The Honeymoon Phase

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It’s been two months since I’ve officially been in a relationship and I’ve been high off my ass on euphoria. My boyfriend and I have been sharing all the experiences that new couples do; staycations in San Diego/Hollywood, buying theme park passes, sharing each other on social media for the first time, experimenting sexually, and even promising long term commitment. We are the new couple on the block that all our friends keep asking about.

The one thing I hate hearing most however, is that we’re in the “honeymoon phase.” I am consistently reminded of that fact every time I share details about my relationship and it annoys me. It bothers me.

But I truly know that this hatred only stems from my own fear of facing what is beyond the honeymoon phase and finding out the answers to questions like: What will our first fight be about? Will my insecurities get in the way of things? Will we get too comfortable with each other? When will the honeymoon phase end?

In the back of my mind I’ve been playing scenarios of each situation and trying to prepare myself for what could happen next. But our young and budding relationship is so refreshing and so passionate I feel like these problems are lightyears away.

If this is indeed the honeymoon phase though, I never want to end.

To describe our first two months of monogamy, our major place setting is in the privacy of four bedroom walls. Our wild attraction to each other is what we share most in common. In our theatric play of love we are two fictional characters that exceed human boundaries and meet in the stars. There in the middle of the stage, our best performance is in the whispers in each others ears and the naked, intimate look into each others eyes. Even a Cirque du Soleil show would be amazed at our spectacle. The affection between us is unparalleled and our performances range from one to three acts daily. This show, is just one of the many driving forces behind our relationship.

For the first time, I feel a love so different than before. Our polarities are so drawn to each other, so magnetic and so sensual that the energy between us has always been palpable. It may be a repetition of what I said before but even sometimes I can’t get over how much our lives changed for each other.

Every time I find myself on the verge of the beginning or end of a relationship I ask my myself, does this individual make me a better person? The question has been the deciding factor leaving a previous toxic relationship but also the guide I needed to finding this relationship now. With my boyfriend, he brings out the simple yet rewarding things about me. Naturally, I am a fly on the wall homebody; a true Taurian lazy oaf. But his Scorpion willpower rubs off and I find myself living a lifestyle that is healthier mentally and physically. I am up and active, helping around the house more and feeling more myself around his friends too. I can even see our two worlds merging without losing my true identity. This might be his competitiveness speaking, but I aim to be better than I was yesterday.

So for now, I won’t worry about the bad things that haven’t happened yet, I’ll only try to delay them as long as possible.

Valentine’s Day

 

 

No words can describe the way I feel towards him, but I’ll try my best to do so. Since first saying ‘I love you’ to each other our relationship has only bloomed into a beautiful field of flowers. In our garden, aromatic bursts of passion and scents of excitement intoxicate the surroundings; if love was in the air then you’d be suffocating on it.

Our first Valentine’s Day was perfect. We began the day at 6 a.m. to fit in a CrossFit workout before our complete and utter cheat meal day commenced. By 10 a.m. we were fresh and already on the road to Pasadena. Our champagne brunch was served at Barney’s Beanery in downtown complemented with the American take on Mexican breakfast. We were there to watch the Champions League game Real Madrid vs PSG. There my back to back champions defeated PSG in a 3-1 upset that shocked football fanatics (and my boyfriend) to the core. But me, being the savior of the day, didn’t let him drown in his sorrows because his gift was PSG Nike Windbreaker and a Barcelona Nike training pullover. Although one day, I’ll convince him to wear a Ronaldo jersey.

Hand in hand we walked down Colorado Street on a beautiful mid-February day once the game was over. Cars were driving from light to light and the season casted a temperature just over 75 degrees. Love really was in the air that day and it was radiating just from our connection.

At our hotel we toasted to our relationship with a handmade cocktail. The room was decorated with chocolates and flowers per his request. I was so in love, my heart filled to the brim with his kindness. He could have given me rock with a bow tied around it and I still would have been happy.

