Green or blue?
I've been digging through stacks of tiny ceramic bowls and saucers for well over half an hour. The friendly shop keeper is giving me weird looks. On the last day of my stay in Istanbul, I spent the entire afternoon shopping for souvenirs for Matt, scavenging a whole street of bazaar stalls, nearly missing my flight. In Czech Republic, I went all the way back to Old Town to get him the Prague Starbucks mug for his city collection. Again, nearly missing my train.
When I finally plopped down on the train seat minutes before it pulls out of the station, I could barely contain my excitement. The train is headed for Amsterdam where Matt would be landing in a few hours.
Matt is coming to Europe to see me.
What could this mean?
I wondered if he meant anything by this grand gesture. Is he trying to show me how important our relationship is to him? Or am I overthinking the whole thing? He wants to see Greece and Italy. I want to see Greece and Italy, so why not do it together while I'm here?
Or, is there perhaps a deeper purpose? After all, Santorini is the go-to destination for honeymooners. Could he be thinking of... proposing?
Oh. My. God.
I really let myself dip into a fantasy of what it would be like to stand next to him on the altar of Notre-Dame Basilica in Montreal, with their pretty cobalt lights shimmering in the background. How I would be wearing Kate Middleton's wedding dress. How he would be Prince Matthew in shining tuxedo.
Ahem, I may be getting a little ahead of myself here...
Oh, but we had such a great time together when he was snapping pictures of everything, and I was the leading lady of his every frame. We went on boat trips and road trips. We hiked to the top of the Duomo and swam to the bottom of the Aegean Sea, planned the most amazing food journeys we would take across Italy together. We ate gelato and sipped cappuccino on the banks of Venice, watched laughing gondoliers slip and fall into the water canals, and we fell into the rhythm of each other's footsteps. We rode trains, ferries, buses, and donkeys together. He plucked a flower for me and he tucked it in my hair.
In Cinque Terre, Italy, we stayed in the loveliest Airbnb yet, on the sea cliffs of Vernazza – a tiny fishing village of winding stone steps and potted plants. Our balcony is practically above the water. I don't think we could go any further into the sea without falling in. Our room was painted white, with a black wall of exposed rocky cliffs. Which, combined with the white walls and dim-lighting, gave the space a cozy cave feel. We could hear the sound of waves at night, and see the tides wash the restaurant terrace clean.
When I emailed my friend Jasmine to report the marvel in excitement of the Euro trip, she replied, "Four weeks is a real test to see how you get along for such a long period of time."
I thought the way she said it sounded like a bad omen, and tried to brace myself for whatever that might come up. It turns out, petty irritations and annoyances began to surface as early as Berlin. One morning, Matt and I rose early for a walking tour of the city. We wanted to be there 15 minutes ahead of the tour, so he could buy a mug from Starbucks with the word "Berlin" written on it. I was slow. As usual. We got there in time for the tour, but not in time for the mug. I tried to assure him we can still buy the mug after the tour, but he was insistently grumpy.
We followed the tour guide, who took us through the major landmarks of Berlin. She talked for a bit, then stopped at the Holocaust Memorial, one of Berlin's more solemn open spaces. She took a break there and let us explore the massive expanse of concrete slabs by ourselves. This monument was built in 2003 by the architect Peter Eisenman. Arranged in a grid pattern, 2711 "stelae" or concrete slabs of irregular heights – some below the waist, some towering over the head – spread out on a sloping field. Navigating it, you must be careful, or the path you thought would take you to the other side can quickly narrow into a dead-end and you will lose yourself in the maze. Of course you could step on the lower concrete slabs to get yourself out of there. But no one did. The slabs looked so much like gravestones. Eisenman intended for the sculpture to give off an uneasy, confusing atmosphere, symbolizing a supposedly ordered system that has lost touch with human reason.
I thought Matt had gotten over the mug incident, but now (in harmony with the gloomy atmosphere of the cemetery) the color of his face really turned to ash. The sky was drizzling rain. I was holding the umbrella. But he kept away from me on the other side of the plaza. He would rather to be wet and uncomfortable than dry and next to me. Still fuming over the fact I made him rush for the walking tour.
At first I didn't think much of it. I was just happy Matt was there and we were together. His occasional outbursts of annoyance were simply results of jetlag and discomfort with being in a new environment. Nothing that can't be solved with a cup of good hot chocolate.
But then it happened again in Athens. When we landed, a French couple was lining up in front of us to get train tickets. We watched as the guy bought the tickets, and the girl figured out the transit map like tinker bell figured out the path in her backyard – with ease and plenty of twinkle. We did it the same way. But it took me forever to decipher the map, yet for the love of God, I couldn't figure it out. (I swear I'm good with the maps!) I must have stood in front of the transit map for twice as long as the tinker bell girl, until the entire line of people had gotten their tickets and gone off. Matt walked over to the map, studied me, and exhaled hotly. Bull-like.
