Giramonda.com

Continued from “Who Traveled Far and Wide…”

I’ve used “the L-word” just once before with a man. With that man, though, the L-word couldn’t even be. Before and after that one moment, I would jump, shirk, and cringe and the mention of “the L-word” with another man. Not with Michael. With Michael, “I love you” came fast and easy. He is the first boyfriend with whom I’ve ever used those words. I don’t take them lightly. I don’t say them easily. I meant it every time I said it to him. More and more each time I said it. Big words. Many insist it wasn’t love. It couldn’t be. It’s too fast. I’m too young.

Whatever. It’s love. It’s not the same love as the love a man and woman share after decades spent together, but, a bud is still a flower. Our budding love was still… love. We couldn’t say it to each other enough. We couldn’t kiss each other enough. Tons of cute little kisses. Everywhere. Sitting. Standing. Driving. Forehead. Cheeks. Lips. Mouth. Everywhere. It was so adorable. Michael wouldn’t have to say anything. He would just tilt his cheek toward me and I would delight in giving him a quick, cute peck. Two minutes would pass. And then our little ritual would begin again. Sometimes I answered, instead, with my own cheek. He would quickly oblige. Sickeningly cute.

Michael went to his father and told him “we’re falling in love”… told him I was staying and that I was looking for an apartment. Michael’s parents responded quickly. That evening, Michael extended the invitation from his parents welcoming me to move in with them. I’d have my own room. Michael’s parents saw no reason why I should be spending my savings on food and rent. ‘Save your money,’ they said with a warm smile. ‘Stay here with us. Welcome to the family.’

Wow. I couldn’t believe the rich welcome, the incredible display of generosity, the unquestioning love. I was humbled. I was astonished. Heh, so was Michael. Apparently, Michael’s parents were the opposite of rich, warm and welcoming to Michael’s last serious girlfriend (a relationship more than a year in the past.) Michael had been stressed simply introducing me to the family, and now, after just knowing me for a couple days, they were inviting me in like close family. He couldn’t believe it.

I had absolutely no reservations. I was in love. They were amazing. Why not stay with them? I earnestly questioned Michael if he was sure. He insisted he was. I pointed out that… ahem… this was a pretty big step, pretty darn fast. I asked if he was really sure. He didn’t hesitate, ‘yes.’

That first full week officially “living” with Michael and his family was quite the intense one. Three days in, I joined Michael and crew on a trip to the family beach house on the Caribbean coast. I was loving it. Big family gatherings full of chaos, yet somehow soothing and calm all at once, are so full of riches. A handful of generations all coming together, sharing, living, eating, loving… perhaps arguing a bit too. Just full on big family stuff. It calmed me. I chatted with Michael’s grandma, practicing my struggling Spanish. I goofed around with his little cousins, playing makeshift baseball – using sticks as bats. I inhaled the sea salty air… relaxing, enjoying. I felt so comfortable even though I was with so many new faces. Family dinner in the evening just yards away from the coming tide. Michael, his older cousins and I took a four-wheeler out for some twilight off-roading on the beach. We ended up at a local little beach club full of localGarifuna (click the link to learn about this intriguing sub-culture in Honduras that originated from Africa). Michael and his friends introduced me to Punta, a traditional Garifuna dance – basically booty-shakin at its finest. Just twitch and wag as fast as you can! Try as I might, I made a good effort, but this Gringa couldn’t come close to keeping up with the locals.

When we got back, Michael and I had time to call all our own… to simply enjoy the tropical air and each other.

The next morning, however, news of horrific events from the city contaminated the tranquil atmosphere of the little tropic haven. Michael quickly clued me in to why the mood was suddenly so heavy and upsetting: Michael’s uncle had been murdered that night. Five men. Four machine guns. One victim: his uncle. It happened right out in the open, in the middle of everything. Right outside a popular bar on a busy street, late at night. Shocking. I couldn’t really take it in. Honestly, I still don’t think I’ve fully registered the reality of it. Things like that just don’t happen in the U.S. Not with machine guns. Four of them. I didn’t know what to say. What do you say? Michael didn’t feel moved to say too much either. We talked a bit about Michael’s memories of his uncle when he was younger, in his early childhood. That’s when he said they were close. These last years though, Michael said he hadn’t seen much of him. I encouraged Michael to simply embrace what came natural to him: Talk. Don’t talk. Remember. Don’t remember. Feel. Don’t feel. Know that I was there for him for any of it, all of it.

