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The City is Mine

Today was a great day. What you need to state that is only a single good minute in 24 hours, sometimes less than that. I read at least a couple of times my old masterpiece today. I was unbelievably wise back then. It was ten years ago, and still, it sounded so much wiser than last-week-me. I wonder why I lose grip at times. The essential thing is though, that I re-internalised the full concept and today of all days I could feel like that again. After ten years, my life felt just as promising and warm as it was during my Exchange Programme. I would have never expected it.

I realised tonight that there is one fundamental person’s love I have been overlooking all along: the city’s. I have run from her for so long I just forgot. And there she was: open armed, smiling down at me, baring herself in front of me just because she wanted to. And I embraced her. I’ve been scared, terrified, I thought she was out there to get me, behind every corner, down every alley. What I found tonight is love. She gives always and every way she can, she keeps me safe, she provides for me. Se offers me places to live, means to succeed, memories to be carved in stone. Every mile entails a secret, a parenthesis of life only she and I know about. I look at windows that remind me of love, and she knows; I listen to sounds that remind me of tears and she softens them for me. She gives herself so completely just for me to enjoy and relish pure life. I felt like htat in Rome once, when she gave me this incredible chance to look up at her from upside down.

You tend to live a city parallel to her sidewalks, if you don’t know any better. You smell, hear and touch only level zero, but her secret beauty is not what your eyes look down to while passing by. It’s in the remote corners of an internal yard, under the pavement of an old church, in the tiles of 1920’s roofs.

She grants you a key to unlock her concealed treasures. It’s been in front of me for years but I just kept kicking it away. Tonight I finally picked it up. It opens all the doors of the city, cellar doors, street doors, bedroom doors. It’s the passe-par-tout to the hearts of all her citizens and she gave it to me. The only condition is you get the key only if you give yours to her.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to go and never come back. She is a part of me just as much as I’m a part of her. We’ll never part, wherever I will be.

My car is getting used to this. Poor thing, whenever she is awake, all she hears from me are snorts, sighs, swearing and me muttering “I’m an idiot”. If she had to describe me, she would stress the fact that I’m a stupid, irritable, impolite little thing with evident anger management issues. I should treat her better. I even threatened to sell her a while ago, and she’s always been nice and reliable. She probably puts up with me only because I treat her better than my husband. I wish she could talk back to me, like KITT, and I could be, erm, “Monday-night Rider”? At least I wouldn’t spend the whole time repeating obsessively “I’m an idiot”.

This week’s idiot is slightly diffrent though. Last week’s was “Daniel syle”, this week’s more “First Fred style”, as much as it pains me to admit it.

First Fred (not to be mistaken for Second Fred) for all intents and purposes can be considered my first “reciprocated” love, meaning before him, I had never managed to actually touch the guys I had fallen for. He, for a change, I met in an arena, some 14 years ago. Boy, he was a hottie, older than me 5 years, spectacular six pack, semi pro snowboarder, the whole shebang. And he liked me. We started dating, and in no time I was head over feet for the guy. I was very young and stupid, pretty much as I still am, but for the young part, and I just didn’t realise it was all a game for him. All promises and sweet talk, he never cared a bit for me, I was probably just a Christmas time distraction and he dumped me cold turkey after a couple of months. As childish as this may sound, I should have known better than believing such a “perfect” guy was actually interested in me.

And there you go again. When will I ever learn men do not function like women?

Hummingbird’s first rule: if you like a confident, attractive guy, who works around women all day, never ever EVER assume you can be more than tick sign for him.

Dealing with him right now is easy. Very rarely would I find myself facing reality, actions and consequences. He lives in my head, I carry with me his image in the back of my eyes, constantly staring at it, invisible to anyone on the outside. It gets much more difficult when I have to be with him, in reality. How much can I look at him in a room full of people, how much can I dare in trying to steal some of his time, how much can I tell him about myself without lying, without exposing the truth? If I were single, the plot would be straight forward: dare a little, ask him out, maybe kiss him, done. It’s not.