With him, it’s something that feels so real. So tangible and alive that it makes life easier. To have the person you love by your side, to share that same feeling with each other, it is the most deadly yet compassionate drug ever. I have his heart, and he has mine.

We later had reservations at Ruth’s Chris and again he swept me off my feet with an amazing dinner. A glass of Duckhorn Merlot and a medium rare filet, my stomach was as happy as my heart. For dessert was him, and a slice of mixed berries cheesecake.

The best thing about this relationship is looking forward to the new experiences we get to share with each other. We promised to take care of each other and in my most intimate inner thoughts, he is there right beside me.

Victory at Sea

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Courtesy Ballast Point | Calm Before the Storm

I boarded the wooden ship to set sail in search of a mythical creature. I, the captain, was preparing for battle.

Into the ocean I hoisted my sails, gazed upon the stars for direction and left everything I knew behind. I was vulnerable and alone in this voyage. The day turned into night and I found the beast alone in his cave. Ready to attack, he made the first move.

He was conniving. He knew my weakness, my obsession with defeating him. Our quarrel began at the strike of midnight and I was lost at sea with the creature unknown.

The waves of the ocean tossed and pounded my vessel onto him. Back and forth we were  both fighting for air. The wetness was everywhere, our bodies glued from the sweat and salt water precipitating from our skin. The current was aggressive. Just like the beast, it was rough and insurmountable but we rallied through the night. He was thick and large, again pounding onto my ship like every blow was going to be my last.

It was a dance through the night, parlaying each other’s sanity for the final cue. Our formation was unbroken. When I took the lead, I thrusted forward and attacked. Waves grew higher around us and crashed in the form of an tempest, swallowing our energies. Back and forth, back and forth, we were crawling into each other’s skin.

In between the respirations and battle cries he let out a whimper. A whimper so soft I couldn’t believe it. It was what I traveled the sea for, what I came to conquer; it was his heart. In the misty night he said “I love you” and I dove into the cave in which he lived. Every guard I had up, every drop of patience, was for this moment. There, in a split second our forbidden love turned into something real. So real that we were both afraid of it but we had each other to navigate this course.

The battle between woman and beast had ended. And in that night, I claimed victory at sea.

Mexican Mother, American Daughter

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Courtesy my cousin Leslie quoting her mom on Facebook

It’s hard to come to an understanding on my personal life when a language and culture barrier still separates my mother and I.

On my end, I want to express my freedom of liberty, sexuality and expression. On her end, she wants me to be her perfect stay-at-home-daughter. I want to travel the world and move out of the house, she wants me to do the chores and run the errands. I want to go out on weekend nights with my friends, she wants me to stay inside and lock me in my room. I want to enjoy a glass of wine with dinner, she wants me to regurgitate it back up and wash the dishes.

The complex is: What should a 24 going on 25 year old daughter do when she still lives in her mother’s traditional Mexican household? Do I choose selfishness or do I succumb to prehistoric standards?

I read in Octavio Paz’s Labyrinth of Solitude that the Mexican woman can never be herself as she must play the roles of wife and homemaker. Although he’s speaking to the native born female of the 1950’s, this concept was how my mother was raised throughout the 70’s in Mexico.

She was conditioned to be the perfect household mom. Her schooling was that of my abuelita’s where her and her other nine siblings received lectures of cooking and cleaning. Emigrated by 18, married by 23, first child by 25, my mother’s path was set in stone.

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Courtesy: @undocumedia

As a daughter I carry the same weight of those traditions. Since nothing is more important to me than to make my mom happy, I oblige to most of them. Our sincerest mother-daughter connection even comes from the kitchen when she’s teaching me how to make chile rellenos or bestowing the recipe for my abuelita’s salsa. In the intimate setting of our kitchen our love is wrapped up in a tortilla, served with a side of arroz y frijoles, and shared with nuestra familia.

But in the Mexican Mother, American Daughter complex, our disagreement on her outdated norms bring us to each other’s necks.

