One piece, Two piece, No Bikini

 Everything I chose to leave behind is cluttered on the floor now, clothes and items fill the big empty closets, the halls echo from and emptiness. I kick an empty wine bottle and look at a picture of my fiancé and I. Flowers that were once alive and bright turned into crispy dull brown, little traces of life where scattered thought the house, a card sat on our night stand. I look at my 3 karat diamond glittering in the morning sun it sparkling brilliantly, it sits high on my left finger, I gently remove it and place it in my pocket. I pick up an old journal that sat on the floor and open to a page that states    “I’m bored, restless, a relentless urge takes over my body, and my heart beat races and adrenalin pumps through my veins like morphine. Numbing. I can not decide, struggle between what society and culture says I should be doing and my own destiny. I am fighting a holly war with myself. Why am I staying in this, why does it never seize fire. I am plagued with what lies beyond the horizon. Visions of the Mediterranean and villas are in my dreams”  I laugh out loud with happiness, but still a deep hurt remains. I am about to board a plane in a few days, I will be along the Mediterranean Sea in Sicily. He takes my hand and my baggage and leads me to the door. I take one last look at what my life would have been. I look at the empty cream colored walls, I breathe deeply and remember designing ever corner, hanging every picture that was taken down in my home, in our home only the nails remain. All that is left is memories and a hole in the wall, he screamed, and I shrank, I stopped eating and become smaller each day. The only thing that I could control.  I glance back for the last time and quietly close the door behind me. “Are you okay?”, he asks “I am better now” I smile back and continue on with out wanting to return. A woman must know when it is time to leave and when she must go.  

I wake up hoping that it was a bad dream, that nothing that I had dreamt had been true. I sink closer to my reality, my dreams. I woke up with visions of the Mediterranean fresh on my skin like dew from the rain. It is real now, I am no longer dreaming. I have been living in Sicily for one month, what I dreamt came true. Perhaps I never wanted to finish my adventure, never wanted to be something I was never met to be.  

I sit on the beach soaking in amber sun, looking around I had imagined being here before, maybe in another life, another time or in dreams filled with colors. I am  sipping wine and I bite into an apricot grow from the Sicilian sun, filled with fresh strawberry jam, the apricot is bitter and fresh and the jam is sweet and home made. I get goose bumps even though it is not cold. I feel alive, my skin tingles with the simple pleasures of life. It is the first time in a long cold winter that I feel inspired, pure and in love with just me fills my heart and soul and keeping me alive.

 Time and space escapes. I am exactly where I am supposed to be. I can be cured; I can heal because I am made to live. With any luck I can learn a lesson from the beautiful curvy women that pass before me on the powdery sand; they are comfortable in their own skin, or so it seems. What a gift; what pleasure to love yourself for what you are.  Despite their flaws, size or age, all of the women wear toddler size bathing suits and run around on the beach chasing after small children or a lover. I watch in awe, my heart has grown with nothing but love for me and pride for them. Proud to be a woman, and content to live.   

The women in my “adopted family” sit on beach chairs forming a semi-circle, whispering and talking about the people passing by. Turning to face me, I get the feeling I am the topic of discussion. Ida translates for me and apparently there has been an agrement that I need to wear a smaller bikini, teasing me they say my bathing suit is like a grandma for my small frame. No, no I answer. I could never, I don’t have the body for that! Lesson number one in Sicily, there is no arguing with a Sicilian woman.  In a loving way one woman says “you have a fit, young body and wear a “big” bikini, wear a thong Krysta” they laugh and agree. You need to eat something girl, I could break you in two; like a chicken bone, snap! she purses her lips, here have some of this, passing me an ice cream cone. No, thanks I reply. We need to fatten you up a little says the grandmother. She stands up from here chair and comes over to me picking me up in one clean swoop rocking me like one of the children on the beach. I think she could bench press me if she tried. Her plump curves are flying in every direction as she laughs a beautiful toothless smile, I can not help but start laughing freely.

