One nice thing about Germany, well it used to be nice because they recently stopped this, was that after WWII, all German males were supposed to either go into the military after high school or do a year of social work. That year of social work could also be done abroad. It was great because the Germans got to explore different places, learn languages, and help others. Julian did his social work year in Chicago and that is where we met.
It was not an instant love connection for either of us. Actually, he didn't even remember meeting me because I met him the first day he arrived and there were so many people in this sort of German frat house (down the street from my apartment) he was in a state of shock at all the new things around him. He was extremely quiet, and his English left something to be desired. I found him very good looking, but very...odd.
We ended up dating after a few months of knowing each other, and our cultural differences were very apparent. Americans are used to people politely tiptoeing around each other's feelings, while Germans (not all, I'm just speaking from my own experiences with them) have a slightly different approach.
For example, once I was getting ready to go out to a bar with my German and I wore a dress, a dress I thought looked good in. For the same reason all girls do this, I asked him if the dress made me look okay.
With a stone cold expression he simply said, "No that does not look good on you." My first reaction was shock and then anger. Obviously. After I yelled at him, he tried to explain. "I'm just being honest with you, wouldn't you be angry with me if I didn't tell you the truth? I'm doing you a favor." Germans value that way of thinking, greatly.
Over time, things changed. We had many a long talk about how Germans see things and how Americans see things. How each our values differed, efficiency, punctuality, politeness, all of those things. We clashed on a lot, but eventually we came to an understanding. All except for one major thing which had to do with not the American side of me, but the Mexican, which was a whole different ball game that I will go into later.
Our first year was the kind where you do not want to be apart from the other. He started off cold toward me, toward everyone really. Within six months he told me he loved me in a strange way after a mid-winter snowball fight. As we were laying on the ground, he turned to me:
"Would you ever cheat on me?"
"Um. No."
"Are you sure?"
"Um. Yes." I said slightly dumbfounded.
"Okay. I love you."
It is not exactly what girls dream about when the guy they love tells them they love them for the first time, but back then, it felt perfect. I had that feeling that some, stupid, silly girls dream about. I melted that hard-hearted guy. Ahh, the blissful feeling of satisfaction I felt each time he yelled at someone but then looked toward me with dreamy eyes.
Don't get me started on the jealousy, the macho-ness, and the ambition I saw in him in the beginning. He was one of those "strong" guys. Everyone always thought he was older than me because he seemed so mature, when in reality, he was two years younger. Previous to Julian, my long-term boyfriends had been laid back, easy-going, and rarely jealous. They seemed so boring compared to rough-talking Julian. We argued, and made love, and traveled Europe together...I felt so special with him. The first time I visited him in Germany, I had wanted to go on a trip with him but he didn't seem to want to, when I arrived, he gave me a Christmas card.
"Merry Christmas baby," he said sweetly.
I opened the card and inside were two tickets to Paris, leaving the day before New Year's Eve.
I screamed and hugged him. It was beyond romantic.
Ahh, it was all so easy back then.
Fast forward five years and we've survived a year apart, me living down the street from him in Germany, and two more years...apart.
One year ago was the death of my father, which I never could have survived without Julian. He put up with my daily crying over the phone, my crippling depression, my anger. He would listen to me for hours, cry with me, try his hardest to cheer me up. He kept me holding on, even though he was far away. He was the strongest person I knew.
I felt as though a part of me also died with the death of my father, and I still have not recovered it. I felt that I lost some of my youthfulness, my carelessness, the little girl in me ran away that day and try as he might, Julian cannot bring it back. It felt as though the world had gone from living color, to sepia. That is part of the reason I feel hesitation to get married. I don't know who I am anymore.
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