Sunday moaning

Ahhh moving. Moving is always a mixture of things for me (believe me when I tell you, at least this last year, I moved like five times). There's excitement, there's packing, there reimagining life. And for me it always works on the inside as well. It's clearing out the old, throwing away the trash, making space for the unknown. Except this time, when I am taking out the spices from the box, and I turn around, there is no one to share it with me. 

Don't get me wrong, I am not trying to be the victim. But it is what it is. This move comes with moving also from the last relationship. And Sundays, well, Sundays were usually the date day. And this Sunday, while unpacking boxes in my new, ocean front, cozy and perfect apartment, It hit me. Hard.

I am not ashamed to say that my Bosè speakers were playing Natalie Imbruglia's "Torn" and Shakira's "No" while I sang, cried and unpacked (who says I cant multitask?). The last breakup that hit me this hard I was leaving Canada with pink hair and my heart in a freezer, on my carry on bag. 

Yet I come to realize that is has nothing to do with the boy and everything to do with me and whatever transformation I am obviously experiencing. Ir never has to do with anything on the outside.  So, yes. Weep weep. Moan moan. Cry cry. Not understanding why me being such a gypsy decided to stay in the same city that has broken my heart more than twice. But as a friend told me the other day: ohhh, I love strange reasons, they always bring the best. I will take his word on it.

So, being the eternal runaway bride, this time is my turn to stick around and actually go through the mourning period, instead of hailing the next flight and find myself in a different exotic country -that also, gets old- and let me tell you: pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional. 

So when I want to weep I weep and then like a little kid I get excited with my new view and forget what happened. No running away is allowed. And the next moment I find that I miss him so much and give myself shit for missing someone that didn't treat me like he knew what we had. And then, fuck it. Who cares. Welcome all processes and emotions and I laugh at myself and the bridgetjonessess of the situation. 

In the meantime, I gotta enjoy this double tequila that the universe decided to make it double when I asked for... Single.

Oh, the irony.