 The next night the Ida comes home from a day of shopping, she is carrying about twenty different bags. “Hello, everyone” she sings. We are sitting at the table talking and eating dinner, the evening news plays in the background, as I try to pick out the few familiar words. “I have presents” she calls. She hands me a small but chic bag. It is black with silver writing and tied with a small bow. I look at her slightly confused as she smiles back at me. “Open it” she reads my expression. I pull the bow and the bag opens, reaching into the bag I pull out an exquisite bathing suit in the style of a thong. It is an extra small and looks like it could fit a six year old. I tilt my head back a laugh with genuine delight. “Thank you” I whisper “Now you are one of the girls” she says.  She tells me to never hold back, just live, and it was my time to shine. “oh and Krysta, she adds , tomorrow is yours go to the beach and meet a nice boy in that bathing suit, enjoy” she winks. It is just me in a designer thong.

I am here to learn, to quest, to treasure, and to be me in a thong bikini.

Huh? Where am I?

Twilight zone that's the hell where

I’m officially in a twilight or hot zone. The family I am living with is dealing with many problems, This is so strange. I am stuck in the middle. I hear the shouting, and yelling constantly. Yes, yes I am in Italy but I am freaking deaf and my ears are ringing. I am thinking of consulting my physician in America, the only thing is I can’t hear a damn thing. I am being dramatic because yes, it’s Italy. But for Christ sake, everything is such a huge deal. I about lost it a few times. I was boiling the kid an egg and almost got into it with the mom, I mean who the hell cares it is a freaking boiled egg not a wedding cake. I told her “Scientifically, this water is boiling”. She didn’t understand, so I smiled and walked away. Who knew I would leave a big A-hole only to be replaced by a small A-hole. I am ready to go, really ready to go. I ran away from yelling and screaming only to hear other people yell and scream, at least I am quiet and tranquil here. If I see them beat the kid with a wooden spoon, shoe or other house hold objects again I may just jump out my window…Okay dramatic again because my window is a door that leads to a garden but shoot. Who does that? And what is normal in family life? My mother never chased me around with a wooden kitchen spoon.  On the bright side medal is never involved. Who am I to say what normal is, I am not. I do not judge, I do not have the right. I am open to all life styles. But, damn I am ready to run…it’s time for me to do the scaddale out of this twilight zone. I need to pack up my jet pack and jump of this whack and wild planet. What the shit? Ohh yeah your welcome Italy for breaking a boiled egg.

Breaking all the rules

I’m smoking cigarettes there is nothing left I guess

I broke all the rules both of my moms every set for me. Sitting in an Aeroporto that I have been multiple times for various reasons getting ready to go to Roma by myself.
I am ready for a trip that calls out to me. I feel the energy of the art and history in my bones. I drive my Italian car to the airport about 45 minutes from my home in Italy. Why they let me drive in Italy is beyond me but I go with the opportunity to roll down the windows, listen to Italian hip hop and  be completely free

I have been in Rome approximately ten minutes and have succeded to break the rules, many of them. I find myself in a black VW and my luggage stuffed into the back. In the front two handsome Italian me are trying to talk to me in English and me with them in Italian, I am sitting in the back seat with the windows down. It all started in a small airport in Sicily when my flight to Rome was delayed for an hour. I walk to the bar to get a coffee and sit down; I get out my journal and phone and try to translate an Italian text message into English from a man in Sicily. He is looking at me from across the airport, handsome and tall. He is young and dressed in boat shoes and a polo, I could not tell if he was from Italy or some where else. I look down at my notes then up at him through my eyelashes and blink twice just for good measure.

.

   A sure signal for him to say I may be interested. Looking back and forth now, my heart races in anticipation for what is about to follow. He walks over; I pretend that I do not see him. I look up and he is speaking rapid Italian. He asks if I want a coffee, I say no thank you. “A cocktail? A water?”  “No thank you” I respond. I say I do not speak Italian. He asks me if it is possible if he sits down, naturally I say of course. 

   I stare deep into his eyes and slightly get lost. I love the airport, it is a place for possibility, you never know what or who you may meet. I love waiting for the anticipating who I am going to sit next to, or meet or what you will find. I have learnt my lesson of buying expensive things in an airport, tempting as it may seem.

