Pudding & Burger

They say that we dream during several cycles every night. I usually don't remember my dreams or briefly bother with the ones mixing with my awakening thoughts after snoozing the alarm clock in the morning. But every now and then I have one that is strong enough emotionally to wake me up. I have this thing that if I wake up I can't easily go back to sleep. So when I look at the clock I hope it is close to my normal wake up time, but often it's around 6AM. Then, I circle around a bit trying to force myself to sleep before eventually taking the decision that the day will start early this time and getting off to make a coffee.

Today it was you in that dream. Not your first appearance of course in those. We were in a hospital here, you were pregnant and past your due date, we were trying to get a doctor to see you but you were not insured in the country and things were complicated. You were a bit nervous but calm and cute. I was caring for the baby, caressing your belly but wasn't clear if it was mine or not, probably not, I was more into supporting you with the admin and worries.

Of course everything makes sense this period. I haven't heard of your news but probably you are a mom by now. When you first announced your decision and intentions to me I reacted strongly. I knew it was something that would make us part our ways again and losing you isn't easy. But I did understand it. I had nothing concrete to offer and you had to take action, time was running.

I distanced myself a bit, I do so partly for my protection and partly to create space for you. I know you and your big decisions. I know how you create frameworks and via them cope. So, I remain in my shell, but I listen.

I knew in the winter that things move forward, your talking patterns changed, your silences always speak.

When you finally told me it's happening I caught my self being genuinely happy about it, about you. You wanted it, and it didn't come easy. I was wishing you all the best.

I had many thoughts over that period but didn't dare to write here. Partly because I am sometimes illogically superstitious. I wanted everything to go well and prefer things first to happen and then talk about it :) Even this, I will not publish it till you actually tell me that all went through good.

I look at my girl sleeping next to me, she seems peaceful. I wake up carefully hoping she will not notice and decide to have a coffee, write down these lines, and wait for your news before I publish.

I remember a couple months ago when visiting my cousin at the hospital that she had just given birth. The little guy was sleeping and you could see the rapid eye movement and subtle body moves, he was dreaming, I was wondering then what he could possibly be dreaming about? He has no life experiences, hopefully no worries.

--

I know you have full days now. I kinda feel weird that I cannot be there and support you in this big moment, the distance feels big, I am an outsider again. You created a family, new house, new bonds, new boss.

I may create mine as well, distance will keep growing. In June I had this incident that scared me, for a moment it felt that my illness returned. It seems that things are OK but back then we decided to try for a horror as soon as we finish with the medical tests and settle in the new place. We'll see how this goes.

I sit at the sewing machine, trying to mend old clothes, but my thoughts drift into the PnB universe once again. Mom’s photo watches me from the shelf, she looks younger there than I am now. I wonder what advice she would give me. My heart is torn in two, waiting to be stitched back together. But if I try to sew it together again, will it still fit?

Like Burger, I remember old days of living abroad. At the ripe age of 28, I became single after six years (the six year mysticism!), I was free, I was myself, I thought the world is all mine. I acted upon it too. I was certain life will fall into place (a little after that we met). I was lucky to have a privilege that back then I didn’t fully understand: having degrees, not needing visas, enough money in my pocket to drift and to believe in love and destiny. In this sense, is love too a classed experience?

When I moved back home, after [the six years of] being abroad, I thought my heart would never be whole again. I missed the three cities where I had lived and left little fragments of who I am, and I longed for them for so long. I think it took one or two years to finally not feel the ache.

Burger’s mind must be aching too, probably because I won’t give him the full truth. I tend to keep walls up. He’s afraid I don’t want him and I detach. Scared that my silence and my hesitation to touch means he’ll fade from my memory. But the truth is, I can’t get him out of my head. It is not a matter of being together physically. 

I wonder, when we’re together, – the greatness we feel – if it is something real. The big question I’m stuck on is whether life with Burger is the escape or the one without. In this state of limbo, I think: what if love isn’t about becoming whole, but learning to embrace the fragments.

