four fridays ago i was tired and about to take a rain check. ‘i had a terrible week. i need some sleep’, i said. ‘come on, will be fun’, F. said.
T. texted me as well: ‘has been a while. we NEED to catch up’, he wrote.
i have no personality left, c’est partie pour une autre nuit, i thought.
T. arrived. ‘i broke up with P. it was not working anymore. after 5 years i was adapting to him SO much, that i realised he might not be into me beyond the comfort of sharing bills’, he concluded.
i opened an orange wine and felt sad. didn’t know what to say. ‘it will be bad for a while. but it’s just a matter of time’, i said.
all his case made me think about perceptions. he was not feeling desired by his partner, and for me, T. has always been the hot one of the couple.
but i shouldn’t be thinking like that. it’s superficial/teenager stuff.
we finished the wine and we join F. at the new pasta place. 50 square meters of italo-disco vibes was all we needed to cheer us up.
in between bites, lots of girls were coming in yelling ‘give us pasta’, in a funny way. even if ‘we want to get laid’ was the energy there.
i saw the chef testing his food. hot guys eating well and with appetite for me it’s kind of the saint grial.
‘there is a reason why they make Brad Pitt eat in all his films’, i said. ‘when eating food is well done, can be the sexier thing in this world’, i concluded.
‘oh, i understand, because you can project as well how good he can be eating other things, haha’, T. said.
after the pasta overdose, we went to angel bar.
there’s something fascinating about this place. smells bad, music is pretty average most of the times, ambiance varies but somehow i always have the best nights.
two guys started talking to us. ‘define Australians’, one of them asked me. ‘laid back’, i answered. ‘cliche, come on, give me something more’, he insisted. ‘laidback racists’, i said.
wow, my flirting skills are just top-top, i thought. but he didn’t run. he laughed instead.
‘how is it in Europe?’, he asked. ‘for the ones who make it to our countries, sometimes we give them a job. the ones that nobody want’, i continued.
‘so you are pretty terrible as well’, he said. ‘i guess… but at least we sell alcohol to everyone, no matter their origin, something that you don’t‘, i concluded.
we are bad but you are worst was my vibe. at least we give the right to everyone to get drunk.
i finished my tequila soda pretty confused.
not just because my european superiority was not sustained, also because i don’t know why i was being so rude to him such in a direct way.
maybe this was me in pms. or maybe this was me flirting in a different way – where you start directly with a torture test.
whatever, i thought. conversation was good and insightful.
we asked for another round and First Nations referendum or the lack of international section in their newspapers were next to debate.
‘what’s your name, btw?’, i asked. ‘Elliot’.
music was finally getting good and i entered in giving-up control mood.
i never manage to relax in yoga. but letting myself go in the dance floor it’s a way to reconnect and relax as well, i guess.
and suddenly, in the middle of my disco yoga flow, i got robbed.
maybe i have really let myself go.
my phone. my wallet. my handbag.
the phone was the complicated one. because when you lose your phone, you lose your life.
couldn’t make it home without money or keys. couldn’t call my friends without a phone.
i don’t know any of my friends number. i don’t even know MY phone number.
i know some of their home address, but they were in Europe, China or having a love weekend.
i understood pretty quickly i was homeless.
then E. appeared. ‘we might be laidback racist, but we are mostly kind and nice as well’, he said.
he saved my night. stayed at his. gave me his phone, told me his code. ‘do everything you need’.
‘i only know my friends instagram nicknames’, i said. opened the app. forgot my password.
‘you are really a mess’, he laughed. ‘a hot mess, but a mess’, he said. and contacted them from his profile.
‘this is s. i got robbed. please give me your number. i am ok. just no dignity left’.
took them 8 hours to answer which made it the longest date i ever had. mostly because i never date.
i lived from friends charity the next days until i got my life back. and thought seriously about getting some tattoo in my new Aussie life – the phone numbers of my closest ones.
3 days later i was flying to Paris. first wine was with E.
‘you should catch up with M. divorce is being hard. her parents are mad. last words to her were how can you do this to us?’, she said.
‘but she is doing better. she met someone that is making her happier. a girl’, she concluded.
so the shock journey for her family it has only just began, i thought.
for ultra catholic families divorce is bad. but divorce + changing sexual orientation it’s social suicide.
‘what about you?, how is the post break up recovery going?’, i asked her.
‘getting better. i am meeting guys. but I don’t know if i really like them or if i am using them. to go to the movies, a weekend, a dinner, this kind of stuff’, she said.
‘i also slept with my best friend’, she continued. ‘it’s complicated because he is with someone’.
‘but how serious is this someone?’, i asked. ‘4 year seriousness’, she answered.
didn’t know what to say. what’s going on that the more i grow the less i know. there is not right or wrong anymore.
there’s just life, happening wildly and challenging us at any form.
‘tell yourself he is not your best friend. after all you only know him from last september’, i said.
not sure it helped. but this was all i had to say.
next day i saw I. and G. ‘how are things with J?, i asked I. ‘it was going well until yesterday that i discovered he is an Israel supporter’, she said.
that’s a social suicide as well, i thought. ‘can we date someone who supports genocide?’, i asked them.
G. order another bottle of Pet-Nat meanwhile I. was having a squeezed heart. ‘I have really missed the brie truffé’, i said trying to change the subject.
the day after i went out. we started at 5 in avenue trudaine and ended at cafe cherie at 5 as well.
woke up in rue saint Lazare 200 metres away from my old Parisian flat. took me a while to understand that the guy i was in bed with was not the same one i remember kissing at the last bar.
collateral effects of jet lag, i guess.
last thing i wanted was a conversation or a reality check. so i dressed up and left the place.
took me 30 minutes to get a cab. Paris + cabs is normally bad. but Paris + cabs + olympics it’s the perfect equation to lose your mind.
meanwhile i was being rejected and/or ignored by every driver, i started to think there is just one thing worst than a walk of shame.
and it’s making this walk of shame not a walk but something motionless.
where everybody can observe your messy hair, panda eye and the hickey in your neck.
is all this chaos normal or there is something more going on? why is everything going out of control?
it has to be the stars and the planets, i thought.
checked my co-star, moon omens and the cut and as always found the right answer: we are in Geminis season.
“just in time, the sun enters Gemini, sign of curiosity, adaptability, and fun. all of a sudden, it’s as though the old rules no longer apply. if you’re in need of excitement, ready to make a change, or just desperate not to be so bored, then this is your moment”.
and what a moment! break-ups, divorces, new sexual orientations, political love and unexpected encounters.
it’s chaotic. and cathartic.
because we are releasing the rigid part of ourselves that is not longer serving us.
because we are embracing ambivalence and the two sides we have in ourselves.
and because life not always has to make sense, i guess.