“I looking at you and you looking at me, can kiss” he says? In the back of a plane…I laugh.

  He asks if the seats are at your leisure. Lucky for me you sit where you find a place and we find a place in the very back like the bad kids at school. We spend the flight trying to talk and staring at each other. He asks me if he can take me to my hotel….of course I say. We wait an hour for our beaten up luggage and walk out side to the city of Rome. His handsome friend dressed in designer clothes and white sunglasses is waiting outside. He looks at me and we both laugh. “Look mom I picked up an Americana girl.” He opens the door and takes my luggage I climb in and not a second thought crosses my mind. I wonder what my mother would think if she saw me, and if this is consider hitch hiking.

    We speak in broken English through the city of Rome. We get lost and can not find my hotel, his hand reaches back to touch me, it fills me with electricity. Finally, after an hour and a half in the car with them we find my hotel in a back alley and they drop me off. He takes my baggage to the front desk and kisses me on the cheek while I wait for his move. He doesn’t make one, so I walk away with his number in my Italian phone and scent of him on my skin…

I am starving. I arrive at my hotel at 8 o’clock and have not eaten since breakfast. I take a quick shower talk to the front desk about places to visit and head out the door. I walk down desolate streets to find a restaurant and bar. Everyone in Rome is on holiday and it is very quiet. But, you can still its heart beating rapidly. I find a café, pizzaera and order delicious food from the waiter. We have a connection; and I ask him in Italian if he has family or a background from the Middle East. He says yes, and we can’t stop talking. I eat pizza fresh from a brick oven paired with a bottle of wine, two guys from the next table ask if they can join me.  We listen to music on the street and chat about everything, after the second round of lemoncello it is best to call it a night. My head is spining with wine and new friends, the two men pick up my bill and I head back to my hotel, stopping a young man for a cigarette and lighter. Why has happened to me?

Rules broken:

 1. Do not travel alone  2. Don’t talk to strangers.  3. Do not sit with men in the back of airplanes.  4. Never get in a car with someone you don’t know.  5. Don’t ever get in a car or spend time with someone in a foreign county you don’t know.  6. Don’t drink too much.  7. Don’t smoke.  8. Don’t wonder around in alleys at night  9. Don’t ask for a light from strangers late at night.  10. Don’t eat dinner after ten o’clock.  11. No espresso after 5 pm.  12. Don’t lie.

Ex Wedding Day

Ex wedding Day

July 10, 2010

“Are you sure?” she asks as she seals the envelopes to my save the dates. “Ummm, I am not sure about anything, but I think so.”  “Krysta you Have to be sure” says my mom. “Okay, mom I am sure.”  Fifteen minutes after I leave the house where I grew up I call her from the car, I am driving back to the house where my fiancé and I live. “Is everything okay honey” mom asks. Well, I was thinking maybe you should hold on to the save the dates just a few more days. Written on the bright colored magnets with our picture was the date July 10, 2010. I already bought my dress and picked out the intimate details of the romantic castle wedding. The combination of wedding stress and the extreme problems my fiancé and I were having, so I lost weight or rather I stopped eating.

  Then it got bad, it was great before but now it turned ugly, bitter like a sour candy that makes your lips curl but you just can’t spit it out. Finally I spit it out, I packed my backpack, the one that has traveled around the world with me in the middle of the night and a month and a half from that night, I find myself living with a family in Southern Italy.

            I decided to wake up at 6:00am on my Ex wedding day. I plan to walk to the beach before everyone rose for the day and swim and do yoga. I secretly hoped it would rain but the air was warm with a cool breeze that blow into my window. Perfect I murmured to myself. I head out the door of my flat and walk the cobble stone path to the white sand.