Before we left the coast, Michael and I escaped from it all and went to a little ecological park called Rawacala. We hiked through trails of sparkling ferns, took a chilly dip near the waterfall lagoon and soared through treetops on zipline canopy tour. We watched a birds eye view of the glowing sunset. over the Caribbean. (Click here to see video.) Then, it was back to reality. The next few days were, as expected, quite tough. Visitations. Funerals. I let Michael know that I understood if he simply wanted time with his family. But he wanted me with him. And Michael was okay, accepting the reality for what it was. What family I hadn’t met at the beach house I met at the funeral. It was a rather quick acquaintance with the ENTIRE extended family. We hit it off rather well, especially considering the unfortunate circumstances. So much was happening so fast. But Michael and I were weathering it all without a hitch. We were there for each other, comforted each other, kept enjoying each other. So far, despite the whirlwind of a difficult reality surrounding us, we were still very much inside our little love bubble. Despite the sadness, we shared many moments of sweet, little bliss.

And those blissful moments turned into blissful weeks. Weekends were spent with friends at Klein Bohemia, chilling out to music… watching, listening, wildly dancing to Michael playing with the Latin reggae band, Montuca Sound System. It rained just about EVERY day and evening… it was the rainy season. So, during the week, Michael and I cuddled to many a movie – usually at home, sometimes with friends at the theater (costs just $3.00 for big screen movie entertainment in Honduras… and 2 for 1 on Tuesdays!). At night, Michael would often sit at the piano and let his fingers dance over the keys. I would sit beside him in the low light, close my eyes, and listen to his notes mix with the pitter patter of the rain on the window. I’d lean in close and he would sing whispers into my ear. I was in love and the man whom I loved was wrapping me in a warm blanket of soft music, soft looks, and soft lips. I have no words to describe the feeling, the sensation of those moments with him. But, those moments left the taste of Heaven lingering in my mouth. (Click here for poem.) During those beginning weeks, the “I love yous” fell as easily as the persistent rain. Michael worked during the day and spent the rest of his time with me. If he wasn’t at work, he was more or less… with me. There seemed to be no end to our stream of sweet kisses and gentle caresses.

But, trouble was creeping in… While Michael was at work, I was pretty much in the house. I went from freely wandering the world according to my own whims, and only my own, to staying inside a house all day, nearly every day. San Pedro Sula isn’t a cultural city. It’s an industrial one. The industrial heartbeat of Honduras. There’s just no real place to go… except the coffee shop down the street, which Michael and I visited quite often when he got off work. SPS isn’t the safest of places either. It was common enough for people to get mugged and even murdered over a $20 phone in the streets… in broad daylight. Of course, there were the better areas of town and the worse ones, but any place could, in reality, be fair game. Walking alone at night was simply not done. Not unless you wanted to get mugged that is. Anytime I wanted to leave the walled in house (all the houses and buildings are walled in for security), Michael’s mother readily voiced her unease, insisting it really was best if I didn’t go anywhere on foot or by chicken bus (local bus). A couple weeks in though and I couldn’t stay put anymore. I explained to Michael’s mom that I needed to get out and go somewhere. I couldn’t stay cooped in the walled fortress all day. It just wasn’t me. But, again, there was no where to go. I wandered all around the city on a few occasions, good parts and bad… just observing SPS city life. Most of what I observed were other observers, chicken buses recklessly darting around the city, cars darting just as recklessly, people of lower classes walking along the trash-strewn shoulders barefoot, and the rest eating or waiting at a little, local outdoor restaurant. If you weren’t working in that city, you were waiting, watching. I could feel it, the restlessness creeping over me. Michael had begun the last three classes he needed to graduate on top of his grueling, and to be quite frank, exploitive work week. That meant we weren’t really seeing much of each other at all. If school didn’t keep him until 10 p.m. Band practice, or, work would keep him until 1 p.m. When we did see each other, I was starved for stimulation. All day… alone… me, myself and I. All the friends I knew worked or were in school. I had some guy friends that had some free time during the day, but Michael was NOT about me spending any time with them. A few had made their moves… so I couldn’t really blame him. The relationship was new, trust was being developed, and… Michael is a bit on the jealous Latin side. But, that left me a bit isolated all day long. I was getting edgy. Michael was becoming exhausted. It wasn’t a good combo. He’d come home and understandably want to rest. I, on the other hand, would be full of energy and ready to take on the world. Michael was getting a bit moody and was starting have troubles with the band. They were complaining about his commitment, how he was always at work. One day I got moody and unsure and expressed as much to Michael. But, bottom line, I didn’t want to lose what we had. So I was determined to work through it. I knew it was just part of the adjustment and a part of building a life in a new city in a foreign country. Part of Michael’s stressful schedule. I just wasn’t getting any help from Michael… because he was already so swamped. When I had proposed that I wanted take off on a trip to the Bay Islands for a week and get my diving certification and give him some space, Michael quickly shot it down. Too soon he said… at first. He did come around pretty quickly but by then I had already redirected my thoughts to setting up some sort of routine. Perhaps imprudently, by the time he came around, I decided I could stay a bit longer before taking off.

