4. FLOAT LIKE A BUTTERFLY…

A song to fill your ears whilst reading - Underwater - Rufus

A text message from you:
’I sit here a shattered person right now but not once have I ever mistreated you without respect and I never would. What you and I have is so very special and I hate myself that I can’t bring myself to be in a relationship right at this point in my life because if I was ready, you are the person I’d want to be with…’

There are always two sides to a story. When we are in love, we can be in the same dimension as the other person, or at least perceive that we are. Stepping into a relationship can sometimes be akin to stepping into a boxing ring. Entering with nerves at the ready. Eyeing your opponent with complete and utter focus. Your guard is up. The bell rings. You float around the ring, finding your rhythm. Reading your opponent. Striving to read their next move. Minutes pass and you’re trusting the space. The nerves have been replaced with adrenaline. But after a few rounds, your arms feel heavy. Your perceptions of your opponent become foggy. And your arms drop for one split second. Boom. They sting you. With a punch that hurts. And sometimes there are battle scars. Well, as I mentioned there are always two sides to a story. This is my side, my perception. It’s a story I tell with hopes that you don’t take sides. But one that you can resonate with. Or one that you can take something from whilst you are on your own journey. For me, it’s a story I want to tell because for many days, months, years I questioned my self worth as a result of everything that transpired but also, my broken heart was a blackboard for the teacher that is life. Because these experiences teach you more about yourself than you realise. I ask you to do with this story as you will. This story about the mystery of love…

Have you ever felt extremely nostalgic for a feeling? That feeling of experiencing something for the first time? Have you ever been living something presently and are somewhat in this bittersweet stance because you know you’ll never have this feeling again? It’s almost like you want to laugh and cry at the same time. Because you feel like these extraordinary feelings or experiences have an expiration date and soon your reality will become ordinary again. Your first love, your first touch down across waters to a new city, your first night out, your first kiss…

At 22 years old I had never really kissed a boy let alone revealed my feelings to one.  I think there are all these pressures about romantic milestones.  Our first kiss, our first boyfriend, our first sexual experience.  Kissing, well most people had this ticked off by the time they hit puberty. I always felt a bit ashamed about this at the time and would avoid conversations about boys because I had no experience of my own to share. I remember a colleague of mine was complaining to me about being at work because she was suffering from a UTI that day. My immediate question was ‘what’s that?’ to which I got ‘you know the horrible infection you can get when you don’t pee after sex’. She must have cottoned on to my naivety because I encountered a confused stare from her, which then turned into a smirk and a brushed off ‘don’t worry’. I remember feeling embarrassed that I had walked into a conversation about sex, with someone who was younger than me, and I had pretty much revealed my lack of cherry being popped. Sometimes these encounters had me feeling as though I was missing out on something. In no way am I implying to feel pressured to follow society’s norm of when you should hit these significant life events. You have to do what is right for you and do things when you’re ready. For me, the transition from my teenage years to my 20s saw changes in myself unravelling, however, a majority of my time was spent hanging out with my sisters or close friends, reading Harry Potter again and again, writing, growing my music knowledge, studying and many more closet nerd activities (not much has changed). At the time, I always thought I wasn’t doing my early 20s properly. The rite of passage experiences that one usually ventures into. But at the same time, I realise now it wasn’t because I didn’t fit in, it’s because my path was leading me to where I needed to be at the right time of my life - when I was ready. Looking back everything happened and led me to this very moment.

I’m 29 currently and I’ve never been in a ‘real’ relationship let alone dated properly. Surrounding relationships, the story I am about to delve into and ones that follow will shed light on my experiences and more of who I am. That filling of people’s inbetweens. Was this my choice, theirs or a mixture of both? For the record, I was never one that felt like I needed to have a boyfriend. If I happened to cross paths with someone that I connected with then great, if I was going to ride solo in life’s dance, then so be it also. As for dating, I absolutely hated the idea of it. Especially with a random person. Even more because of the repetitive small talk. My friends always laughed at me when I was out because I unintentionally held a resting bitch face when people tried to spark up a conversation with me. I was never one to force things, I liked things that happened organically - I fantasised about serendipity. As a result, I guess I have a habit of getting to know people outside of the dating scene, within different scenarios before I can truly make my decision about them or connect with their energy. Whether it be at work, or at a boxing gym, just letting fate do its work. Was this my defense mechanism? I’ve never delved into online dating and never will because I will not let the virtual world steal my spirit of romance. Although, I guess it does work for some people. But I always had this fantasy of falling in love with a guy who was like my best friend. Or meeting someone at the library and locking eyes with them through the gaps of a shelf we were each standing on the opposite side of. Or catching someone’s eye through a fish tank (Romeo and Juliet inspired). Yes, I have a very vivid imagination and was always extremely passionate about love. However, I was a hopeless romantic that didn’t know how to approach a boy she liked let alone talk to them without being completely socially awkward. My way of flirting ended up in me being extremely harsh to the guy. So the romantic moments I envisioned in my head were an unreachable venture at this rate.  The hopeless romantic was indeed hopeless.