I would like to ask any man out there what they would do.
I am married, currently not happily, extremely interested in you, although you probably don’t know that and I’m telling you “well, it’s complicated. I am married but I’d really like to get to know you”. What would you think?

A) She just needs a good fuck
B) No way, too much trouble
C) I don’t want to be with someone so keen on cheating
D) What the hell, why not?
E) Other – please specify

There is no apparent reason why I chose him, in the myriad of men out there, to find an alternative to my current life. Sure, there’s this connection with the sport, he is part of a life that I live alone and independently, he has leverage on me because he is my coach, bla bla bla. That’s not it. It was all in his eyes.

It was still one of my very first practices, I was gathering my things, I had just put on my jacket and backpack, getting ready to leave. I looked up and caught him gazing at me. Not one of those glimpses you cast to anything that catches your eye when it suddenly moves around you. It was there before I noticed, it was there before I moved. I obviously have no way of telling what he was thinking, but sometimes a second is enough to instill reasonable doubt. Some feelings and impressions on people stay dormant until the tiniest of details makes you wonder “what if”.

Sometimes, when you find out some people are attracted to you, you almost jerk in disgust and start avoiding them lest they may misinterpret your actions. Some other times, a door opens in front of you. You consider a completely different path you hadn’t even imagined and start seeing possibilities and crossroads where you thought was only boredom and obviousness. Yet again some times, it unleashes a whole universe of sensations that were already there only hidden under a veil of unawareness, it’s the sparkle the fire was waiting for to start burning.

Once the inkling is there, you start decrypting every movement through that key, you swipe every corner for a single speck of dust that may confirm your theory. Every detail is meaningful, yet you can never find certainty. That’s what pushes you, every day, every chance you get, to discover more, you brush the bubble and see if it bursts or if it parts and lets you inside.

With every brush your soul vibrates with expectation and longing, terror and eagerness, bravery and shyness. With your eyes blindfolded, your hands begin probing the world around, you bare your heart and your weaknesses and pray not to be smacked in return. All you want to find is the warmth of their skin.

I dreamt of his kisses tonight and  I can’t shake that feeling from my mind.

The other day, while I was waiting for my practice to start, I saw a girl from a different team leaving in tears. I didn’t grasp what was wrong with her, I had never seen her before so I don’t know her at all. But it still made me reflect on how much life we live inside those walls.

Even setting aside the emotions that the sport can give you, I can think of several occasions that can be considered a milestone that happened in my first home arena: my first date with my very first boyfriend, my first encounter of my first love, my first show… I had never thought about this under this perspective. Every arena created its own memories. Some of them are strictly connected to people I met, others to the results I had or new things I learned, others to first times. I can’t help wondering what is this arena going to be remembered for, it scares me.

One day a few years back I desperately needed some extra practice before a tryout and I travelled through the whole city at night because it was supposedly the only open facility within miles. So I called them the day before and made sure they would be opened. But when I got there, it was closed. I wanted to torch the place. I swore on every god out there that would be the last time I would ever set foot in that place. When I found out about the courses last year though, they sounded so promising I set aside my votes. After I heard the word “competition programme” I knew I had a new goal to work towards. In the long run, I told myself, but as it turns out, I was asked if I was interested in competing from the very first day, so I guess this is going to be my first-competition-arena. It is so promising, I fret I might tarnish it.

I still can distinguish the two courses, the sport and the coach. When I work with other coaches I feel enthused about what I’m doing for the sake of doing it, it doesn’t matter who I’m doing it with or for. But when he is coaching me, and I have a tight grip on myself and my mood, I push myself more, I induce myself to give more, to be relentless, I compel myself to confidence. It’s a challenge. It sounds like “You’ll see”.