"Why are you so slow?" he asked with weary disgust, "Let's just go."
"Slow" is a dirty word in our culture. As Carl Honore said in his 2005 TED talk, "It's a byword for "lazy," "slacker," for being somebody who gives up. You know, "he's a bit slow." It's actually synonymous with being stupid."
I pretended not to feel hurt by this.
We went to the platform and got on the first train that pulled in. Our eyes glued to the little green light above the doors, which indicates what stop we're on and how many more we have left to go. Two minutes in, we realized we were on the wrong train. We hurried off at the next stop, and sat down on the bench in the empty platform. It was late, around 9 o'clock. Matt's face had that pretend stoicism look on it – muscles stiffened into a mask – barely concealing his irritation. He wouldn't look me in the eye. He didn't even look at the map.
I said to him, "I know you've had a long day and that you're tired. And you can't wait to get to the house and sleep. But why do you have to call me slow? Why are you taking it out on me? I've had a long day too, but I'm not snapping at you and taking it out on you."
"I'm sorry," he said immediately, a face full of remorse.
But it didn't stop there. Things came to a boiling point in Mykonos, Greece. One night, Matt asked me to go to the nightclub with him. I didn't want to go, so we stayed in. The next morning he went for a drive alone, on the ATV for over an hour, without telling me or inviting me. I lay in bed, feeling a strange sense of abandonment in a shiver down the spine. This was supposed to be our great, romantic trip. A leap forward in our relationship. Why was I feeling like we were drifting apart?
I had no idea the happiest, most confident woman he'd met had somehow become so repulsive to him. So full of flaws. It's as if by some voodoo magic my aunt has taken over Matt's body and was now living and breathing through him. Why can't you book your trips far in advance? Why don't you buy your train tickets ahead of time? Why do you have to rush to everything? Why do you sleep in in the mornings? Why can't you read a transit map? Why can't you want to go to the nightclub?
That afternoon, we took the ATV out again to explore the northern tip of the island. Two minutes in we began to argue about something, and I became so incensed, I said, "You can get off now and walk back!"
I don't remember what we were arguing about, but I definitely didn't mean that.
Without a word, he got off and left.
I stared after him, furious and disbelieving.
I slammed on the gas, and set out alone. That trip around the island was one of the scariest moments of my life. The entire time I was clenching the steering fearful I would lose my way or run out of gas. After an hour and half of gripping the handlebars, an hour and half of staring at the blinking gas meter, an hour and half of sitting in my own butt sweat on the hot seat built for two, I was getting a little sick of the sport. When I finally saw the familiar bend that leads back to my hotel, I wanted to yell Hallelujah.
Just then, a little scooter carrying a man and a puppy passed by. I veered to the left to avoid them while I made the turn. But the steering was so heavy, the ATV was so fast, I dove straight off the road.
In that moment, time really did slow down. I became hyper aware of everything that surrounded me. The road in front of me turned sideways, as my ATV toppled over. My heart was pounding, and a sense of powerlessness washed over me as I realized there was nothing I could do to turn things around. I remember thinking, right there in midair, "I hope I don't break anything."
It wasn't that serious of a wreck though. I rammed the front wheel into a big rock off the shoulderless road, puncturing the tire and destroying the steering system. A long strip of skin scraped off my left shin. My lower back was scratched up. My scarf was torn. But other than that I was fine. The guy with the puppy stopped to help me. He gave me a ride back to the hotel.
Matt was sitting on a chair outside the house, still in a foul mood. I limped over to him, feeling embarrassed, sad, hurt, and in shock all at once. I would have liked a hug from Matt, but he didn't look like he wanted to touch me.
Yet quietly, he took care of business. He brought back the ATV. Examined the damage. Talked to the rental company so I don't get slammed with a hefty repair fee.
* * *
On our last day in Greece, he took me to a restaurant in Oia for dinner.
"Now that you have traveled Europe like you've always wanted, what are you planning to do next?" Matt asked.
I found it odd that he asked this. "I'm going to London of course."
Of course I am. Everything is in place. This is the year. Why would I change my mind now?
There was a pause. He smiled a wistful smile.
"It would be pretty cool if you can make it on your own there, without asking your parents for help. That would be something."
"Come on, it's not like I haven't had a job before."
"Still, even if no one else knows about it, you will know. You will feel good inside."
That night, I watched Matt leave for his ferry back to Athens. He was wearing a blue and grey hoodie, carrying a giant back pack. His hair was swept to the side, as he always did, like a Korean superstar. It was upsetting watching him walk down the dock amid all these lovers on romantic vacations. He looked so tall and lonely. He looked so wrong set against this bustling backdrop of tourists on their honeymoon. It made me want to cry.
A week later, he broke up with me.
-----------------
Please let me hear your thots in the comments section!