Well, I guess I have had my fair share of tangents and now ask you to enter into my invisible delorean back to the year 2012…

I had just returned home to Melbourne after a 10 week stint travelling the likes of North America and Europe. I had ventured on this trip post graduation from university and it was one of the most magical moments of my life. I travelled with one of my best friends and all of my sisters as well whilst making life long friends during a Contiki tour and meeting amazing people from all around the globe. My trip kicked off in North America travelling from the West to the East coast. Following this was flying to the continent of Europe where we landed in the city of Paris. A city that is widely known as the city of love. And it does this description justice. From here we toured the likes of a diverse range of countries such as Spain, Germany, Italy, Greece, UK, Austria, the list goes on. Experiencing different places and cultures, I don’t think there is anything more magical than this. One of the cities I remember connecting with was London and I felt it in my heart that I would one day return to this special city (foreshadowing perhaps?). Little by little, I started to come out of my shell more and more, and this adventure across waters was an experience that definitely helped. I cried on the plane home, touching back down in to a city I never felt like I belonged in. I felt somber being driven home from the airport, down the Tullamarine freeway. Back to reality, my sun kissed skin already fading in the grey and gloomy atmosphere of Melbourne.  Little did I know, however, that my life was about to change.

After eating my way through America and Europe, I returned home eager to be fit again. Boxing had always been of interest to me and I was made aware of a traditional boxing gym in the northern suburbs of Melbourne.  Why boxing? I am a competitive spirit at heart and I knew this sport would push me to limits I had never been before. At the time, I didn’t know it was this outlet that would help me with my anxiety. I didn’t know it was this physical activity that would also train my mind. Because boxing requires sharp mental strength along with extreme courage and heart. You expose yourself and your vulnerabilities in a ring sparring or when delving in pad work but at the same time are increasing your accuracy, strength and reflexes both mentally and physically. You can walk in and out of a boxing gym feeling as though you are on top of the world, with this ounce of confidence, like you can conquer anything. Boxing. It built a door for the floating butterfly.

I remember walking into that gym after work and sitting down on a bench with my ears plugged with music.  Waiting.  Waiting for the class to start. Anxiously staring around.  Out of my comfort zone.  Nervous at how unfit I was.  I removed my earphones and was immediately met with hip hop music blaring from the speakers. Once you switch on all of your senses you begin to notice other things. Like the strong smell of sweat seeping into my nostrils, which was inevitable due to the high intensity training I could see before me: the whir of jump ropes, rapid pad combinations, leather being smacked, bells ringing, trainers shouting instructions, 5 push ups in between rounds, no time for a break, no time to take a breath, sweat dropping like confetti on the hard wood floors as if it had rained indoors. I spotted a sign on the gym’s wall amidst this fast-paced training that read ‘THE TRAINER IS ALWAYS RIGHT’; I knew there was definitely no room for mucking around here. I looked from left to right at how powerful and fit these people were - I admired them. Left to right, then left again because as I turned my attention to the entry, I saw a guy walking in.  A walk that was slightly hunched and mysterious at the same time.  He was quiet and his face wasn’t exerting much expression. He passed me and nodded his head in my direction as a way of greeting me and I smiled slightly. I followed his walk with my eyes as he placed his gym bag on the bench removing his electric green raps. He began rapping his hands with complete and utter focus. The bell rang and broke my gaze and I was brought back to reality. But for some reason there was something about his energy that connected with me from that moment.  I can’t explain it. I once read somewhere that ‘some souls have a way of connecting without our knowledge. That’s why you can meet someone for the first time but inside you, you just know it’s not the first time you have felt them’. I think in general its particularly special to feel those vibrations when you cross paths with someone for the first time. It would be a feeling I’d keep to myself though and I knew I’d never summon up the courage to talk to him. I was definitely not planning to make any signs of interest.  Because I was shy yes. But there was that ounce of pride.  “Never chase boys” my mum would always say.  From that moment on, however, things unfolded.