I used to feel inferior to most of the other team mates: I got there last and felt like I had skipped a few steps in doing so, like I didn’t deserve to compete just yet. Once he had to literally drag me out to the middle of the arena from the godforsaken dark corner where I was exercising. So when he told me I had to radically change the way I was training, I felt stripped of that little confidence I had. I didn’t know where to start. I only wanted to drop down on my knees in a stupor and disappear. I felt I should go home and forget it. But then bit by bit I started investigating the idea, telling myself it was for my own good, that I shouldn’t dismiss the idea as nonsense, if nothing else give it a try. That’s when I realised I had to make it. More precisely, I was the only one in the lot who could expect to make it. I’ve felt like this ever since and it shows.

It’s the only legal way I have to show off and be noticed. It’s win-win. He sees the improvements and praises them. A lot, lately. Even when he’s not directly looking at my exercises. Even out loud in front of everyone. Which is embarassing, as I would love to take a look at my face when that happens… The HBP may be working its magic after all.

I hope this won’t change with any possible turn this thing will take.

His name was Daniel. I must have been around 13 at the time, I was on holiday with my mother in the mountains. In my hotel there was this guy, he was a couple of years older than I, dead cute, on holiday with his family as well. We used to send each other steaming hot glances through the dining hall, but that was all. One evening, after skiing, I was back at the hotel and went downstairs to the rec room, just to check if the ping pong table was free. And there he was, sitting in the dark in front of an arcade videogame (ah, the early ’90s!). I choked. I must have turned as white as a ghost, panicking while looking at him from the corner of the room, unseen. I was completely taken aback, finding him there was the last thing I expected, and all I could do was just RUN. Literally, I ran away back to my room. Only after I had closed the door behind me I realised what an idiot I had been. Still to this day, I cannot forgive myself for not having pushed a little bit harder.

Yesterday after practice, after a very very long time, I felt once more exactly like my 13-year-old self. An idiot.

At times, situations start rolling down slippery slopes in a split second and you just have to roll with it, you don’t have time to ponder, you go with your instincts. But then again, insticts usually follow fear. So here I am, feeling like an idiot.
The chance I was waiting for was handed to me on a plate but there were too many… I would say unknown variables, but no, the point was there were too many witnesses. I would have been made and I can’t have that. I might actually have been made anyway, but at least I still have plausible deniability.

I felt so obvious and so spotted I just had to run. I couldn’t let it be so evident, not to others, maybe not to him either. So I gave up on that chance, and became once again the queen of the snorts. I spent the entire ride home literally hitting myself for how stupid that was, just letting it slip away. There will be other chances, I suspect, and then I’ll knock myself out trying to figure out what to do once I’ve been fed what I deserve. Good luck with that. Be careful what you wish for, for I wished a chanced to get close to him and I got it and now I don’t know how to handle the rest.

Honest to God, I wasn’t chasing for this chance, I was acting under the purest of practical interests, but when the chance came, I recognised it clear as day. It was the perfect crime of opportunity. I was the only one to know, however candid it may have looked like on the outside, that for me it was just the ultimate excuse. Was I the only one? Consider someone working at least twice a week in the same place, for at least one year, always at the same working hours, so that the same situation would have happened already: would they really not know any other solution that didn’t involve their direct presence? Everybody else did, but I. So much for a crime of opportunity. I would tend to say, with all the hybris in that, that no, I was not the only one.

 

 

Sunday I watched a documentary on hummingbirds. I had known close to nothing about these creatures, save that they exist. I’ve never been a bird enthusiast, but these little ones completely hypnotised me. I am amazed at how such a tiny beings can encompass such perfection. Blazing lightnings of colour through the forest, perfectly in control of their wonderfully engineered bodies, with all the grace and the strength only a deep consciousness of your skills can bring.

I want to be an hummingbird.