 

In light of the growing relationship between my Mexican-American sancho and myself, I’ve had to make the decision whether I want my mom thinking of me as a “bariloca” or “borracha.” Our puppy love between my man and I means that I spend most weekends at his house, MIA at times from the place I call home. Since he was born a male, and I, a female, our star crossed love was doomed from the start.

The head of my house, Guadalupe “Lupita” Maria Tamayo Cruiel, Ruler of Rules,

IMG_8063.jpgGiver of Life, deems that her middle born child has no need for boys. So I, being the middle child that I am, will make up excuses and say I’m spending the night at a friend’s house. In return, she thinks I’m out partying every weekend when really I’m just watching Netflix with my sancho.

So after spending a few nights here and there in a bed other than mine, my Mexican mom has blessed her American daughter with angry voicemails on her phone.

Another fixation I have is in regards to the Mexican-American-Sancho’s-Parents and the Mexican-American-Sancho’s-Lover (me). Why is that when I stay the night at my significant other’s family house, the parents are so welcoming to bring me in? Does this only happen in Latino households? Are we viewed as the one to settle their son down? Now that I’m 3 for 3 on the subject, I’m also still wondering why I can’t even bring a boyfriend into my room.

I guess this is a topic of discussion for another time. Until then, as my mom would say, “Pónganse a limpiar!”

 

The Morning After

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Source: @eromaticax

I laid my head on his chest and listened to his immensely slow and relaxed heartbeat. Just the touch of his skin made me as nervous as the first night I spent with him. I felt like I was drowning in emotion.

There in his bed midmorning, I traced the words I was too afraid to say out loud with my fingertips. With my touch I said “I love you” and I melted into his body.

I imagined, how could have I gone so long without him this close to me? Ignoring his pursuits for so long and leaving him to be with someone else..

Everything has changed since then.

But my pride shakes me to the core, I will never tell him that I love him first. Considering he has had long-term girlfriends before and I have always been the one to say ‘I love you’ first to pervious boyfriends, I think it’s time for him to confess his love for me.

Stubborn, I know, but it’s what I’ve decided.

Each new day I spend with him I want to vomit the disgusting little phrase out of my mouth as if it was a sickness plaguing my body. Me, Jillian, not commonly known to let men get the best of me or one to communicate my emotions, was and is undoubtedly drunk in love. A feeling so foreign I didn’t know what to do with myself.

First, I tried rejecting it by bottling up my feelings and turning it into a Molotov Cocktail. Then, I tried ignoring it by making a list of things I didn’t like about him. When neither of those worked, he dared to say things to me like “there is always room for you in my schedule” or “you know you love me.” The audacity, the repugnant odor of his hubris was my fatal attraction. I was hooked.

Our love affair had made it through the end of summer and through the weekend outings. It progressed from talking only twice a week through Snapchat message to consistent text messaging every day. My presence at his birthday party was his present in October but by Christmas we were exchanging gifts with one another. He was my New Years kiss and will be my Valentine. By the way it looks, he’ll make it through spring and celebrate with me my 25th birthday in May.

To tell you the truth I don’t even know when the dating stage turns into the relationship stage. But things are going smoothly, for now. Sooner or later though one of us has to crack and admit defeat in this little game of love. Lord knows it’s not going to be me.

A Descriptive Entry

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Source: @sivan.ka

Dedicated to my man who is not really my man

His shoulders, broader than a mountain range; at six feet and one inch off the ground there wasn’t an ounce of body fat on him. His skin, brown like the stem of flower but soft like its petal, is my favorite part of him.

A few tattoos distinguish him from others; his mother’s maiden name and father’s last name juxtaposed on each tricep, his mother and sister’s first name in between a bed of roses on his right bicep, and a matching “Est. 1991” to his brother’s “Est. 1984” on their respective ribcage. True to his Mexican heritage and completing his collection is the phrase “Familia es Primera” inked across his chest.

The dominant male trait of his family is a nose that’s too big for their face. Distinctive, large and even a uncle only known as “Nariz”.

A single mole dotted on his upper right cheek is the smallest feature on his face. His dimples were even larger than his birthmark. His hard, masculine facial traits could be rough on the eyes but to me they balanced out well.