I began running in the morning on the “Boulevard of Hope,” the unofficial workout street. I found a Spanish tutor and had daily lessons. I also started taking yoga classes in the evenings and went to a couple of my friends’ basketball practices. I poured myself into researching my business plan for Latin America. I plugged away at pro bono media work for friends. I studied my Spanish with sincere zeal. But, I was still missing Michael. He was exhausted, though, and soon all the effort of our relationship seemed, to me, to shift to one side… my side. Michael was no longer the pursuer I had met. He embraced a new attitude of “take it or leave it.” When I approached Michael and explained to him how I was feeling a new distance and lack of effort, he responded more or less with “well that’s the reality babe and there’s nothing I can do to change it.” I disagreed. I thought he could as least say “hello” when he stopped by the house for lunch. But that felt like “checking in” to him. He wouldn’t do it.

His response left me baffled and I started wondering why I was even there. Why was I caging myself in for someone who suddenly seemed to care less one way or the other if I was there? So, I calmly decided, “Okay… I’ll go.” That response baffled Michael and he confusedly shrugged, “if that’s what you want.” Of course, as the typical female, I was screaming in my head how much I wanted the opposite, how much I wanted him to grab me, hold me, kiss me and tell me I couldn’t leave. But he didn’t. Oh, I cried. Michael told his parents I was leaving. They came to talk to me. I explained how I felt. Michael’s dad teared up when he saw me hurt and crying… and he held me. My gosh, how precious is that? Michael’s mom told me to be patient and urged me to stay. She told me I was welcome in their house whether I was with Michael or not. They told me they didn’t want me to go. Already, I had become a daughter to them and they wanted me to stay. Their gesture left me speechless. How incredible were Michael’s parents! But, the pain of a quickly diminishing love affair was welling up inside me. I needed to go away at least for a couple days and think. Michael’s mom convinced me to wait and leave the next morning though. My character is to give way to pride. If I feel wronged, I just don’t typically swallow my pride and try to initiate the mend. But, holding my pride in hand and simply letting such a strong romance die so quickly over one hiccup seemed horrid to me. So, in rare form, I swallowed my pride and went to Michael that evening. He held me. I held him back. We still disagreed, but one thing was clear: we didn’t want our disagreement to end “us.”

In the morning, I repacked a smaller bag and left most of my belongings behind. Michael drove me to the bus station and sent me off with a kiss and a promise to join me the next day (Saturday) when he got off work. I was no longer “leaving,” just “getting away” for a day or two. I was en route for Lago de Yojoa, only a few hours away. Friday at the lake was calming, relaxing bliss. Quiet, peaceful, beautiful. More species of exotic birds than I could count. Local kids tearing past me, stripping clothes off as they ran… launching themselves into the lake after scampering up trees. I took photos. Read my book. Meditated about my relationship with Michael, about my life. I watched the daily rains slowly creep in with a shrouding mist. I felt completely at ease. Michael had called several times that day, checking up on me. I knew we’d work it out.