I feel like I’ve been an ostrich so far, just an eccentric mockery of a bird, who can’t fly and tries to hide in the silliest of ways. I want to bloom to my full potential. I have always envied those chicks (it’s about birds right?) who look like they’ve been cut out of a magazine: perfect tan, perfect make up, perfect hair, perfect body, perfect clothes… I used to trick myself into thinking I wasn’t interested in all the tortures beauty involves, that I couldn’t be bothered with the endless rituals, that there was more to me than looks.

The depths of the ocean may not even begin to describe what’s beneath my surface, but the confidence that beauty brings is a weapon no woman should ever abandon. I have, in so many ways.

It’s not about being super-model stunning, I’d have to reverse engineer ALL of my genes, it’s about the consciousness of your potential. It’s about knowing what men think when they look your way, and knowing they do, it’s about holding them in your hand them just with a flutter of your lashes. Let’s be honest, you don’t need to be Bar Rafaeli, men are so much more stupid than that. If you are Bar Rafaeli, you can have the same result in your pyjamas, for all of us common mortals it takes quite some heavy-maintenance more, but it’s far from impossible.

Unlike us non-supermodel-humans, a female hummingbird doesn’t need to do anything at all to be noticed. Males will literally dive on her just to be awarded a single glance. She is so sublime only thanks to Mother Nature. We are so not, but chemistry comes to our help.

Have you ever acknowledged how your hands tend to move differently when you wear nail polish? That’s the idea. It’s not because that hue matches you eyes, it’s not apprehension that it might chip, it’s the way it affects your being. I remember that night, 10 years ago, when walking down Elm Grove alone I realised the sound of my heels on the sidewalk was the sound of a woman walking by. I had it back then, but I lost the feeling along the way.

I had discussed this with my therapist, but evidently I wasn’t ready yet. Why bother with a lace thong, if nobody is going to see it? Wrong. I remember a hundred years ago a friend of mine had to turn down a guy she liked because on that day of all she hadn’t attended to her legs properly. Always be ready.

I am ready to rise to the next level, just to see how it goes. In the meantime, “I’ll make myself beautiful for training” as well, just as I’ve been praised. Hummingbird – Ostrich 1:0.

And this is another thing that doesn’t work anymore with my husband. He just doesn’t see me as a hummingbird, he sees the ostrich and finds it tender. No matter how many times he may tell me I’m beautiful, which is not that many and not when he should, what I see in his eyes is an ostrich with little red hearts all around. I want to see fire in a man’s eyes. I know it’s probably all my fault, but it’s got to change. I thought this would be normal after some time with the same person, truth is I miss it too much to just expect to do without it.

I used to believe that you have to be able to share everything with your man, that an ostrich is what I am and WYSIWYG. I like to call it the engineer syndrome. Basically, after spending a little too much time amongst engineers, who are typically men and quite often single and nerd, you just start to behave like them: cheap movies, swearing and all the other distasteful things a 13-year-old boy does included – no further detail needed. I used to feel liberated at the idea that I could be like that with a man and still be appreciated as a girl. I’d like to try something else now. I am still going to laugh at dirty jokes, hell there’s nothing I can do about it, I just find them funny, but maybe I’ll just have to refrain from telling them myself. At least with certain kinds of company.

I’ll have to start caring for the little details, waking up five minutes earlier to put on my make up, go to the hairdresser before it’s TOO late, spending an awful lot of money in clothes. It’s going to be hard to adjust, but I hope it’s worth it. I can get back to swearing and sneakers in no time anyway.

I do this for me, but I hope it’s going to help with everything that is out there as well.

How is it even possible to lose all of your feelings for someone in a couple of weeks? This can’t be right, it feels insane. I remember all the years we spent together as if they were covered in bandages, as if there was a filter between me and them. My wedding day was the happiest day of my life, I just felt so well, so quiet and safe. I look at my wedding band and it’s like I don’t even know why it’s on my finger.