I grew to be an avid attendee to my favourite trainer’s classes on Mondays and Wednesday evenings. 7.00pm sharp the classes would begin with a 6 minute warm up run around the bags. The only time our trainer wouldn’t eye us like a hawk to ensure we weren’t chatting during our workout. So, within those 6 minutes you would find yourself debriefing to fellow class attendees. 6 minutes. Within those 6 minutes I always wanted him to run with me but he was always super focussed. Luckily for me though because I was always out of breath trying to run and talk at the same time. Even so, one evening maybe I would find myself running next to him. Once the bell rang and our warm up was over, we all took to getting our gloves readying ourselves to be tortured for an hour. The gym was a rectangular space with small rings on each end in addition to a dozen bags suspended from the ceiling in the middle. I was always drawn to a particular bag in the back right hand corner which coincidentally ended up being opposite the bag he tended to position himself at. To say I was distracted during some classes watching him freestyle on the bag is an understatement.

Class after class, our nods to each other turned into small chit chat, to bonding over our agony throughout the class, to laughs. And then I don’t know how it happened but we started to become quite friendly and our conversations just started to flow naturally. He had a great sense of humour when you got to know him. Alas, he started to run with me around the bags during the beginning of some classes and I had to pretend I was not struggling to breath. I remember he would speak to me about his love life, which would make my stomach sink a little. Because I immediately assumed that he wasn’t interested. Even so, I put that aside and was still happy to be his friend. I constantly spoke to him about how I was itching to quit my job again to go overseas. I remember he would tell me how in awe he was that I could do that because he felt stuck in his dead end job working with his father. To which I replied, like I always do, ‘you only live once.’ As cheesy as that is.

Months passed and we started to grow quite close as a class. This boxing gym was a community and extremely family orientated so it was only normal but our trainer was really involved in planning various outings together and we essentially grew to be quite a tight knit family. We all ventured out to dinners, boxing matches, AFL games, brunches, the list goes on. I remember when we went to an AFL game once I happened to be sitting next to him much to my excitement. As I write this, I can feel how our arms would ‘accidentally’ graze each others. How he sat upright, smiling at me from time to time but then avoiding eye contact. I can still be transported to that moment and experiencing the butterflies in my stomach.

I guess you don’t really get to know someone, however, until they really let you into their world. And that happened to me one evening at the gym. I can still see this memory unravelling in my head. He placed his things next to mine and I looked up with a smile which dropped when I saw his expression. Something was wrong. His eyes looked heavy and his body language was awkward. I greeted him but immediately asked if he was okay. ‘How did you know?’ He looked down and then up to me again shaking his head overcome with emotion. He took his time to tell me that his mother had healed from breast cancer a few years back, however, a recent routine doctor’s appointment had revealed that the disease had come back and spread to her brain. He explained to me that it was the first time they had done this type of scan and that if it hadn’t have been discovered now, that his mother could have dropped dead within the space of a couple of weeks. I listened to his words reverberate whilst my mind flashed to visions of my aunty. My heart sank. I gave him a hug and said some consoling words but I knew they didn’t mean anything to him at that precise moment. All he wanted to do was smack the living daylight out of a boxing bag and to forget. He had a habit of needing to forget. To block it all out. That was how he dealt with his pain. He didn’t deal with it. No, he didn’t know how to deal with it. He was a man of routine and certainty. And he felt his whole life about to crumble right in front of him. That night I drove home thinking about him. I ate my dinner thinking about him. Well I tried to eat. But I couldn’t. I went to bed thinking about him. And I knew I had now entered his world and all I wanted to do was support him in any way I could. I instantly put my problem solving hat on, my mind becoming over-whelmed with everything I could do to help him. Post this night, I put my feelings aside and began to intensify my communication with him outside the gym to ensure he was okay and be there for him as a friend. Because watching your mother go through the pain and complications of cancer or any sickness for that matter was probably one of the toughest experiences to live through. As a result, our friendship really began to flourish.

***

A few months passed and we were all celebrating our trainer’s birthday in Fitzroy.  I remember most of the night.  I remember I was wearing a white leather skirt with a beanie.  It was a chilly night but also, I was rarely ever a girly girl.  The one part of the night that sticks with me always was actually the end of the night.  We all stood around saying goodbye.  About to part ways but like all goodbyes with friends, they end up turning into conversations about all sorts of things  There was such a chill in the air and I have this obsession with signing my name on car windows that have been victimised by frost.  I separated from the group.  I could have been a tad intoxicated.  Anyway, as I stepped towards a stranger’s parked car (the first victim), I began tagging their windscreen.  Moments after I saw another hand doing the same.  ‘Matt,’ he wrote next to mine.  I looked up and there he was, standing right next to me, locking eyes with mine and smiling.  I can’t recall what we spoke about moments after.  But my stomach was in overdrive.