Chapter 15: Galway's Paul.

For me, it was precisely Galway what broke it all. That vase of honey —mead which had been hidden for life, to be broken into tiny pieces. The place that released an idiotic romantic compulsion in me, never known before. There, I met Paul: my first infatuation of a remarkable size. Unrepressed, it wasn't Irish blood what I was after: I seemed to crave exotic, flightless birds.

There's no such thing as a perfect romance. And I don't mean it in the terms of their finitude: I believe that —given any two people— the fact that both would eventually die doesn't necessarily expose the imperfection of their romance. I mean it as in “there's never perfection in credible romances”. Even the inspiration required by a proper romance will include some resistance, some barriers to be broken. The crisis that ends with him driving to the airport, to expose his love to her in front of dozens of silly strangers that would end up clapping for no reason.

Even outside these clichés, complications seemed to be a requirement. They led to temporary climaxes. Sometimes these complications come from the outside, other times from within.

Without the required struggle, love would be considered far too easy, far too cheap. Worthy romances are to be paid in pain and heartache.

Except, they aren't. Even at that first hit of infatuation, I was tired of conforming to this adolescent vision of love. To that bullshit and its needless struggle. There's some truth to it: most humans would lose motivation for someone that doesn't play with their emotions —be it consciously or not, at varying degrees. Their dopaminergic pathways would change when they're not gamed.

Somebody present, painless and uncomplicated will be taken for granted. But I wasn't the kind of girl that plays those games of artificially adding internal frictions, adding hurdles to an already complex reality.

The key was not in the game we played, but with whom we did play. The initial conditions of the system were important: it wasn't about randomly accepting someone as a soul to bond for eternity. I needed to be selective, to actively search for hints.

In the search for him, games and deceitful traits were time wasters. I found that the easiest way was to openly declare any interest, but without exposing the underlying —delusional— hopes. After all, it wasn't that common for genuine romantic interest to arise. Not in my case. I promised myself not to be shy about expressing it —all without letting its strength to be emotionally overvalued.

Except that, for a girl... that open approach may be often misconstrued. To varying degrees, in all the cultures I got to know. Most people wouldn't react with their optimal behavior to that honest approach: either they'd assume they could use-abuse then throw away, or they suspect that something's off —that there's more emotional neediness than there really is. Naked sincerity and disregarding social masks aren't all-terrain solutions. Which reduced the chances of finding him.

Meeting Paul made me bluntly aware of something: that there was at least another human in which I really wanted to invest. I wanted to pay by exposing my soul and becoming fragile. Surrendering partial control of my happiness, in exchange for the hope of more happiness. Every investment has its risks. I was ready to risk, a lot.

I would take my fragility as a prize. A prize for myself, disguised as a gift to him.