I guess, living in this state hurts and stresses me so much that I think about somebody else just to have the faintest hope of ever gaining back that happiness. Am I just protecting myself?
Why do I never understand what is really going on? It feels like my mind and my heart are never on the same page, that every easiest part of life is turned into the worst conundrum, an inexplicable clusterfuck where I navigate with no course, no light or stars to guide me and while monsters keep jumping upon deck from down below.

I understand that making difficult choices is by definition difficult, and it can take time to evaluate situations and ponder what’s best, but never knowing what’s going on? I’m tired of this. I just want to know, to understand and to do what’s right or what’s best, whatever. Did this happen just because I was unable to handle a situation where change was necessary?

I wonder if I’m just blocking out all the suffering, whether from the sorrow of separation or the inability to steer our relationship toward a new reality. Or is it just guilt, as I’ve felt before? Because I have thought this relationship is not enough anymore, for having wanted to be with somebody else, for having blamed the wrong person?

I wish I had an instruction manual, the one they forgot to issue when I was brought into this world. I always have this doubt of being wrong. I wish it was as simple as “I’m not crazy, my mother had me tested”. I never know if what I feel is common and just hard, pathological or troublesome and hence even harder for me because I have such a disastrous interface with my feelings.

I have been happy for over a year and now since I’m not anymore, the only thing I can think of is wondering whether I really was or I was just pretending. Reality must always be second guessed. Whenever I’m in a crisis I start doubting every single inch of the past, I can deconstruct months of “perceived reality” in a couple of hours and dismiss them as wrong. 

Is it me having difficulties each time I am at a critical point in my life or is it me creating critical conditions for the sake of my demons?

I lost my anchor. There have been ups and downs in the past few months, of every possible kind, but I was ok because I wasn’t fighting alone. Now I’m alone and even though there are no problems in sight I feel as lost as I’ve ever been.

Did I elope to my Fantasyland again because I don’t like my reality anymore or is it a wake up call from the outer world saying it’s time to drop the lies?

This is the problem. That everytime there is something out there that shakes me up a little more than what’s comfortable, I turn against myself. That’s why this is not over. I shouldn’t need to analyse reality just to know if I love my husband or not, instead I do. I should not question my sanity just because I have a crush on somebody else, instead I do. I thought it was over, instead it’s not. These are the times when I lose control of time and space, when my lungs turn to ice, my eyes seem to lift stones and I can do nothing else but sigh and snort.

I don’t want to be the girl who snorts anymore. Nobody likes the girl that snort, not even herself.

Isn’t the Internet a magnificent tool?

It lets you spy on people without them even knowing. And the younger the people, the more the information available. Once upon a time you had to do your due diligence to find out stuff about guys, you had to expose yourself asking around, eavesdrop in other people’s conversations. Not anymore.

I just found pictures, birth dates, career details, academics, hobbies, sports placements… and a lot more I could easily deduce.

Instead, I am dead good at hiding everything. No tweet, no blog (not with my real name of course), no Linked-in, discreet Facebook page for non-friends. I am part of a different generation. The only obvious piece of information is that I’m married. Photos of the wedding EVERYWHERE.

While I was searching yesterday I stumbled upon one of his pictures and my heart stopped. It was taken during a wedding, he had a white rose pinned in his suit jacket. I had never considered that possibility. Way too young, I told myself, but I couldn’t find peace until I found another picture where his bare left hand was well displayed. Only then my heart slowed down again.

It was terrifying. Dealing with my own potential cheating is one thing, one I have all the control over, but looking in from the other perspective was madness. In that moment I was sure that if he had been married, it would have turned into a fool’s errand. I would have been crazy and stupid to even believe that there might be something there in the way he looks at me.

Then I put myself in his shoes. If it’s true that there is something, as big as that if can be, why should he react any differently when he finds out I’m married?

And more importantly, do I want to risk breaking not one, not two, but three hearts all together? I wish something happened outside of my brain to confront myself with the reality of it. I may want him so much, but nobody knows what I’d do if he did make a move on me. I may freeze, guilt may freeze me or embarrassment or shame. 

