I think I stepped on toes.
I told my little Greek man that I liked that we were apart.
I didn’t mean that I liked that we were apart per se just that I think we had something special that both of us were willing to travel 2000 miles back and forth, message, meet the parents etc. for.
Maybe my real message got lost in translation but there is something that I read by one of the wonderwomen of Telegraph columnists, (by no means a prize writer but more a dithering inconsequential insecure doornob) that she likes to message her boyfriend every day and when she tried to limit those messages she found that she disliked it but her boyfriend didn’t.
My boyfriend and I are honeymooners, having only been together a month, we are communicating in a relationship from the UK to Greece. And we communicate more than often. He is from Athens and I am from London. The whole race thing isn’t an issue we’ve broached yet. He’s a natural romantic. Thinks everything is rosy unless I talk about another guy and I have all the same opportunities at jobs that my white male compatriots have.
It’s so cute, I want to squeeze him.
I think everyone thinks I mention the race thing to make people feel guilty. I don’t I just recognise people’s taste may be to discriminate against me on the accounts they feel less comfortable with people of other races. I get on well because I am just so English. Caribbean culture isn’t that strong anyway.
Back to the point. I read this tumblr note that gave me an idea about us. That the reason we are so close is because we are at odds against surviving. We have to fight to exist and fight to be with each other. So that means the little conversations on Viber and Skype, we share more of ourselves because we can’t be together all the time.
I think the sexual encounters would confuse it all as it has in the past. I’m pretty good at the whole sex thing, not to toot my own horn. It’s pretty easy when you get the hang of it. No hint of complacency at all that is.
It’s just that I have always been independent. Although I think he is wonderful and gorgeous and very lovable, he has a tendency to be too protective. I have this sickening, ungrateful need to shout:
“I’ve survived without a man to protect me, I’m pretty sure I’m not going to fall apart in the next 5 minutes.”
Independence is a hard thing to give up when you have retained it for so long, and I’ve retained my independence untethered and uninhibited by the requests and restraints of a male for some time. In fact all the time, I don’t know a single guy or prospective boyfriend that has been able to rein in my willfulness. I am naturally untame-able. I wear my hair messy and my opinion on my sleeve. I like it this way.
So maybe what I meant didn’t get lost in translation. In actual fact, I said what I meant. I mean that I like my space. And him being a large distance away means I get to be a girlfriend, (not in cheating or anything so stoning-worthy) then I get to be myself, independent, self-sufficient, girl-of-the-world as well.
I mean let’s face it. The period of time I have to be an independent person, aimless and free isn’t exactly limitless. For a female, your days of freedom are numbered. Owned by parents, governed by some horrid relationship, encased and curbed by some job, and inhibited by our own need for companionship, freedom is something you hear about on the TV when they wax lyrical on the tenants of the glass ceiling and the axes that break it.
Honestly, it fills me with a great source of pride that I can lift and pack my own 25 kg boxes. I can travel on my own, in the UK and abroad, I can walk the streets at night, dress how I like, eat what I like and be as resourceful as I need to be to get things done. I feel like I’m a force of nature almost and it is my guilty pleasure.