Preface

This piece was never intended to be public and on this blog. Is based on some notes I took a few weeks ago during a train ride. I take those sometimes in recent years. But since the reflection didn’t belong to the core topic of this blog, which is the PnB universe, it was meant to be kept private. However, after a heated discussion with P resurfacing another heated discussion a century ago, here it is.

Main

Green flat fields passing fast through the train window. It brought back a very vivid memory. Autumn 2012, sitting in the famous TGV, the beginning of my immigration story.

A few days before, on a warm Mediterranean night, I was on my way out to meet friends when my then girlfriend called me. She was crying and feeling lonely. A couple of weeks ago she had moved to a French town for a Master’s degree. Her strategy, along with thousands of others, was to escape the post-2008 crisis impacting the country hard via studies that would strengthen her skills portfolio.

Me at that point I was looking for a job, any kind. Earlier in May I had sold my motorbike and left my small flat. Since then I was staying here and there with friends and family. Unsustainable paths everywhere. The country was a mess. Youth unemployment at 75%. Limited options, but we were still somehow optimistic, I remember. The worst was yet to come.

Announcing to me that she was going abrioad was bold but understandable. It would shake the relationship. The initial plan was blurry. Somehow trying a long distance. Me to visit her at some point. Then she would come for Christmas, etc. In that call she asked me to join her and stay for a few months instead of just visiting. I gave it a quick thought, she needed support, I had nothing to do, perhaps will get some oportunities there, I packed my bag and went.

Landing at Charles de Gaulle, only my third trip abroad at that time (the first was again in Paris, spending my student job money). There was a direct fast train from the airport to her city. I was impressed by the infrastructure. Integrated transport, easy, planned. The train on time, departing for the South, moments later, green flat fields passing fast through the train window, the view reminded me of my hometown in the spring when the farmlands are still green, flat and humid. I looked up at the screen indicating the train’s speed, somewhere around 300km. Impressive. The earth was moving fast but I was unexpectedly calm.

It’s a moment I remember very vividly. I was looking out the window and was very, very calm. I knew somehow that this was not just a visit but a new beginning. It wasn’t planned, I never thought of living abroad. I didn’t see any of the rest coming. Thirteen years later, now again on a fast train from Paris, heading North this time. Same landscape. I am thinking back on that first train departure from Paris. I feel similarly calm but different.

It’s funny in a way, I am more stable but less optimistic, life teaches lessons. Social mobility worked so far. I made more money than my parents ever had. I travelled the world, lived in places, met people, experienced things. I remember the calculations back then. Should I pay for the fast train directly from the airport, which is more convenient and saves time, or take the bus to central Paris to get the cheaper train and save 10 euros loosing 3-4 hours?

The train host interrupts my gazing, asks me which plate to serve, beef or vegetarian, and if I want champagne! I smiled; you see, work pays for first-class tickets on trains for some reason. The guy next to me has two kids and a wife, I guess, from his phone’s background. But when the screen locks, the picture changes to a solo photo of his face. Why do people put their own face as the background? Never understood that. That’s something I would comment to Pudding, I thought. Pudding is always in the background of my head, doesn't need a phone equivalent. I would never have met her without that first TGV. That made me become aware of my thoughts and start writing; it’s been a while since I did it.

I don’t know why these thoughts came, perhaps because it’s a transition year, or the quick Parisian coffee by the station with that girl from my uni that made me remember of my France period. I had rejected her back then, hope she doesn’t hold a grudge (Contrary to Pudding's belief I can say NO).

Coincidence no.1: She added me randomly two days before my trip on Instagram, we chatted a bit and I told her I was heading to Paris. She was very eager to meet, I made some time for a catch-up just before my departure. I also met another guy for a working coffee. He left our country ten years ago, first time in his very late 40s to go to Asia and teach at a university to support his family after his hotel business went bankrupt. He moved to Paris two years ago, “it’s ok, closer to home,” he said. Nice guy, we met online a few years back and Coincidence no.2: he reached out two weeks ago and wanted to discuss a potential project. I told him I’d be in Paris soon so we agreed for a face-to-face.

