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Just imagine the fear and despair that went through me when the boy (I would like to say man, but recent events have cleared that one up and made it evident that he isn’t really…) I loved said that to me. You being a Christian is ok to me, sort of. As long as you keep your religion out of my life and don’t try and convert me by all possible means, including but not limited to: psychological blackmail, constant pressurizing and physical blackmail (…this shall be explicited).
Now, at this point, I wanted to understand what his being a born-again Christian implied for us, you know, me being the egocentric bitch I am and all…
Well, it’s kind of like “re-virginization”. You know, that terrible operation that some women go through to get their hymen sewn back together again to feign being virgins, just to have it torn all over again? Well, this is the same, only spiritually: you have to stop doing all the things the Bible says you shouldn’t do, and if you stop for long enough, it’s like you never did them in the first place! Don’ you just love the hypocrisy of the Christian faith? “Confess all your sins and they shall be erased”, “stop all sinful behavior and you’ll be back to being a model Christian”. Urgh. It makes me sick. Anyway, to make a long story short, it basically meant that I had had no pleasurable physical contact with anyone for a year (you know, being faithful and all? had I only known…) AND WASN’T GONNA GET ANY THEN, EITHER! You know the whole “no sex before marriage” thing? It was BACK! And wow did I hate it?! But try as I may, there was no way of changing this boy’s mind, and I was well and truly done for.
Of course, this means that we had a lot of fights, and my time there was not quite as fun, for more than the obvious reason, as it was the times before. It’s also then that I realized that, despite not thinking of myself as much of a “sexual” person – never having had a real long-term (and not long-distance) boyfriend kind of diminished my opportunities for experimenting in that field – sex IS important to me in a relationship. And to prove that, the guy’s that I went out with but never really cared about, I never had sex with. Even though we may have been together for a good few months, and not too far apart geographically. So this was another point of tension in my already tense relationship with J…
Anyway, back to the “born-again Christian” bit. Strangely enough, it didn’t imply “not drinking until you’re drunk and can hardly get yourself and your girlfriend back home without driving the car into a roundabout”. Huh, who would have thought the Christians were so tolerant? Not me! So yeah, there I was, 10,000km away from home, with a boy I loved (truly, not like that first time I thought it was love and it was really just… well something very perverse, and no, not in the sexual sense, but in the dark and evil sense), and NO SEX. No need to say, by the time I left our problems became so huge I was just glad to be out of there and officially single again.
Strangely enough though, he thought being my boyfriend gave him the right to look at my sms’ and not tell me about it, yelling at me 2 days later when I was 400km away, telling me I was a cheating whore. Ok, not a whore, but definitely a cheater. Now, the fun part is, I was! Kind of. But before, WAYYYY before. The guy he thought I was cheating on him with, was my boyfriend years before he was. And I have cheated, but not then. But however much I tried to explain and clear things up, he wouldn’t listen, and eventually became downright mean and told me to stop calling and smsing him. Luckily, I’m hard-headed and I just kept on emailing him like nothing ever happened, asking about his days and telling him about mine, like we were friends. After about 2 months, I won and he eventually answered, even saying he missed me, realizing he’d been wrong all along and admitting to acting foolishly and childishly. But by then I knew it was well and truly over, and that whatever feelings I may have had for him in the past and may still have had then, had to be removed. It proved harder than I thought, seeing him again at Durban Airport, but that’s another story…
Moral of the story is:
NOTE TO SELF: Never, and I mean EVER, trust a born-again Christian with your heart and/or feelings again. Since when does the Demon Kitteh fraternize with the enemy..???
Well, what would you expect for a first post? There has to be some kind of ceremonial, right?
Ok. Wrong. But I like it that way. Besides, it takes the awkwardness out of going through the whole “Hi. My name’s Silvia, I was born in SA, raised in France, bla bla bla” thing like it’s 1998 and we’re back in high school. Although, technically, I was entering “college” (the French one, not the American one!), so… Junior High? Whatever. Besides, I had to go through the whole speech still last year, so I guess we’re never really over presenting ourselves, are we?
What a way to start off. And there I was, getting ready to start a light-hearted blog, full of the usual craziness and BS that tags along when you go through life, however you may go through it. We all have our moments. For some of us, those moments are just a little longer than for others. Mother Nature is a bitch. Sometimes.
Enough, enough you say! Convoluted peregrinations may not be your thing, in which case I’d kindly advise you to go up to your browser and type the address of your favorite web page, then press enter, in order to get away as fast as you can from this blog, which shall be nothing but the convoluted peregrinations of a very sick mind. Mine.
Very sick indeed, come to think of it. Reading over other people’s/friends’ blogs today, I kept on getting these pop-up images (in the mind they are no less annoying than online) of stories that I wanted to remember, and write about. Whether fun, silly, downright stupid or even sad, never forgetting odd and completely, entirely, totally crazy, I want to remember things. I don’t want to arrive at 70 (if I make it that far!) and think that nothing ever happened to me, just because I forgot about it, didn’t write about it, didn’t commemorate it.
Some people go through life miserable, unhappy because they think they are alone and misunderstood. Forgetting those moments of happiness and shared joy that they have known. We are ALL alone. We are ALL islands. No man is an island? Sure we are! We’re just the mobile kind, you know, with paddles and shit.
Oh, yes, I did say “shit”. I swear at times. A lot when I’m angry, it just sounds so soothing in a way. A verbal vent to avoid a more physical one, for some. For me? I just like the sound of my voice.
No, not really. Well, actually, yes. I do. But only when *I* hear it. With my inner ear and whatnot. I don’t like hearing it registered. For some reason, especially not in Italian. And this writing exercise is difficult for me at the moment, I’m thinking at 350km/h, and in various languages at once. I think of “sfogo”, and “pagaie”, and “peregrinazioni” and… Durban Indian market? No, wait, that’s another story altogether.
This year I’ve spent in Italy has taught me many things, and in the past few weeks/months, new (and old) friends have helped me learn even more. Learn more or this language that is one of my own, but that I have never really had the chance to master: Italian. Grazie a voi tre. Se mai leggete questo, spero vi riconoscerete. Senno, siete LSF (I wish that made up LSD, but hey, I can’t forget F!!).
This first entry is already too long. And already you can see the kind of internal chaos that reigns above the apparent order-freak that I am. If you’ve seen my room, you know what I mean.
