Atlantic Ocean thoughts

Thursday, July 22nd, 2010

Bittersweet Homecoming

When is waking up at 4:30 a.m. considered late? Answer: when your international flight is at 6:45 a.m. And the airport is a 45 minute drive. B and I snored through three alarms and only on his mom's 3rd phone call did I stir. Then everything was fast-motion with half-opened eyes. And the trusty Fiat his sister lent us for the airport drive wasn't exactly designed as a get-away car, with 750cc engine and not enough gas.

As I'm flying over the Atlantic, my only concerns are for the bottles of wine and red pepper spread packed haphazardly in my duffel. I'm imagining red wine soaked clothing and broken glass jar shards of red peppers smeared over my belongings. The price you pay for packing your bag at midnight, choosing to spend more minutes cuddling in with your man than ziplocking your liquids.

When I left on this trip, I was nervous about fitting in. I bought new euro-trash jeans, I got my hair highlighted to hell, I got my nails and toes looking their best, I practiced Serbian greetings, I stressed over gifts for B's family, I read the book “Questions to ask before you say I Do,” and I fretted. Totally fretted. Felt no matter what I did I wasn't going to be good enough for his family, for him, felt there were so many things about myself I couldn't change. And in a way, looking back now, I feel I was being superficial, I was being insecure. I thought the cultural differences between us were driving a wedge – but when I got to finally meet his family and friends, it seemed we were all more alike than different.

And the warning signs of an imperfect relationship were there before I left Miami to join B in Serbia. I was nervous and I couldn't talk to him about it. Red flag. The day before I came, he told me that he wasn't bringing me to meet or stay with his family and he wasn't telling them I was in Serbia. It made me feel like a stray dog, but I totally was going to try and make the best of it. Because I make the best of things.

When I first saw him at the airport, I didn't even know how to be with him – I started crying when he hugged me and I tried to blink the tears away; I was just so happy/sad/empty all at once. When we were sitting in the taxi, I didn't know if I could touch him or hold his hand, the space between us was just so strained. And I didn't understand what was happening – a week before we'd been having late night phone calls and saying 'I love yous” 'I miss yous' and sending each other pictures and sharing our lives. And then I was there in Belgrade and it felt like I was the most un-wanted person in his life and I wondered how much I was in it for the adventure and what amount of shit I would take and what I was going to do with two duffel bags of crap I had packed not thinking I was going to be a nomadic single traveler.

But now, almost 2 months later, things feel different. I think our relationship is in a new place. This past week with B and his family in his hometown was probably my favorite week of the entire trip. Despite criss-crossing south eastern Europe on a Harley Davidson and seeing amazing sights and doing unbelievable things, this past week was everything I imagined the trip would be when I originally bought my ticket. I saw B as a son, uncle, brother, friend and it was refreshing. This is a good man. I love this man. We were relaxed with each other, we were enjoying each other. I want to try this again. When he gets back to Miami...