When he arrived the next day, Michael had shelved his pride. He was sorry. He said it a handful of times. But, once was enough for me. I had had enough of this “distance” business with Michael and eagerly accepted a loving truce. We wandered the grounds near the lake and I showed him all the little treasures I had discovered the day before. We indulged in the stunning landscape and then we burrowed into our room, a tangle of firm, strong embraces that held an urgency of never wanting to let go. What I felt as I fell asleep with Michael’s arms locking me in close, is something I had never before felt. I felt all the warm, fuzzy wonderfulness of having a man you care for so strongly holding you, yet more. I felt Michael’s love and yet, still more… I felt something, some love, beyond Michael… but accessible only through his embrace. What a sensation that rippled through me as I drifted off to dreamland…

Our little love boat had been rocked. And while the waters had calmed, they were still choppy. We talked about that. We acknowledged that we had slipped a little in our confidence with each other and we would need to work our way back. But, we didn’t think we had slipped too far. We weren’t worried about making up a lost step or two. An impromptu cooking night with friends turned out to be a gloriously wonderful time. Great food. Great company. Great adventures in the kitchen. I was delighting in the rare social gathering (outside of a noisy club where you had to shout to talk). Michael and I were as comfortable as ever. Chatting up our friends all night, shooting flirting glances here, letting caressing fingers linger there. All the while giving each other all the space in the world. We were so comfortable. Bah, we were right back into the “bubble.” We had nothing to worry about. Or so we thought.

Michael’s grueling schedule was exhausting him more and more each day. It wasn’t long at all (uh two days) before his effort for anything outside of, well, really just work, was becoming non-existent. School was sorely losing out to work. I was coming in at a distant third. We were right back where we started. I was feeling neglected, taken for granted, not unwanted, but not necessarily wanted.

But, the thing is, I did understand how exhausted Michael was… it was easy to see. He was working all night. Working even when he got home from work. Michael had been getting promotions (without increased pay mind you… and you can forget about overtime pay in Honduras. Doesn’t exist.) and he was enjoying the success. He was managing his elders. So he poured himself into work, going above and beyond. Very admirable. But, staying up to 3 and 4 in the morning working, three, four times a week; working six days a week… is just too much. Unbalanced. ‘”Be careful,” I warned. “You’ll get burnt out fast if you keep this up…” ‘and drive me away,’ I thought to myself. I understood… but to a point. I thought he could make some different choices, do things a little differently. We had settled into a “dull routine” too fast for my liking and comfort. I was still adjusting to very different life. Admittedly, I didn’t want to be adjusting for “dull.” I tried to communicate with Michael again, but we weren’t communicating very well. I would voice a suggestion or feeling. He would respond with the old “take it or leave it.” I would get offended and we would bicker. A lot. Bickering. Making up. Bickering. Making up. Boy, did that get old… fast… for both of us. Exhausting. And Michael was already exhausted. So, a week of bickering and Michael had had it. I reasoned our quakes made perfect sense in light of everything and we just needed to work through it. But, Michael had no energy left for it. And that was it. He was out. So much of me understood him. He really didn’t have any energy. But not enough of me understood it to just sit it out, with patience… waiting for this stressful schedule to ease off and pass. So that was it. Our week of bickering admittedly left a bitter taste in Michael’s mouth. It left only a remorseful one in mine. Ever the optimist, I didn’t really believe it was over. I figured I’d go off and travel for a bit, give us both the space we needed, and come back to reassess. I, the typical female, just wanted to hear from Michael that he agreed, that that would be a good idea. But, Michael didn’t want to promise anything. Ouch. He really didn’t care, I concluded. I felt so fooled. Real love doesn’t just give up at the first sign of struggle. I didn’t want to give-up. I was ready to try new tactics. He was all for giving up. So it couldn’t have been love for him, I insisted. It was for me. Not for him. I was so fooled. But, Michael never would take that back. He wouldn’t admit that it was anything but love for him at first. Things had just changed, he said. So fast, I added. In the meantime, Michael’s parents were back to telling me not to leave. That tugged at my heart strings, let me tell ya. Not to mention, my Spanish lessons were going great. My Spanish was improving in leaps and bounds. I couldn’t figure out what to do. The pain was acute. I had fallen hard. The pain went deep… as was apparent from my emotional vomiting on facebook – something that further estranged me from Michael. Some people deal by pouring out their emotions to the world (Exhibit 1: Type-A personalities like me!) Others cope by keeping it all to themselves and or artfully locked within their music. (Exhibit 2: Michael’s personality). I wanted Michael to let me in. He responded by blatantly ignoring me and acting as if I was a freak for showing/feeling such acute emotion. I was torn. I couldn’t stay. So much pain. I couldn’t leave. I didn’t want to give up and I didn’t want to cast away the humbling love and generosity from Michael’s parents… and, darn it, I didn’t want to stop my Spanish as I was just beginning to unlock the language! I tried leaving twice, got hours away from the city… only to turn around and come back. Michael would give me a tiny ray of hope, “respecting” that I felt compelled to come back… and talking to me about it. Insisting that his feelings were still the same at the end though… then holding me, kissing me, and wanting to “hang out.” Heh. If he had just thrown that bone in the first place we wouldn’t even be in this mess. Pah. It didn’t help that Michael’s mom was rooting for me too… insisting that I should just be calm and patient. Oh, I wasn’t mature enough for that. And Michael wasn’t mature enough to give me even an inkling of a reason to try. Michael and I can be so different, yet so much alike. Stubborn. Full of pride. A few times I tried to willfully transform the situation by seducing him all over with my oh so wonderful charm. I would start to succeed. Michael and I would joke, laugh, suddenly move into that familiar comfortable, even loving zone complete with “oh you’re so cute when…” then bam, uh huh… he would back out in a flash. He had decided he felt differently now and he was sticking to it. Ha. I tried the “respecting his wishes” tactic. That was less successful. That just prompted Michael to keep on ignoring. Ignoring me. Ignoring my love letters, my love emails. Sigh… I was hopeless. (I’ve never written a love letter to anyone before Michael… sigh again.)

