go someplace again (so much for sleeping in one bed for long…) I always felt like that whenever I was back. It was amazing to be there, but it was more amazing to leave two weeks later.
Looking for a job as an English teacher was fun. Going back to Colombia was inviting, but the weather in Bogota didn’t warm my heart. Italy seemed interesting, but so did Spain. When the job offer from an English academy landed in my inbox, I knew I had another adventure coming. I just didn’t know it would turn out to be almost criminal.
I met a guy on the playground the other day. Amongst all the other parents he stood out with his long blond hair and 2 most adorable little kids (after mine, that is).
‘How do you manage?’ – I asked watching him effortlessly juggle both toddlers. ‘I can hardly manage with one!’ – I added.
He smiled.
‘I’m not usually on my own here’, – he responded, ‘but once in a while I like to give my wife a break’.
Was that an exception from the norm or was it the norm? I don’t even know anymore. At that very moment to me he seemed one of a kind. Where are those men that do half of the house chores? Where are those dads that are as much involved in their child care as the moms are? Where are those men that go on a date with a girl online and end up marrying her? Where are those men that love their woman so much that they accept her children as their own?
Not in my universe.
There is this elderly lady that I’ve known for quite some time now, a few years. We used to live next door to each other. She’s seen me single, she’s seen me pregnant and she’s seen me broken down. I got her message the other day, like I do once in a while, just checking in.
‘Vilma, how are you? How’s your little girl?’ – she started as usual. ‘You know, nothing would make me happier than to know that you have found somebody and are no longer on your own’.
That made me smile, but it was a sad smile.
That makes two of us, my dear, I thought to myself.
‘Hello, neighbor’, I said in a fake cheerful voice. ‘Of course I’m on my own’, – I told her matter of factly. ‘Nobody wants a woman with a child’.
This, of course, is based on me raising my daughter alone and receiving zero interest from any man alive. Having a child is the most beautiful thing in the world. Raising one is the most difficult one. It’s a blessing to share the good and the bad with another person. But the men I’ve come across run away as soon as they hear me mention my daughter. The only male constant in my life at the moment is the man delivering my groceries once a week, and it’s not even the same man every time.
‘No, Vilma, don’t say that. Good men exist. You just wait’, – my ex-neighbor continued. ‘I was with the man who cared for me and my children like they were his own’. Lucky you, I though, where did you find a man like that? The don’t seem to exist in my universe.
And so it makes me wonder. I spend so much time every day thinking about where those men are and why I haven’t crossed paths with them in the recent years. I keep dreaming, obsessing, hoping, crying, guessing, searching, complaining, giving up and starting again. I use so much time thinking about men and hoping that one will just magically step into my life (well it happens to others, so why not me?) and never leave, that I now realize it’s a complete and utter waste of my precious time and energy.
What struck me the most the part about self education:
‘The truth is that anyone who is part of the 1% not only values education, but is also a lifelong learner. Being a lifelong learner helps them understand the world they live in, provides them with more and better opportunities, and improves the quality of their life. It is a deliberate and voluntary choice, not a chore.
Most people are unable to enter the niche because they undervalue the power of self-education. They think that getting some degree will be sufficient to be successful. But it’s not like that. Self-initiated education focuses on personal development and offers many long-term benefits, including improved self-confidence, renewed self-motivation and the building of new skills’.
So instead of staring at my phone, or texting the wrong guy, or feeling self pity, I should be doing something. Learning something. ‘Debes ocuparte, no procuparte’, – I was told more than once lately.
Every time I think about moving back to Europe I automatically dismiss countries that require me to speak the language I don’t know. Had I done something about this 2 years ago, I would have mastered at least two new languages by now.
I also have to remind myself that things happen to us only when we are ready for them. Not earlier, not later. It’s one of the four Shaman laws, which I came to love and seek out when times get hard.
The first law says that the person that is in our life is just the right person. Nobody is here by accident, everybody we surround ourselves with is here for a reason.
The second law says what happens is the only thing that could have happened. Whatever happens couldn’t have happened in any other way whatsoever, not even by the tiniest detail. It happens exactly that way so we learn and move forward. All the situations in our life are perfect, even though our mind and our ego resists that and doesn’t want to accept it at times.
The third law says that when something happens, it happens at the right moment. Everything starts when it should, not before, not after. When we are ready for something to happen in our lives, that’s when it happens.
The fourth one says that when something ends, it ends. Just like that. If something ends in our life, it’s for our evolution, and it’s best to leave it. To move forward and take this experience with us.
And so I must not be ready for a new and good man in my life, although that doesn’t stop me from saying a little prayer every night hoping that day comes soon.
I didn’t go back to Greece. One time was enough, I decided, and I couldn’t really bear to think of another summer full of shouting. And no matter how much I missed him, I was not the girl for him. A few years later I found out he got married to another girl from my country.
So I was back home, but I had no intention of staying there. My English had improved over my years in the USA, and I wanted to continue practicing it. So I looked for jobs in the UK.
I was staying at my sister’s. Living in one place for just a couple of years comes at a price, you now. I had no home in my home country. So my sister’s place was my harbor, and it still is whenever I go back to visit.
I love my family: my mom, my sister, my nephews and my nieces.
But I also love exploring and have an adventurous nature. I take risks that pay off and that don’t. So leaving my country again was not a big deal for me. It was another adventure. Besides, I had no strings attached. The men came and went, brought joys and left tears, and there was a big wide world out there to explore.
Just so you get the full picture here, I did have a couple more flings before I left that time.
Even though I no longer use dating apps today, I had used them quite a lot during my younger years. While back home, I started chatting with a guy from my country who was working in Norway. In short, he was tall, blond and handsome. So after some time chatting, he actually came to visit his family and we got to meet. Hearing his voice for the first time over the phone was very exciting. And seeing him bring me chocolates and a bottle of Baileys was even more so! The visit didn’t last long, but it was very fulfilling.
My other online romance turned into an adventure as well. But this time I was the one who accepted the offer to come and visit Savannah, GA. Remember the part about me taking risks? Here you have it. Kristina told me she’d check on me as soon as I landed and she demanded (!) I get in touch with her every day to let her know I was ok. I mean who at this day and age flies to the other side of the world to meet a guy she’s only previously seen online? Has she not heard about fake profiles and not seen ‘Catfish‘? Well, then was not ‘this day and age’ and I do (did). Besides, how bad could the guy be, if his dog looked like this? It was huge, and it was called Tiny.
The guy was great. He had a good nature and he was into me for sure. We did have a lovely time together, shared meals in, had nights out, even danced on the street! He drove me from Savannah to HHI as I wanted to go back to the place that brought me so much joy and pain. But to be honest with you, I think I fell in love with the dog, not with the man.
So after a couple of weeks and regular check ins I ended up visiting Kristina, before I flew back home.
And now it was time for a new adventure. And maybe a new man.
I remember getting the phone call. It was the hotel manager from Alderney. Now raise your hand if you’ve ever heard of that place. Neither have I! But that was soon to become my home for the next seven years…
