He was never going to be my boyfriend. Apart from the situation of us living halfway around the world from one another, we barely had much in common. He was an artist and very handsome. He had emerald eyes and a smile that made me blush. We never pretended to be anything but real. No exchanges of numbers, no romantic promises. It was nothing more than a holiday fling.
We had a passionate kiss which entailed him pushing me against a wall followed by a night of laughter. I cannot recall the jokes, although I certainly remember our moment. And on the rarest of occasions, sometimes when I walk or look admiringly at the sky, I wonder if he ever thinks of me too. Am I completely forgotten or can he focus long enough to carve out my face?
For all I know, he might not be alive. He could be married or living in a completely different location. I have no proof; nothing except for an American dollar which fell from his jean pocket. Now tucked away in a memory box filled with various memorabilia.
Life has a funny way of introducing you to people. My first best friend moved to Brazil when I was 5. We saw each other once more on a visit she took back to England aged 8, and then she was gone forever. My next best friend moved away the following year, then another the year after that. I lost my see-saw companions and started junior school without a best friend to see me through.
I thought about them immensely. The one I did contact again as a teenager, appears to be a character from another novel. We are too unique to even both be described as unique.
I have a book of life with a large handful of contributors. Every single one, every single individual has shaped me into who I am today. The people I connected with rather promptly, make up for the sorrow of farewell from the people who associated with me through many of my life’s chapters.
My holiday romances were necessary. The unknown name – the man who took me out to dinner on the Miami Seafront, who also danced with me when my friend only wanted to sit; the man who did not attempt to sleep with me and who enjoyed my company enough to suffice with a hug goodbye; he shaped me.
My ex partners were necessary. The ones who made me rush to my phone on every single lunch break and made me feel free. The one who left me tongue-tied and so blissfully happy that I had somewhat forgotten what sadness was. They shaped me.
And my friends; the ones who had me up till 4am snacking on popcorn during a sleepover, the ones who played Polly Pockets with me and the ones who sat outside and discussed life. Our hopes and dreams shared, all planned as naïve teenagers. Not forgetting of course, the friends who took me on their wild adventures, the ones who invited me on their journeys and welcomed me into their sacred lives, immeasurably they have shaped me.
I know they say you should always spend time on the here and now; well I am still the here and now from 25 years ago. And they are still them and we are still we. Maybe I am a new person. My opinions, desires and goals have certainly changed. I still laugh too loud however; I have a “hearty” laugh which never goes unnoticed.
I’m continuously sensitive, I have yet to understand the pleasure of corn on the cob and when I feel down, I put on Cinderella, The Parent Trap (1998) or Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Classics which helped me diminish my pain as a child.
Whilst the truth can be argued, some truths vary for every soul. Nobody can take your feelings away from you. It is irrelevant if the artist I met reminisces over our evening. It is irrelevant if my exes miss me to this day. Their behaviour since we parted is no longer for me to contempt.
Our lives are our memories. Subsequent to any type of leaving, I place my views secondary, from pondering about the other. But the truth is – my views are permanent. I need to fixate on learning to not be angry regarding who I cannot get over, and joyful of what little good each person has granted me, whether they hurt me too.
I need to be okay with the revelation that my story could be different from the casts included. If someone breaks my heart, it is not about the analysis of it was real from the beginning. It is about allowing those previous events to be what they were. Not to tangle them up and throw them out with scorn.
Every person I become close to is a soulmate – “a person ideally suited to another as a close friend or romantic partner”. Perhaps they are for a day, week, month or year. My closest best friend will naturally be substanially above a friend from many moons ago. Though if I picture my life now, as much as I believe that some are pointless or not worthy of such a title, I also know that without the tears, fights and love collectively, I would not be me.
And if I cannot be me without them, than surly in some ways our souls were suppose to meet. And for a flicker of a minute, they were supposed to be mates.
What is your opinion on soulmates? Do you believe in just one?
The topic of soulmates was inspired by Chloe and her “I got my fourth tattoo” post. Reading it affected me profoundly and so I highly recommend that you check it out and be sure to follow.