It was as follows. . . . . . . perhaps I should detail the relationships first in order to put into context.
MR NM: Was the first boyfriend I ever held. Was the first male hand I held besides my fathers, or the sweaty capped beer washed adolescent male for the night. I was at the end of my final year at school, 17 years old or so, and he was 23 years. He gave me Ugg boots for my 18th birthday. He came from an Italian family. He was a laborer but had glasses that made him look like an architect.
MR SH: Was the man to help me move on from SH. I was 19 and he came 29. This fact came out a month into it- we spoke over 'intellectual topics' and careers in writing. He dyed his hair blonde. His stomach was hard and he had soft skin. His friends were trendy and made sure you were aware of this. He would look down on others constantly. Both our families had a sibling who suffered from a mental illness severely. Whenever he danced he looked like a fuckwit. Perhaps this was due to his moves of punching the air and bopping his head, or maybe just because he took himself seriously.
MR NM: Lunch at a Vietnamese cafe. It had been two years or so, since we broke up. However we'd catch up every month or so, always doing the same thing we'd do when we were together. These included getting coffee and cake at our favourite Italian cafe, eating his home made lasagna in bed or going for a drive as he'd play his favourite music to me.
MR SH: Attempts were made by him after I broke it off to remain friends. I rejected these attempts. Once we caught up. Despite telling him that we "both had enough friends and didn't need anymore" there were a few text messages, emails and missed calls. I once spoke to him on the phone, I enjoyed this. Perhaps it was the physical distance between us that allowed this .
After both the encounters I realized something:
The ex - be it boyfriend or girlfriend- falls into the category of a past favourite food.
When you visit the dish again, there are two paths you can find yourself trekking.
1. With your first bite you revisit the sensations of why it was your favourite food. Its a very comfortable feeling. A lot of memories are brought back such as who you ate it with, time you ate it, moments that proceed and after it and occurred during it. You may also experience new something you never noticed before, this may be a new texture or herb and ultimately add allure to the dish.
2. You are reminded of why you stopped ordering it in the first place. Each chew motions more and more disgust. You feel remorse at the fact you wasted all that time ordering it when you could have ordered other dishes. This feeling intensifies when your eye gaze on the menu and you suddenly notice delightful options. Why didnt you notice these before? Further, new taste sensations fly into your mouth as you continue to chew which only further disgusts you. As you look down finally, you feel a snarl slip across your face and you think "I actually choose this."
MR NM: PATH ONE: I Strolled along the city streets after a horrid day. It was windy, and I was wearing a spotted jumper from the 80s. He remarked my shoulders looked nice and I told him it was teh jumper, there were shoulder pads in it. He told me to stop biting my nails. but then went quiet. He was determined to let me speak. He wanted to know why the day was awful. As I tried to steer it away, using jokes as cover techniques, he refused to take part in it. Instead he directed it back to the unfortable topic. No attempts were made to design a solution or judgment. But simply a rough large hand slipped in my pink hand. We shared singaporean noodles. He noted they were the best nooodles he'd ever tasted. I agreed, they were quite delicious. A singular noodle flopped on my shoe.
MR SH: PATH TWO: After a night out I arrived home at 11 am. I showered quickly and ran to met him. He met me on the street walking over to me as I descended the tram. This instantly annoyed me as did his hand pocketed waltz of a walk. His hair was mousy brown, he told me he'd stopped highlighting it. We sat at a frozen yogurt cafe. He ate pie and then cherry ice cream and attempted to make me feel awkward about my undercut. His face looked sickly I felt ill thinking I'd slept in his bed. I told him about the concert and he tried to make me feel stupid for making the choices I made. He told me his friends thought I was a slut. Then when I thought my opinion of him couldnt get any lower, he responded to finding out I had a new boyfriend by telling me about he;d been seeing a stripper. He spoke of her being incredible at sex, in awe of his body but simply not understanding him. I brushed my sunglasses over my face and rested my head on my arm. His face twitched again when he asked me the same questions regarding my boyfriend. He slipped in 'sly' comments regarding me being a whore. Perhaps the crescendo moment of the painful afternoon came when he exclaimed that 'this stripper' - this was how he referred to her- believed he was deeper than he actually was. He told me he understood most things but failed to feel any emotional feeling to them. I blushed, embarrassed that I'd been associated with such a man.
My two tram ride home were filled with anxiety and remorse. Regret that I'd hurt someone so inherently respectable. And worry that such a man may have infected me with some of his disgusting characteristics and traits.
The best conclusion I came to was the best break up song to ilsten to is 'Most of the Time ' By Bob Dylan.
xxxxx F