To be honest actually, I wasn’t even attracted to him when we first met. It was his persistence; his consistent effort to talk to me, to go out of his way to visit me while I was at work and approach me still while he was working that attracted me. I became more in awe of him through his personality.

If his superpower was to make people at ease then it was my kryptonite. He was so easy to be around, like I never had to try to impress him. Our characters different but they complemented each other. Where sports and athleticism rule his world, arts and beauty rule mine.

Recently I bought a book on astrology and read that our signs are compatible in the sense we are polar opposites. Our law of attraction is that my fixed earth sign Taurus and his fixed water sign Scorpio attract each other because we fulfill what the other lacks. Still, as I continue to learn more about him we will see if this forecasting is true.

In his inner sphere where I’ve meticulously tipped toed into his life I’ve learned that he prefers the intimacy of a relationship, that is, staying inside and spending time alone away from outside influences.

In his outer sphere he has always been competitive and has always been up to no good. A notorious group of friends from what I’ve heard, that do everything together. Imagine, him and five of his male friends went on a Euro trip last winter! Exactly.

But, alas, I have the privilege of saying he opened his bottle of wine that he brought back from Portugal on the first night we spent with each other.

Now that I’ve gone off on a tangent I think I’ll end here. To me, he is the version that the is diminutive of his first name, but to everyone else he is the diminutive of his last name, which is also a fruit turned into a cookie bar (care to take a guess?).

L’Aveugle Par Amour

69468999-4D73-41F6-8BA2-49D19C9B7C34.jpg2018. The year I move out. The year I begin a career. The year I reach my twenty-fifth orbit around the sun.

These resolutions are the requirements I have set to meet this year, fulfilling this blog is also included. In my downtime of not looking for a job or someone/something to keep me busy, I will contribute to this blog to document such struggles.

These posts will reflect myself and my own experiences as a young woman searching for the pinnacle of my 20-something life. While currently I’m stuck in the purgatory of recent grad hell and finding a love life, I’d like to say I’m pushing and pulling quite nicely between the two.

But anyways, let’s start off by properly introducing myself. My name is Jillian, but to my friends and family I’m known as Jill (although I prefer the former). Typical suburban girl who dreams of moving to Los Angeles. Overdramatic, anxious but funny, genuine. Typical Mexican girl who loves reggaeton and micheladas. Taurus. Two best friends, two siblings, two pet dogs. Loyal to Los Angeles home sports teams. Fanatic for Real Madrid soccer team. Makeup and online shopping for now.

So let’s begin. Love is a tricky game, but I’m sure you knew that.

In the wonderful abyss that is of uncertainty, excitement, and pleasure I’m stuck deep in the depths known as the dating stage. My man who is not really my man is someone I met through mutual friends. He is my weakness; tall, dark, cute with his diamond stud earrings. He makes me nervous and he makes me laugh but always flirting between the two.

Our attraction to each other stemmed from the forbidden apple in the tree. We were both in relationships, looking but never touching. For almost a year the sexual tension was the elephant in the room. It was heavy. Large and kind of a burden. Our conversations were short but our glances were long. We were the type that just needed a little push. Then when both our titles were removed, we knew what we had to do. It was a late night, too late for bars to be open but early enough for the night owls to be awake. We were together… and it was fun.

Now in its third month of scandalous nights and good morning texts, what’s next for this whirlwind I couldn’t possibly tell you.

Where I stand right now is a want for companionship, possibly open for a relationship. But with love you can’t trust yourself letting your feelings takeover. In the beginning, it’s an overdose of endorphins. In that moment of mid smirk, eyelock then kiss, you’re getting high on your own supply and then you’re hooked. When you come back down to planet earth you realize what you’re putting on the line and that is, your heart.

For me, to experience love is to have a guard up and test how long I can last without bringing it down.

Was it safe to open up and start over again? Was it safe to invest my time into someone that I already knew had a notorious past? I didn’t care.  

But for what it’s worth, I love where this is going.