On one drunken morning I jotted down on my iPhone:
“Fuck “Someone Like You”. What I want to find is someone like me”.
I only remember I was mad as hell. I think I was angry at a friend, don’t ask me why. I left the taxi and wandered for half an hour around Wedding. It must have been 5am on a spring morning after a party, because it was too bright for my eyes. I also remember passing Brüsselerstr. Well, it is not like I really remember, it’s what I read on the same drunken note I found the other day on my Notes app.
Back then I had been mostly angry at myself for the way I am. I like me, I like me a lot. If you know me intimately enough, you know I’m very pleased to have met me. I’m an egomaniac with a good heart.
Most of my life I’ve been wondering why people do this or that to me. Since I got my first friend, that has been the leit motiv: Monica, you cannot expect others to think, react and do things the way you do.
Most of the times, the ones who love me blame it to my uniqueness. But with the years, experiences and through moments of clarity I’m starting to understand that going through life this way makes me a passive agent. Taking everything so personal makes me speak up, care about everyone around me, put the world’s burdens on my shoulders. Makes me likeable I think. But also makes me my worst enemy.
I’ve always struggled to let love in my life, and that mostly is romantic love. I’ve always been about friendship love. I’m 32 and I’ve only had 2 relationships. I’ve fucked around as much as I could, that’s for sure. But I’ve never really been in love with love. I guess because it hurts, because it makes you dependent and until very recently, it kinda involved monogamy.
When I wrote that note, I had been 3 years already in a solid relationship. But I was still angry. I didn’t feel fully understood and matched. I offer so much, I give so much, I’m so cool. Where’s that person hidden, the one that just like me is SO MUCH all the time?
And yet, he’s been here all along – I just wasn’t understanding what it means to find someone like me. It’s not simply the one that says yes to you all the time. That nods at all your opinions, rants and demands. Or who reacts as you would expect. It’s the one whose waves synch with yours, whose tide adapts to yours.
Which brings up a lot of doubt when experienced: where’s the friction? Somehow we all were made to equal love and passion to big love shows, big clashes, big obstacles to overcome together, big dreams, big results, big faithfulness, that’s what BIG LOVE is made of. So when our lives are so aligned, it seems too easy.
You and I, we want the same, we are so like-minded. We want to live in Berlin, we want to travel, we want to learn, we want to be free, and we don’t want kids. We don’t want to own a house. We don’t want to own each other, we don’t want to marry. We’ll never face a mortgage, sleepless nights with crying babies, a long-distance relationship or a room full of lawyers dividing our love. It’s not really romantic, it’s just very practical. Some days that stings: am I with you because that’s the easy thing to do? I mean, it is not fully easy, it hasn’t been really easy to be here after 4 years and a half, but 85% of the time it is THAT easy.
And then I remember that romantic love is always full of doubt. Either because there’s conflict or because there’s too much harmony. And I see all the advantages of our love in another light. With you I can hold hands while we both get lost in our mobile screens for hours. We can stay silent together without pause, just like in our first shared breakfast. There are no big broadcasted affirmations of our love in our feeds – we both know how dangerous that is – but you have the solution to my problems before I even ask. We fix each other on an ongoing basis. We loop, you take the reins when I’m done for now.
I see now how you spent two years showing me the way to believe in me, asking me daily to hit the road. I’m now sitting here, on a foldable red camping chair, wearing a bikini, facing this incredible Australian beach and getting ready to ship the first news about Instead of Kids. You believed in me and my writing before I did. It might work, it might fail, but I haven’t been this inspired in many many years. You brought me back to who I really am.
The morning after our random first hookup, my flatmate was waiting for me to wake up. She had found my bra in the living room and of course the bottle of red wine. I told her I wasn’t sure about what just happened, we felt so much like friends so I really didn’t see this being a thing. That was my answer. It felt too easy from the start, not too extraordinary.
The first time I realised how amazing we were is when my gynecologist asked me about you. I had asked her about the pill, which I had been trying to avoid all my life. She loved our story: a Spanish and a Turkish who fall in love in Berlin, fantastisch! – she said.
We are a little miracle, she was the first to open my eyes to that fact. And she didn’t know all the details: that I was born in El Salvador in the middle of a civil war, that I moved to Barcelona when I was 4. That you were born in Turkey and moved to Koblenz by the age of 6. Only that we met in Berlin. We are my favourite little miracle.
We were in Brisbane when this picture was taken. On the free city ferry, for a 90 minutes ride. We had fell silent for a long while, and I was bored taking selfies. I sank in my mind, thinking on how we survived our first month of road trip, spending 24/7 together, almost always in the van. And I held your hand, and told you very close to your ear: You are my favourite person in the whole world.
Why are you telling me now? That’s too cheesy – you said.
A little heartbreak, that was. Another one of the many you provoke every time you are not like me. That you don’t react like me, you don’t say what I would say. Those usually come when I get soft and I tell you cheesy things, which I don’t usually do. For a few seconds, while I feel the cracks in my heart, I wish I hadn’t let love in.
It’s always present for me: I could be on my own, I am somehow at my best when alone. But I met you, so I choose not someone like me or like you. Fuck someone like you. I choose exactly you, for as long as life hold us. Which I hope is long enough.
My sweet Cihanito, meine liebe Helmut. As a better writer than me once wrote, I’m happy because I’m breathing and you are breathing too. Thank you for taking me to this beach on the other side of the world, where I realised you’ve been there all along.