            I find two handsome young men next to me; we are alone on a deserted beach at 6:00am. I thought it would be awesome to strip down to nothing and swim freely like a desperate mermaid. Instead I come to my senses and realize this may not be the best idea in my state of tears and after thoughts on this day, maybe tomorrow I will strip. So I run. I run and run until my lungs can’t hold air, panting I stop when the beach and the ocean reach the mountains. I feel free and alive. I pick up a pretty seashell and head to the waters edge, I pick up another shell just for good measure, just incase I need extra help. I ask Buddha to embrace me now on this day, on this journey. I hear him say “its okay Krysta take your time, when your ready let go and you shall find your way” He smiles at me as he disappears into my imagination and meditation. I stand there for a long time staring at the ocean, on the shell that is in my hand I ask for forgiveness, hope, the power to learn, heal and move forward in my life. I can not let the past dictate my life. I throw the shell into the blue shining sea. I put all of my emotions of healing and forgiveness into it. I stand tall now, a little lighter, like the mountains next to me on either side.It seem the mountains are embracing me, holding my hands. I close my eyes and listen to the oceans soft breath, I pray to find the characteristics of the earth. On the next shell I ask to be released from all negative emotions, hurt, blame, anger, hate and any negative emotion I have ever felt. Emptiness, sadness, deprivation and the tears that I have cried during my past relationship that could fill the valleys beneath the mountains that surround me and flow into the sea. This time I crank my arm back as far as it will allow and give a forceful throw, kirpunk…the ripples grow around my sinking shell. I turn around and ran away. I am not sure to what, but I know I am running to myself this time and not to anyone else. I keep running and try not to think about this day or the relationship I was in because I tossed the emotions I felt back into the earth and the sea is keeping my feelings safe for me. I will over come anything and today is the start of a positive healing practice. I may cry, I may not. But I know I can’t hold negative feelings in my heart any longer because they are not apart of me, it’s a part of something bigger than I will ever understand. I am grateful, thank you. Life makes twists and turns and instead of me walking down the isle into a bad relationship, I’m running down the shore line in Southern Italy, with a purple horizon, this earth is embracing me.  The world is made for me to love and see. Maybe that’s my big love, maybe I just haven’t learnt yet. My hair curls blonde and golden blowing past me as my arms are spread wide and I take giant leaps in the sand. I was always supposed to be here on this day in this moment, even though I don’t have a plan for anything there is a plan for me. And it’s amazingly beautiful and it’s only mine. No one can take it away from me, nor can anyone try to stop me from my destiny. I promise myself I will never let anyone take my self from me again, I am who I am, I am that. I write my own story and I will choose what I want “that” to be. I pick up the imaginary pen to my novel of life and head back to find a little boy waiting for me and a family making breakfast, I am home.

Just pray for the best

So I went….

Italy I say to my family and friends. Hmmm.. Eyebrows raised in knowing admiration, jealously or confusion. “Really, Krys you are going again? You just got back, we just got you back.” We aren’t going to have another going away party are we? Asks my mom.  I tilt my head back and laugh no, no it’s only for six months. I have to spread my winds and follow my heart because for a split second I stopped doing that and became a woman I didn’t recognize naked in the mirror. I quietly vowed never to stop following my dreams nor let one person effect my being ever again. I packed my suitcase fast; I had already been here before. It feels familiar. My friends come over to say goodbyes again, I make my famous sangria and fold colored scarf’s and put them in my suitcase. We giggle, cry and make more sangria. All of my best friends come to see me off on my last night in America, even the Americao is there.

“His” name comes up and everyone agrees that I look healthier and happier. I hate goodbyes but I know the future holds a learning experience that I truly am uncertain of.

I am going to live with a family in Italy. I will teach them English and be an au pair figure to their one child. I have not met them and have only spoken to the mother online and through emails. They live in southern Italy, close to the capital city of Palermo in Sicily. That is all of the information I had.

My flight is a red eye to London. I wake up that morning nervous, excited and wondering if this is the right decision for me. I question everything in my life thus far; I was born under the sign of the Sagittarius and am very good at asking the question “why.” I am true to my sign and ponder if my traveling itch will ever end or if I will just keep going. I decide I can’t conform to society’s expectations of what I should or shouldn’t be doing.