I can’t force him out of my brain because I can’t force him out of my life. If I could run I’d try at least, but he is going to be present regularly for quite a long time, I sure as hell am not quitting for this, so I’ll just have to accept his presence. On the outside and on the inside. For as long as it takes. So I figured, I don’t want to stall any chance of approach. I’m not gonna run away right after practice just to fight the drive. If I let it come and go as it pleases, it may even go and stay gone. If it stays, I’ll study it and react as best as I can. And if I complicate everything in doing so, sorry. I hate making mistakes but I still have no idea which one is the mistake here, so I’ll have to rely on science and experiments. When I try and force events I only end up stressed and miserable.

Let’s try change, for a change.

ROCD can lead you to think that there is something wrong with your relationship, and constantly having doubts about it, even if it’s perfectly fine. I can relate to that, at least considering what happened in the past, but now… I don’t know whether the description fits, considering I have no other symptoms, or if I am just looking for an “easy way out”, as easy as ROCD could be.

Am I having “inappropriate sexual thoughts”? Gee, let me think about it… Does daydreaming of jumping my coach classify as inappropriate, considering I’m married?You tell me. I guess it could, but not really. Naughy yes, inappropriate only if you’re a prude.

Do these thoughts cause me anxiety? Duh! Again, 6 months ago I wanted to be married, what the hell lead me to change my position so radically? Sexy coach?

Ok, I did realize something was not right before getting anxious. I miss fire, I miss passion and I thought it was ok. Before, I needed stability, a peaceful mind and the safety of tender love. I am not looking forward to starting dating again, considering I have always been a disaster at it. But I can’t deny I miss the flirting, especially since I have missed out on it. I guess I haven’t had such a great dating life, and although I thought that was just not meant for me, I ‘m sorry I haven’t done it; now that it’s not possible anymore.

I suppose it’s much easier to blame it on ROCD than realising I have made a  mistake. I don’t like making mistakes, so admitting that I haven’t been able to listen to myself is not something I’m that prone to. I have dreamt just oh so many times to sleep with other people and feeling guilty about it while still in my dreams. Maybe I should have let this flow a little more, instead of dismissing it.

And a classy mistake at that. I don’t regret having married, I wanted to do it for the right reasons, I was willing to make efforts to make sure that everything could go as smoothly as possible. I was committed. I just can’t find that strength anymore. I see problems, I see things I would like to change, but I lack impetus. I can’t really say whether it depends on my pessimism, if it’s just because I kind of believe these problems can’t be fixed and hence I won’t even try, or if it’s just that I can’t be bothered enough anymore.

I have the impression that I have to make an effort, instead of wanting to. I’ve never been good at doing things that are imposed to me. I tend to wriggle from it, it’s suffocating. I wish sometimes I could just find a reason to struggle, to fight for it. It would be easier, it would be worthier, it would be righteous. It would be much closer to my dear perfection.

Yet the only feelings I get are guilt, fear and insecurity. I can’t stand the idea of hurting him, I can’t cope with the mess a separation would bring on any level – family, friends, money – and I can’t imagine having to give up on having someone close at all times. Although, if I can’t talk to him, express freely how I feel and communicate at the deepest level, maybe it’s a pretty useless kind of company.

And I have no way of letting him understand I did believe in us. When I was having my breakdown, I was haunted by the thought that he could give up on me, just not fight through the mess. Funny how now I’m the one giving up, for no apparent reason.