Finally, the crazy situation sent me over the top. I exploded. I won’t elaborate here. But, it wasn’t my finest moment. No, not horribly bad either. (Though Michael would have anyone believing differently.) Nothing happened that hasn’t happened in a trillion other relationships before my time. Admittedly, though, I could have had more class… I’m not going to lie. It was time for me to go.

Our mutual friend Carlos came to the rescue. He took me in pieces. I took over and holed up in his bedroom for a few days and lamented in my heart-broken misery. He was the comforting, pillar I needed the entire time. Carlos is the loyal friend. Always willing to offer a huge, warm hug and an ear… or simply just company when you need it. His friendship is invaluable. Eventually, I picked my sorry self up, lavished my thanks on Carlos and finally took off… to go scuba diving on a tropical island in the Caribbean! A week later, I returned as an Advanced Open Water diver!! (Click here to read a little more about my Bay Island adventures.)

Jason put me up for a few days while I meditated on what my next plan of action would be… the oh so selfless giver and wonderfully riotous company! Jason really and truly is a gem. Great heart. Fantastic humor. Walter, a treasure of a character I haven’t introduced yet, also kept me vital company while I “meditated” on my plan of action. He kept me busy during the day and he too kept me laughing. I met this kid when he started busting out 80s “Vanilla Ice” and “MC Hammer” moves late one night at Klein Bohemia. It was a riot. This “euro chic” Hondurano busting out “the hammer” like the best of them! I was instantly his fan. He was there at the cooking night, and made sinfully delicious homemade pizza. Walter has an Italian background and we instantly connected over our mutual love for all things Italian. Walter walks to his own Walter beat… and I love him for that. The best is when you get Walter to work his unique beat with Jason’s one-of-a-kind pace. Those two together is like having your own personal improve group performing privately just for you! My mouth is always sore from laughing and smiling after being around those two. Jason and Walter… the best medicine for the mending spirit!

I hadn’t talked to Michael at all since my “glorious” exit. So, I tried calling him. I was greeted with an unenthusiastic “oh” when he recognized it was me. Oh how warm and fuzzy that felt! The convo, and my spirit, went downhill from there…

Michael’s words were undeservedly harsh, judging and unfair in that conversation. Now, I could taste a pungent bitterness in my mouth. And that was it. That would pretty much be the last of Michael.

Time to move on. And move on I did. After a quick beach trip to Tela with friends – where I danced spiritedly in a wind storm on the dock on the beach, all by my wonderful self (well me and my iPod) – I took off for Guatemala… where an entirely new slew of adventures awaited me!

To be continued…

Popularity: 1% [?]