I put on my backpack and get into the car, dejavu one more time only this time it’s different. I am single and this is Italy, not Korea. A friendship ring on my left ring finger replaces the large carat diamond engagement ring. I hold that finger and move forward, and exhale deeply.

I arrive at the airport and my travel instincts kick in immediately. Passport, check, money hidden, aware of the people around you, butterflies in my tummy and yes of course a smile on my face.

I greet with my first great lover, the airport.

I arrive in London a few hours later and am surprised how charmed I am by the people. I feel like myself again. It’s just me now, and it feels good. I

Eight hours later I am sitting in Rome, tired and slightly lost. I have been traveling for 30 hours and have about four to five more hours to go. I need a shower and a coffee in that order. I sit and wait for the final plane. I think of the family that is about to meet me. Will they all be there? Will she have a sign? What color is the sign?

 It’s late and a handsome young man sits next to me. He has been living in my college town of Towson University for the last year. I think of University and all my friends, I think about “him”, then shake him out of my mind quick and fast, like pulling off a band aid it only hurts for a second. Then I look deep into this hot Italians eyes and decided maybe men should not be entering my brain right now, and a tooth brush should be.

Finally, I land in Palermo’s small airport. It’s 10”30 at night and cute boy helps me find my way and helps me retrieve my bags. The airport is desolate and immigration is no where to be found, I slip into the country unseen and unstamped by foreign affairs…Welcome to Sicily.

We wait and wait for the bags to come around the big black turn belt, I am told that baggage takes forever and things are run differently in the South. My bag arrives and I catch a glimpse of the woman waiting for me through sliding glass doors.  Say "see you later" to cute boy, I am moving on.

I am greeted by a friendly, lovely woman that takes my luggage and puts it into a Benz. We drive and talk and I am astonished at her English ability and she is astonished at my petite size. I like her instantly. The beach house is 30 minutes from the airport, she clicks open a gate from the car, then another private gate on top of the hill. This is one of their many house I am told.

We drive up an open, airy home with a gazebo filled with toys. I see white linen furniture and most of the house is outside. I step out of the car and land in the middle of MTV cribs. Its so beautiful my breath escapees me.  I have dreamt of this place. She shows me to my room, art deco paintings of women line the walls. It’s chic and gorgeous. See you tomorrow and sleep well. I fall asleep almost instantly, to the sound of the ocean and party music in the distance.

 I am awaken by a child’s laugh, that’s him the child I will be teaching English to for the next six months. I then smile to myself, grateful for everything that surrounds me. The postcard landscape, mountains on either side of me, turquoise blue sea, the pictures of naked women on the wall and most importantly my new family and new beginnings. I pop out of bed, my nose toward the sun and stretch, I am full of love and hopefulness.

Its time to move ahead in my relationships and my life. It is time to find a better version of myself. I knew I was always supposed to be here, I dreamt of the ocean and their villa. It is my destiny to spend time with them and for us to fall in love just a little bit.

Not always rainbows and butterflies, but she chooses to FLY

“How did I end up on a plane again?” I ask myself. The airport has become another great lover of mine; the world and airports. Maybe just maybe that is why was never meant to work out, because I was already in love with someone else, or something else. He once said “I feel like I am in a constant competition with the world, to have you”…he lost. Mother Nature always wins.  Everything was not always rainbows and sunshine, like in every great story it never is.

I arrived at the house I grew up in a little after 2:00am. I called my mother “let me in” I said in a monotone voice, that I didn’t recognize nor did she. I was straight faced with my gaze to the ground when she opened the door. I stopped looking in her eyes a few weeks earlier; perhaps I thought she could see the truth of what was happening or the shame, guilt and utter exhaustion of my relationship. She asked me if I was on drugs and I shook my head slowly “No”.  My usual witty, outgoing demeanor changed into a quiet, withdrawn girl who didn’t recognize herself in the mirror. I thought it was adjusting back to life in America, but it had been eight months, my wedding invitations were sitting on the table and were about to be sent out to family and friends. My email in box was filled with dress payments, flower and menu proposals and registries. I was overwhelmed and anxiety flooded my mind. My best friend said I looked horrible “I lost my Krysta glow”. I hadn’t eaten in months, I wasn’t hungry. I stepped on the scale at my mothers home that night and 99 pounds blinked on the scale.

