(no subject)
Wow, it's been three years since I've been on here....only remembered I HAD a "Djurrnall" a few days ago.
Three years is a long time. But it really isn't...
We met in a Starbucks for the first time.
It was February 1st, 2008, the snow was crisp, the wind was cold. Typical February evening.
We started dating about a week later. Time went by and before I knew it we were practically living together in a little condo on the outskirts of Aylmer, PQ. In September of 2009 we moved into our first apartment together, I was so happy. We painted, split 50/50 on everything, it was our home.
I got the call a few weeks later to leave for my dream job. I was summoned to the French vacation paradise resort of Club Med - Columbus Isle, on the island of San Salvador, Bahamas. But you and I were ready for this. We had spoken of living apart for a while, all the while staying 'together' during my absence of about six months. All seemed written in stone.
November came and that's when it all changed.
November 8th. Along the south shores of San Salvador, outside of village of Sugar Loaf, I lost control of the motorbike I had rented and crashed alongside the ocean.
With a gaping hole in my knee and scars to remind me forever, I hopped on the back of a companion's other bike and trekked back the long hour drive back to Columbus Isle, on the North-Western side of the island. After a gruelling ordeal at the village clinic and nothing stronger than extra-strength Motrin to help with the pain, I refused transfer to Nassau to get care. I wanted to come home. I wanted to be seen by my family doctor. I couldn't afford the hospital stay nor the operation costs. Most importantly, I wanted to see him again, and this was my opportunity to go back and recover properly before returning.
November 13th. I boarded Flight 187 from San Salvador, with a stop in Turks and Caicos, finally arriving in MTL. I wasn't alone - Gatta had broken his wrist, and Sophie had suffered a bad ear infection after diving the week before and needed to go to MTL to get checked out.
I took the bus with Gatta back to Ottawa and got a lift from his Dad back to our apartment in Hull. I walked through the door...
And my house was half-filled with people I didn't know, and a boyfriend who barely acknowledged that I had returned.
All the other details aside, in mid-December we parted ways, and I moved home shortly after New Years. I discovered that he had not been completely faithful to me, had other people stay in our apartment while I was away, among other things. I had a New Years party at our apartment while he was in MTL with his 'new friends' and get this - the only people who came to my NYE party were HIS best friends.
Jason's definition of irony - Spending NYE with his ex's best friends, without him.
I moved back home on January 3rd, and haven't looked back. I've learned to not get into a relationship again before knowing I am going to leave, or should have broken it off with him before I left. I've lost a lot in terms of respect for him.
Bullshit. Apparently two years means nothing to him. And while I was gone, I was completely devoted and committed.
It's now mid-February and I must admit that I am still bitter about the whole ordeal. It's gotten easier with time, though. It helped that I moved out, for sure. Having shared a bed with him after we broke up for about a month wasn't very good for my emotional center. I was broken pretty badly after that.
And I still am. However, I'm taking things slow, day by dsy, and realized that this all probably happened for a reason. It probably wasn't meant to last, thus why I had the accident, came home, we broke up, I moved home...
And now I'm trying to move on. I wish I could say I learned something out of this whole ordeal in a positive manner, but... my instincts are leaning more and more towards "Don't trust anyone, not even your boyfriend." There was nothing wrong with us. We talked about everything.
Whatever. There's more out there. I have nothing left holding me back. Hopefully when the rotation period starts in April I can get re-assigned and will never have to come back to this awful place.
I hate it here.
When you start a new life in another country, another climate, a whole new world, really, and get it all ripped out of your hands and come back to this...it's a little more bothersome on the soul than one may think.
Regardless, next time I leave, maybe I'll meet another "Dream boy" and won't need to worry about all the annoying little things that North Americanism has shed on this pathetic lifestyle here.
J
Three years is a long time. But it really isn't...
We met in a Starbucks for the first time.
It was February 1st, 2008, the snow was crisp, the wind was cold. Typical February evening.
We started dating about a week later. Time went by and before I knew it we were practically living together in a little condo on the outskirts of Aylmer, PQ. In September of 2009 we moved into our first apartment together, I was so happy. We painted, split 50/50 on everything, it was our home.
I got the call a few weeks later to leave for my dream job. I was summoned to the French vacation paradise resort of Club Med - Columbus Isle, on the island of San Salvador, Bahamas. But you and I were ready for this. We had spoken of living apart for a while, all the while staying 'together' during my absence of about six months. All seemed written in stone.
November came and that's when it all changed.
November 8th. Along the south shores of San Salvador, outside of village of Sugar Loaf, I lost control of the motorbike I had rented and crashed alongside the ocean.
With a gaping hole in my knee and scars to remind me forever, I hopped on the back of a companion's other bike and trekked back the long hour drive back to Columbus Isle, on the North-Western side of the island. After a gruelling ordeal at the village clinic and nothing stronger than extra-strength Motrin to help with the pain, I refused transfer to Nassau to get care. I wanted to come home. I wanted to be seen by my family doctor. I couldn't afford the hospital stay nor the operation costs. Most importantly, I wanted to see him again, and this was my opportunity to go back and recover properly before returning.
November 13th. I boarded Flight 187 from San Salvador, with a stop in Turks and Caicos, finally arriving in MTL. I wasn't alone - Gatta had broken his wrist, and Sophie had suffered a bad ear infection after diving the week before and needed to go to MTL to get checked out.
I took the bus with Gatta back to Ottawa and got a lift from his Dad back to our apartment in Hull. I walked through the door...
And my house was half-filled with people I didn't know, and a boyfriend who barely acknowledged that I had returned.
All the other details aside, in mid-December we parted ways, and I moved home shortly after New Years. I discovered that he had not been completely faithful to me, had other people stay in our apartment while I was away, among other things. I had a New Years party at our apartment while he was in MTL with his 'new friends' and get this - the only people who came to my NYE party were HIS best friends.
Jason's definition of irony - Spending NYE with his ex's best friends, without him.
I moved back home on January 3rd, and haven't looked back. I've learned to not get into a relationship again before knowing I am going to leave, or should have broken it off with him before I left. I've lost a lot in terms of respect for him.
Bullshit. Apparently two years means nothing to him. And while I was gone, I was completely devoted and committed.
It's now mid-February and I must admit that I am still bitter about the whole ordeal. It's gotten easier with time, though. It helped that I moved out, for sure. Having shared a bed with him after we broke up for about a month wasn't very good for my emotional center. I was broken pretty badly after that.
And I still am. However, I'm taking things slow, day by dsy, and realized that this all probably happened for a reason. It probably wasn't meant to last, thus why I had the accident, came home, we broke up, I moved home...
And now I'm trying to move on. I wish I could say I learned something out of this whole ordeal in a positive manner, but... my instincts are leaning more and more towards "Don't trust anyone, not even your boyfriend." There was nothing wrong with us. We talked about everything.
Whatever. There's more out there. I have nothing left holding me back. Hopefully when the rotation period starts in April I can get re-assigned and will never have to come back to this awful place.
I hate it here.
When you start a new life in another country, another climate, a whole new world, really, and get it all ripped out of your hands and come back to this...it's a little more bothersome on the soul than one may think.
Regardless, next time I leave, maybe I'll meet another "Dream boy" and won't need to worry about all the annoying little things that North Americanism has shed on this pathetic lifestyle here.
J