I wish I could find a way to just believe in this marriage again. But in the back of my mind, I am sorry to ban the idea of exploring this thing with my coach. I have been attracted to other people in the past, but it was just good looks, thoughts I would abandon in a few days, realising my husband was indeed everything I wanted back then. OK, a few more abs couldn’t have hurt…

This time, everything mixes together. There’s this crisis with my husband, which feels much more radicated to real problems than it’s ever been, there’s my passion for my sport, which right now seems stronger and more important than anything else, there’s me alone, free to think about all my problems and paranoias while I drive to training and while I train, and there’s the coach, cute, smart, funny and so deeply connected to the sport. I don’t know the guy, I’ve never had a proper conversation with him about life or anything, but all my passion for the sport funnels into him. Not only I want to excel, I want him to watch me do it. I am conviced that he knows how strong the passion for a sport can be, and I believe he could understand this better than my husband. He is my coach, I’ve never have a real coach before and I feel, despite everything else, that he is a key figure in my life, the catalyst of my goals. My sport is my project right now, it’s all I have to give purpose to my life.

Maybe even too much. I’ve started exploring the idea that I developed so much passion for it because it’s my only source of passion right now. I feel like I love my sport more than I love my husband and that may be because the passion I lost for my husband was absorbed by it. It’s supposed to be the opposite: sport should be a way of improving my lifestyle, but it shouldn’t be getting in the way of my relationship. If my husband told me he had a great job offer in a place where I couldn’t play anymore, I should just be happy for him and go. Well that even before, before meeting my current coach, would have been devastating.

I have always liked playing and watching TV events, ever since I was in Middle School. I got back in the game as an adult way too late just because I had no idea I could still compete at my age and ever since I’ve been focussed on this more than anything. My career at work is not developing as I hoped while I was studying so all the satisfaction and confidence that should come from a job I get from playing. It’s not like I’ll ever be able to turn pro or anything, but it’s fine. I’ll just keep doing my thing as long as my ligatures allow it. I’m not dreaming to play at Worlds, I know my limits and I accept them.

I guess part of the problem came exactly from his being reluctant towards my willingness to devote so much time to training. In some ways, I understand and I can’t blame him. Had I not this goal, I would be frowining too at the idea of spending a few evenings a week home alone. But having to negotiate between training and him got me really fuming. He thinks that if I were training 5 days a week, he could as well move into a hotel. I’m starting to think he’s right. If I were willing to sacrifice 5 evenings of my time with him fot training, maybe I should be married to training. It’s as if only by suggesting I had boundaries in training, he got me to build boundaries towards him. I already have so little time and so little money to dedicate to this, moral limitations are the last thing I need.

Right before entering into this swirl, there was one night, maybe just one hour, when I felt a happiness so great I thought I would explode. I had just finished my training, and my other coach had just finished drafting my play. It was like finally catching up with all the years this had been prevented, like every little accomplishment in the last 20 years had finally gotten together to shape my dream.

I had given up dreaming. I spent a long time just facing brutal reality so disillusioned that I dried up like a fallen leave. I don’t even want to go and speculate how my life would have looked like if I had been able to do all this at the right time when I was a kid, because maybe back then I wasn’t ready. Perhaps only now this could come to happen. Hope rekindled when I found out I not only could play but I could compete as an adult and getting where I am now, it’s just an inch away from making it become reality. I have no idea what it will be like. I am more than aware that when you await something for so long, it’s hardly ever as you expected it. But I won’t give it up before trying.

My life has changed so much in the past couple of years. I would have never thought I would be doing half the things I do now. I have changed as a person, I have changed the relationship with my family, detatching from the rotten part and reaching out towards new people that can be really on my side. I ended up not giving a fuck about my job, whereas all I wanted was working 10 hours a day and proving I was a nerd. I have struggled to open myself up and build new friendships and still struggling I am punching myself and my pride to take them to the next level. I have awakened dreams and hopes and fought for my happiness, instead of being kicked in the back by it. I guess I still have a lot to learn about this last part though. I am becoming a person I like and throughout all this process I constantly come to face every section of my past, connecting the dots.

I just have to try and connect my husband in all of this.

I shouldn’t have stopped writing, it keeps me connected to myself.