My mom hand fed me soup but I refused to eat it, I hadn’t finished a meal in weeks. “I left him, I left him for good” I said, but I was to exhausted to speak.  I fell into a dark restless sleep that was my reality.

When the morning sun painted colors on my face, a chill ran through my body. I was not in my apartment I shared with my fiancé, and previous night’s events ran through my mind, I felt the urge to vomit with nausea. I knew in my heart that I was never going back, this was it the last straw. It was the last of many wars fought between my ex fiancé and this time was different. I was strong in my decision and the previous night he dared to become physical and threaten me, our apartment security guard knocked on the door. In a drunken stupor he locked me in our bedroom with power tools to dissemble the lock, I backed my things in my backpack (the one that went around the world with me) I calmly figured a way out and stepped out of the apartment not looking back while he shouted profanities at me.

I can not say that I was perfect nor did I do everything right in the relationship, because then I would be lying to your face and it’s only our second date J

 I made plenty of mistakes that I can only learn from. What is done is done I have heard. I was not in a relationship where he beat me or physically abused me; I was too strong to let it become that. But, there was baggage that was never checked at the door. We spent a year apart while I lived out my dream to travel, while he wanted to get married and buy a house for me and our future. I was never ready to come home, and play housewife. I was horrible at it and once while doing our laundry all of the white clothes turned hot pink. I cried, he laughed, then I laughed, and we made love on the floor because we had no furniture. It wasn’t all bad, but neither of us was ready to tell the truth or face the reality that this was not meant to be.

I was safe now, in my childhood home with my family. Within a few weeks I began to heal, each day I found a piece of myself that went missing like when you find a missing sock that the dryer happened to eat again. I enjoyed life; I ate meals with my family, started painting again and spent my time with people who love me. I healed fast and felt a huge relief. I didn’t cry, I don’t miss him…perhaps I miss what could have been but I never looked back. I relish in the idea of what we were or what I was suppose to be doing as a twenty four year old woman. He made it easy, I did not have to work and he had the money for us to live comfortably. I paid for nothing. People in my life thought I would be a reck, a human disaster my own worst enemy, I was just the opposite. I think I was finally free and started to feel like myself again, it got to a point where I knew it was over a long time ago.

One afternoon I came home from my D.C teaching job and he had to carry me home from the metro, I was to weak to walk to easy four minute treck, before I was an avid runner with a strong muscular body made to move. Now, my hip bones protruded from my body and I could not sit for long because my tail bone would become numb. I fell asleep that day, with the snack he made me untouched and he woke me up for dinner I could not move. Enough was Enough, I was shaken awake by an angel or my inner voice that said “this is not right, you were made for greatness, heal yourself and move on”.     And I did.

Time heals all things however, I did not need the hands on the clock…I healed; and some may even say that my healing clock consisted in short hours. I sang, danced, drank and met new people. The worst part was walking on the thin balance beam far from land wondering what the right choice for my life was. Finally, I arrived safely from the clouds on land while my family and friends lent me their parachutes just in case I wavered on any decisions. But, I still wasn’t cured of my eating problems, I was deathly afraid of getting fat.

I dated. I met two men and dated them both for different reasons. One was stable and solid and one was young and inexperienced. They both told me they loved me within two months. I think I loved them both a little bit.

One man or boy/man is 20 years old and attends the school where I worked in D.C. I taught ESL in an intensive adult program, dating between students and teacher is like a wild fire. He is from a small country south of Russia and very different from any other man I have ever met. He speaks three languages with English being his third, he is interesting and I actually would talk about him to my ex fiancé.  His culture is similar to Arabic culture, where the men come first and the women are submissive, what he said was expected to go. I knew he was all wrong from the start wrong in the best kind of way, he was considered my student even though he was in the class next to mine. He used to come into my classroom in the morning and just talk to me. I remember the first time we saw each other, he looked at me and I was preparing for the day’s lesson…my heart raced as he looked at me and came into my room and sat down.