In his phone background was only his daughter. I don't know if there is a wife. “I am in a different stage than you, these are my final years, need to gather as much as possible before retirement.” The way of thinking of people with a financial struggling background never leaves you. They will never forget the insecurity no matter how secure they are now. Another young guy found me online last week and started asking how things are abroad, what to do, can he come, how, is it easy, etc. I tried to help him but I really can’t do much. Everyone is alone and has to find his way. Migration stories. Enough for now.

P.S.

We have this silly argument with P on which of our homelands is poorer, it’s funny in a way, disastrous in another. The real argument is about choices. Of course there’s Agency, in everything there’s agency, but there’s Structure and structure is so damn hard to deal with, that’s why we are a mess now, that’s why we became a mess back then.

I wanted to write about this since I met her. I noticed it from the first time we shared our bodies.

It was a mild Mediterranean night. She was lying in her bed, I had finished already, and she was teasingly complaining about the orgasm gap between men and women. She was in her feminist years. We then played a bit more, and she helped herself by rubbing her clit. After some build-up, there it was; a subtle but solid orgasm, followed by a short burst of laughter and a wide smile.

Female orgasms come in all sorts. It's remarkable how they affect the whole body. There's a huge diversity, from the intensity of the build-up to the release of the climax. Regarding the aftermath, though, my analytical mind has observed that women fall into two broad categories: those who, immediately after orgasm, become smiley and cheerful, and those who become more subdued and silent. It’s not a fixed state—the same woman can express both, depending on the circumstances, the cocktail of hormones and emotions—but there’s usually a dominant trait that classifies them into my two psychologically oversimplified categories.

Pudding belongs to the first one, but she has that extra special trait: she doesn’t just smile or light up, she laughs! A subconscious, uncontrolled burst of laughter, lasting just a second. You can barely hear her little voice, followed by a wide smile. It’s like a child receiving the present they’ve wanted for so long. Like someone who has conquered something they knew they could but had somehow started to unreasonably worry they wouldn't manage this time. So, her relief bursts out in the form of that short, sweet laughter.

I wonder what dialogue takes place in her head during those moments. She keeps so many things in there. Something triggers this. I can't tell what, but I always try to guess. She controls herself in so many ways; perhaps the orgasm is this little moment when she loses control. The laugh becomes a signal from her little demon, the one that won over the angel in their eternal battle on her shoulders.

The first time we landed back in the PnB sexual kingdom after those years, she was stressed, unsure, her mind was processing a lot. She didn’t laugh. It was a bit unsettling. But the last time was more reassuring. Her whole body was ready, sitting steadily on her throne like a queen who knows where she belongs. I could feel the build-up happening fast. Some pressure points here and there, eyes talking. She couldn’t hold back much. It was a great spectacle, an awe moment.

Here in the post-socialist sea, it's not easy to find the perfect words. Not so for our Mediterranean comrades, who are fluent in emotions. Burger has a fair amount of "luck", as his friends claim, but he also has a gift for wrapping feelings in such meaningful expressions. Meanwhile, I am more secretive, keeping it to myself as a treasure that belongs only to me. I try to stumble through with it, to make sense of it in my own way.

To tell you the truth, I can't quite grasp this current situation. Some days it feels like I've drifted too far from the shore, perhaps the ties that bind us together loosened beyond repair? And yet, deep down, I know those invisible threads still hold, no matter how much we pretend otherwise. It's both unsettling and reassuring - maybe there's another word for that!

Seeing you last time lifted a heavy weight off me and I stayed lighter for weeks. When these memories sneak up on me randomly throughout the days, I know that from now on, our lives will remain one tangled thread, even if we float towards different directions.

Waiting for the usual push and pull, it feels unfamiliar to stand still. But at least we're wiser, right? We no longer wish for the apocalypse. For now, we're not setting the world on fire.

