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Ex issues

Source: Lucy Hunt/iarica.com

My resilience has been tested over this last week. I shall skip the details and get directly to the point: an ex boyfriend wants us to get back together.

To put this into brief context, the man has been travelling around Nepal, visiting Ashrams and as he eloquently puts it, 'cleansing his soul'.

And I checked. He's not on drugs.
Much time has passed since this wondering soul and I parted ways. While I was steadily focused on climbing a ladder wearing a formidable power suit, he was throwing himself into various interests, but with a fickle regularity I found quite exhausting.

He'd plunge himself into, say, rock climbing one week — buy all the ropes, back-up harnesses and literature bespeaking of such an art, and in a short but intense period of time, scale 76 mountains.

'All very confusing… '
Just when I thought he'd found something to keep himself impassioned, a week later the equipment would be bundled away and then deny that he ever had such an interest in it at all, ever.

All very confusing, and the nail that banged itself into my coffin — so to speak — and sexual jokes aside, the sex always rocked the neighbourhood, however one day I felt a twinge of indifference that wouldn't go away.

This man of extremes was becoming tiresome, even though he used ice and chocolate in our kinky routine, which was always very spontaneous.

One day, he decided to become a Buddhist. It wasn't the incense burning about his house, or the voluptuous belly statues, or even how he waxed lyrical about how religion had changed his life. It was that a week later, I knew that his disinclination to stick with what he'd changed his life for, would be like the iPod Mini. Obsolete.

Nevertheless, we remained friends, which meant I didn't have to cook vegetarian food anymore. What a relief. There's only so much tofu surprise a girl can take. In the interim of me finding out who the hell I was, we split, he donned a pair of flared pants, found himself a guru and started chanting for his supper in rural Nepal.

Two years later, and today I have before me a changed man.

This is the crux of the matter: leopards don't change their spots, and the stretch marks on my posterior aren't going anywhere either.

Back in Anglo-Saxon society, he's wearing a suit and behaving like a rational human being, a little surer of what he wants and of who he is. Applause all round, although interesting that one of his targets on his 'to do' list is little old me.

I'm not exactly singing 'Do That To Me One More Time', but it is very flattering.

When someone returns from a two year sabbatical under the influence of a spiritual guidance counsellor, decides that he wants to marry you and father the babies, and especially if you're feeling a bit lonely in the light of all the nuptials going around town, you can only react with blushing flattery.

'Would we argue like we used to?'
However, amidst the rise of oxytocin directed at your groin region, one has to be objective about this scenario, and go on the offensive, sadly. If you were to run off with him — again — into a deluge of rainbows, what has really changed?

What about those little annoying things you did to each other? Will they return? For instance, he hated that I read the 'Heat' magazine in the bath. It drove him beyond mental, always chastising my choice in literature. While in turn, I hated that he scratched his testicles when he loitered around the house with the cricket on in the background. He couldn't let go of his manhood, quite literally.

Would we argue like we used to? Basically, would we slip into the same pattern of misbehaviour as before, or are we now all grown up and mature, having learnt from our mistakes and ready to move forward in a different direction (he said that I can even read Heat in the tub)?

Is this is what dreams are made of? The Return of the Ex? Most of me remains disillusioned, thinking perhaps too much water under the bridge and a change of dynamics here means we've moved beyond the mark.

It also means I'd have to eat the tofu sensation again. I just have to keep my loneliness in check when we're out together drinking cocktails that bludgeon my head with randy nostalgic thoughts.

She who is vulnerable must be on guard at all times.

Article By: Lucy Hunt/iarica.com