 “Hey, you are a new teacher, and I am in your class” he said. I said “well, I am happy to have you here, I’m Mrs. Moore or you can call me Krysta.” “I am not in your class, but I wanted to talk to you I wish I was in your class…Bonnie, how do I get in this class?” He asks my supervisor and she says all the boys are asking how they get into my class we laugh and she compliments my six inch high heel purple boots.

 He is fit and tall, a natural protector his cultural standards are the men must be strong. He has light brown hair cut short and his eyes are speckled with green and gold. I was engaged at the time and knew he was young but I enjoyed our conversations immensely. We talked about what life is like in a foreign country, his culture, his life in America and the war going on at his home. He is a dentist in his country and now he is studying English and waiting tables illegally.

After he heard my relationship was over he asked me for my phone number and to go out for coffee, I immediately said yes. I could not help but get hot and heavy for his golden eyes and protective nature. We spent days after school in the warm May sun sitting in the park and drinking coffee staring at each other. He took me to his house and we drank wine on the floor of his bedroom.

We made love for the first time within minutes of walking into his apartment. In two months we spent every weekday together and spent nights in a cheap hotel across from where I lived with my fiancé. We smoked hookah and drank wine and made love for hours, in the morning he helped me get ready for school and got me coffee at Starbucks. My friends and I nick named him “Russia” even though he isn’t Russian he is Chechen. I told my girlfriends about him almost immediately. “Girls I think I have a lovveerrr, and he is Chechen and his name is Alexander.

“She is back!! Ohhh I missed you” said my best friend

The next man was American a new bred for me. We met in a bar through a friend, my ex fiancé’s opposite. “Americano” as we will call him is tall, blonde and calm as a lake in September. He thinks the world of me, and tells me how special I am everyday. We would work out in the long term if I would let him and I stayed in one place for longer than six months. But, I am not sure that he gets my electrons dancing like fireflies. Except, he does in a different way I would be his everything and it is a concept I can almost get behind. He fell for me hard and fast as we ventured out on weekends together. I dragged him to art festivals and tasted wine from different parts of the world and a late night part after my friends wedding. Where we spent the night together in a hotel room while I was suppose to be having a girl’s night and sleeping in the girl’s room. Always one to break the rules, it was and is my time to live.

They both fell for me and I was making love to both of them, spending time with Russian on the weekdays and Americano on the weekends; until I decided I have to leave. The Russian was strong and fast, but passionate and rough but loving at the same time. While the American was completely dedicated to me and my body, he never wanted me to leave. And I knew that was all that I could give him is me leaving him. He clung to every breath and beat I gave him.

Then there was me, clinging to both of them but neither of them at the same time. My heart raced and ached for another adventure. My next thrill and no I am not speaking of the daily orgasms I was receiving. I dreamt of the mountains, foreign lands and languages; of the greenish blue sea that sparkles and shines.

So I went….

Hello lover, meet your biggest fan...

Chasing dreams in Airports

Just your average girl that has come to terms with my one Big love, the world. Looking for something, running towards greatness, feeling free and alive.

While I meet friends and life continues I find myself laughing at what foreigners do, and saying “why the hell did I think that was a good idea?” I have explored, eaten food that is unrecognizable, met people and lovers from all walks of life, travel with strangers, hitch hiked once or twice, studied yoga with a master guru in a fishing village, sailed the Mediterranean on a sail boat with three families and I am no where close to being finished.

Traveling is like an itch that I urn to scratch, despite the challenges and adversities its like a lover that gives you problems but you keep going back because it’s trilling and fun. The love of the chase. Some people ask me “what are you running from?” It is not what I am running from it is what I am running to become, the great unknown. I am not sure where I am going but I know exactly where I have been and this is my tale of a journey of a quest to love, explore, heal, know myself, become independent and find my way to my biggest hopes and dreams. The world is my lover, and I run to it with open arms. It reciprocates my love equally giving me true wonders in culture, nature and people.