And then there are those precious moments I like to think back to, like those last hours on the couch. We started with a careful distance, until you slowly moved closer and I was able to caress you for a little longer. When the edges start to fray, and I begin to drift, it doesn't take much time until something reminds -

There's a word in Greek, χαρμολύπη (charmolipi). It's one of those words that's hard to translate. Someone online tried: "the sadness that emerges out of joy" or "the joy that emerges in the middle of sadness." But I feel it’s more than the causality or direction; it’s about the struggle itself. The coexistence of joy and sorrow—the battle between them. Being full and empty, all at once. --

I’ve talked to many people about her lately—basically my inner circle, my people. I don’t do that usually, at least not to this extent, but I felt I had to. Over the last years, I’ve caught myself being more open with them. I let go of more thoughts and emotions, let them access to parts of my psyche. I don’t know why this gradual change is happening. Is it part of maturity or a bonding mechanism? Most of them live far away for years now. Time and space is compressed. Our moments together are valuable; I have to use them wisely. There’s no time to waste on slow discoveries, I give it to them ready. --

–How are you? –I don’t know.

six years

The past few years went by with a steady rhythm, with a predictable flow, but there was also subtle change, unnoticable. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into years, I thought the ship has harboured. It was life as it often is: imperfect but manageable - until it wasn't.

this one fucked up year

And then it hit, like a storm coming out of nowhere. That one fucked-up year when everything falls apart at once - plans derailed, relationships strained, losses endured, and a deep fog settling over what used to feel like clarity. After every stumble and break and bouncing back, another obstacle, another heartbreak, another layer of chaos. Life had to be run not by rationality but by instinct. 

returning

Instinct does have a way of guiding you home, who knew. In the chaos, it wasn't logic or reason that guided me - it was an unshakable pull, an undeniable need for closeness. It was as if, in all the confusion, something deep inside recognised what I didn't want to lose. The presence of you, that is not just comfort, but grounding, reminding me who I am.

aftermath

You've thought is over eh? I don't blame you, me too.

She left suddenly one night 6 years ago, on the 1st of December 2018. She didn't look back. I was angry, I felt betrayed, I didn't run after her, I don't beg.

The months were passing, my pain was growing instead of calming down as she became more and more distant. I was struggling, she could see it.

A year or two passed, I was still thinking of her every day. I had accepted my defeat, and made peace with the fact that she was gone but still wanted a chance for a proper closure. She wasn't giving it to me. My brain could n't process the mistakes she was doing.

Three-four years passed, she was moving on rapidly. Every communication and an announcement, "WE moved in together", "WE are getting married", "WE are trying for a kid". She was gone forever, I calmed down, a girl helped as well, my illness even more.

Time, life, kept passing by..

She reached out one day after long, we had a call. Texts and calls increased in frequency and duration, always nice, always within boundaries.

..until it didn't.

"I was thinking, I need you to meet me somewhere, near future".

My heart beat raised. I got puzzled. That's not her, she hasn't spoken like that for years. Yes, she was going through things, she needed support, but why me? Nevermind, I'll give her anything she needs.

Logistics were not in favour. Months pasted, we never managed to meet, the moment was perhaps gone.

Then, another call, 3 hours, 11 minutes and 20 seconds in the middle of a night, she was different, she was back, she was Pudding.

On an autumn Saturday night, six years after she disappeared, she walked into a neighborhood Amsterdam cafe. We smiled, hugged awkwardly, and sat across at the wooden table observing each other, trying to understand if that's real.

Let's go to the beach they said..

200 years ago today, a not too wealthy migrant was born. His life turned upside down with the revolutionary wave of 1848, and later became the hallmark for national sovereignty and self-determination in the weakened post-1945 European colonial empires. Although he never foreseen the rise of dictatorial systems based on his beliefs, mass disillusionment was unavoidable in communist regimes. The collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991 seemed to justify the victory of capitalism across the globe, but the 2008 financial crisis put his ideas back to the fore. Socialism was the most searched word on Merriam Webster’s online dictionary in 2015. A spectre that does not haunt anymore, may he bring surprise to this world again.

Antonio Gramsci was ahead of his time..