The Ex Queen of Self Abandonment
Tikal, Guatemala August 2019
Life has a whimsical and unexpected way of coming full circle. Three years had passed since I last saw his name flash across the screen of my phone, but there he was:
The Italian Stallion
The Most Romantic Man in the world
He was the first man I connected with after the frenetic finale of a failed 9-year relationship. I was deep in the jade jungle of Guatemala, near the mystical waters of Semuc Champey when I fell not into their turquoise pools, but into the chocolate brown ones of this man from Milan.
To make matters worse, he was irresistibly nicknamed Lello and he showered me with incessant caresses that transformed me into some sort of desperate addict. His love, or lust, rather, became my drug of choice, my elixir of life that kept me in afloat amidst a groggy fog of grief.
As he drew me into his body on a dark, jungle path, I felt myself melt like never before. His hand stroked my cheek, his arm cupped my waist, and his lips grazed mine in a mist of sensuality that made me levitate. He whispered to me sweet nothings in Italian, the words rolling off his tongue like butter.
I was doomed. My powers were stripped as I fell into his sensual snare. The autonomy I once had over my life was long gone with the wind.
I attached to this stranger of a man for reasons that can only be explained by how much pain I was secretly holding onto.
It was an exceptionally pathetic part of my life but, given my then current circumstance, I made ammends by understanding how desperate I was for love that I threw myself away for the sake of connection. I abandoned the deepest desires of my heart for a man I barely knew, a man who had not proven that he was worthy of such devotion. Yet I thrust it at him, unaware that he not only didn’t ask for it, but he didn’t really want it.
Despite the fact that we had no chance of a future, he was also kind of an asshole. Yet, I dove headfirst into the trap, knowing on some level that I was jodida, (ahem….”screwed”). Such was the suffering and malady of my maimed and tortured heart that my wounds led the way, this time onto a battlefield where I was completely exposed, without a single means of armor to protect me.
The gaping hole in my heart needed filling and, so, instead of heading to Lake Atitlan, like I so dearly wanted to do, I follow my Italian lover further into the jungle. I piled into a rental car with him and the other Italians as we headed north to the ruins of Tikal. As we left Lanquin, I looked in the rearview mirror to see a part of myself looking after me in dismay, wondering why I’m headed in the opposite direction of where I wanted to be going.
My answer sat beside me, pressed against the left side of my body. Lello would periodically pet me, purposefully let his breath linger over my skin as he whispered in my ears and squeezed higher and higher on my thighs. This intoxication continued for all of our 8-hour journey.
We stopped in Flores to stretch our legs and ease our bladders. At the topmost part of the small island, Lello found me exploring a particularly picturesque vantage point when we suggested we take a photo together. I almost cried on the spot. The man I just left never suggested we take a picture together in all of the 9 years we spent together. Here was this beautiful Italian man standing beside me not just unashamed to be with me, but actually desiring to.
It touched a part of me that hadn’t been touched in a long while, if at all. The desire to be desired effortlessly beat out my desire to be in Atitlan. I felt a sense of belonging with all 4 of the Italians. Yet, there were other competing forces at play. As Lello and I snapped a selfie, I felt a sudden pain in my pelvic region. I knew the feeling all too well. It was a looming urinary tract infection: the absolute worse thing that could happen to me amidst my sweltering, sultry fairytale.
I could endure much. I thought not of my health but how to numb it, asking someone for an ibuprofen. Some higher power knew my tactics and maimed Lello for good measure. As punishment for my treason, I suddenly lost Lello’s favor as he lost his health. He developed a fever at an alarming rate and with it an erupting flow of bodily liquids from all exit points. My master plan of getting swept off my feet in the most unexpected of places is shot down and, with it, my spirit.
I fall into a deep abyss of self loathing, wondering why I abandoned the sacred lake to see the remnants of Tikal. In every sense of the word, I chose ruin over a place known for its healing powers. As Lello pushes me further away, my heart smashes into a million pieces. Yet, I have no other choice but to move forward. He rejects me and I must make onward plans. In the wake of do or die, my soul rallies.
I make the plan. I book the transportation. I execute the steps. Lello helps me lift my bags into a taxi and we embrace for the last time. For one last moment, we are back to how it all began. He swoops me into his arms, holding me tightly. The electricity between us is impervious to time’s passing and we stand for an eternity, eyes locked on one another. Then, he draws my chin to him to give me the most decadent kiss, one that lifts my feet in levatition from the ground.
“Ciao, bella,” he says, never taking his gaze off mine. I fall into the car and am swept off to Lake Atitlán, traveling the expanse of Guatemala in this trance-like state, with no man in tow.
I didn’t so much save myself from self-abandonment than I was forced to, but, still, I escaped the confines of a relationship that wasn’t for me. I spent the past 9 years with a man who never really loved me and I was terribly vulnerable to the same trap.
At Atitlán, I find myself again. Broken from the spell of man, I roam freely, saying “yes” to every little whim that beckons me. I move forward, one step at a time, letting my soul lead. I hug love back into myself as I rock on a chair under an awning and watch the impressive light show of a thunderstorm. Nothing quite says summer like a storm.
Nothing quite says freedom like summer.
My freedom is my sovereignty, the absolute power I have over my life. It’s a state of being that has no ceiling, no limits, and no confines. The possibilities are endless and my being is just as magnetic, just as reverential as the lightning that strikes in the sky with a voice just as commanding as the booming thunder.
More men come and I let them pass, understanding that they are but a passerby who will walk just a few short steps with me on this path of life. I thank them silently for their company and their lessons and then, I turn inward.
It is a pattern that repeats many times in my life. While I battle defining my identity out of the context of having relation with a man, I fall prey to abandon myself in the years that follow. It’s not a battle, but a war to reclaim yourself.
I grow much in the next 3 years, weaving in and out of relationships, never fully healing, but growing stronger with the termination of each. Lello is not the first or the last time I allow myself to fall into the trap of letting man’s lust temporarily relieve the pain of my punctured heart.
3 years later, I wonder what I myself will choose when I see his name flash on my screen, telling me that he, too, is in Medellin.
After all this time, my heart sparks at the idea of a romantic tryst with a long-lost lover. Yet, my soul steadies my excitement, bringing me back to my own center, reminding me of what I really want for myself.
I look out upon the balcony and onto the twinkling city below. Past the horizon is a million trillion possibilities. It’s summer again and freedom lives in the air and in my bones. I ponder the choices, the could-be’s, the what-if’s, and tap my chest, wondering if I’m strong enough to choose what’s best for me. As I stand upon the upper limits of the city, I feel like a Queen looking upon her dominion. Living at such heights, with such a title comes with a sense of responsibility to respect and honor myself and preserve my heart’s true desires.
What will I choose?
Even I do not know.