“I’m bored, restless, a relentless urge takes over my body, and my heart beat races and adrenalin pumps through my veins like morphine. Numbing. I can not decide, struggle between what society and culture says I should be doing and my own destiny. I am fighting a holly war with myself. Why am I staying in this, why does it never seize fire. I am plagued with what lies beyond the horizon. Visions of the Mediterranean and villas are in my dreams”

I write this in my journal a few months earlier

Gang of grandpas

Ciao ciao gang of grandpa's

Excuse me mad hatter but could you brew up a poison to make these grandpa's young again?

Yes gentleman, there’s a new gal in town
As we unpack our boxes and start putting things where they belong at the huge castle like house in Alcamo, I wonder what this town is made of. It is a small village in Sicily, where everyone knows one another; people get married early and end up living here their entire lives. It is historical, quiet and quaint with cobble stone streets, back alleys filled with rows of houses with laundry hanging on the line. I feel I am almost in a time machine but the people are in modern clothes. I decide to test the waters and wonder around the streets. I put on tennis shoes for a run and hope I do not get lost; I take my camera so I can take pictures of the street signs to get home.
Here I am, the only foreigner at least woman foreigner in sight. The town is full of old men! It must be a prerequisite to be at least 80 years old to buy a home here. I look around and there are groups of old men everywhere, hanging out talking on the steps, playing cards, drinking café, eating pastries, more talking and walking around. Every alley, every street there is a new group of grandpa’s sitting on the benches just watching life pass by. They are like small gangs or clicks that do not mingle with one another. I say hello to everyone. I can almost hear people’s necks cracking from staring at me. People in cars stop me to ask where I am from; the old men watch me and smile to each other saying “Who is that”, Luckily now I understand a small amount of Italian, so I know what they are saying about me. It is amusing and I laugh. More old men, and some younger men all of which have rings on their fingers say hello to me. The younger gentlemen attempt a conversation and a date but I decline saying they are married, no thanks in Italian and your wife might be mad. I have to find ways to amuse myself because no one speaks English. I need to learn fast if I want to make it. Sink or swim I say, but this could get fun….
The next man that attempts to talk to me I start saying ridiculous things to him in English. I tell him my uterus really hurts bad today, and I may have a bad case of gas as I smile, He smiles and shakes his head “Si Si uterus, uterus” he replies and asks me if "I want a drink". The next old man that approaches me I decide to ask him if he wants to jump off a bridge with me, go skydiving and get married in all in one day, and if it is possible can borrow his wallet, I tell him I will return it when I am finished. He says yes, of course in Italian and then proceeds to give me a puzzled expressing when I try to reach into his back pocket for his Gucci wallet. “What? You said I could have it, no?” “Okay then, bye bye”
The staring and whispering never seem to end, but I smile and say "hello". I am use to being an outsider now. Many emotions come to life when you are different. We fight and strive most of our lives to some how fit in to a group, find our nitch. And I have deliberately elected to throw myself into the outsider category, where I fit in nowhere. Except maybe with the orange faced women with a scary attempt to be a blonde that raided her kindergartner’s closet, she looks like a sluty umpa lumpa from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, which I am totally into. It is as if you are standing around naked and everyone is in full jackets, mittens and ear muffs staring at you, wondering where the hell are her ear muffs? It is quite similar to what I suppose animals at the zoo feel like. “Ohhh look at the blonde curly haired one with blue eyes, she looks hungry should we feed it?” I wear a heavy skin, and do not let anything bother me. Most of all it is just curious gentleman trying to have a conversation or date. But, I seem to be quite popular with the gentleman. Where are all the women in this town? None of the old men are sporting around a grandma, what are they doing?
Where are the young Italian people?  Instead  of moving to Italy to find a romance I found pop-pop wonderland. I must be Alice and I am looking for the drink that will make these older fellas young again. It never hurts to dream.
So, until the next adventure I accept my faith and surround myself with a group of grandpa’s, workers and men and sit down to a hot, strong espresso….