I’m gonna tell you a little secret: every time I write, I play the Untitled album by Sigur Rós. I don’t know for how long I’ve been doing it, but I like to listen to it. It soothes me and gets my creative juices flowing. Ironically -and this is just something I realized a few minutes ago-, as I listen to the first track, probably writing about moving on after my breakup; I am also -subconsciously, maybe-, thinking about my ex. Now that I come to think about it, I can clearly remember her singing along to Untitled 1, the first track of the album. We were in bed for the first time after getting back together, listening to music in between sex. Classic. Ah, good times. Crazy 2014.

I shared this secret to set the tone about my Re/Start sort-of-explanation-and-kind-of-catharsis. You see, the whole idea of writing this “column” -or, technically, “slightly poetical narration of snippets of my romantic life”-, has been all over the place. Bouncing back and forth, from one extreme to the other in the range of emotions. Why? Let’s explore.

My first girlfriend, C, hated my writing, and she wasn’t shy to tell me -or bitch- about it. “It’s stupid,” she used to say. So you will find deliciously ironic that, after breaking up with her 4 years ago, I really began to fucking type away. And in this period, my best work was a somewhat humoristic column about being single again, entitled “Singleness 101.” Karma? In a way. C’s still angry about that.

After breaking up with my Norwegian ex, I though it would be a good idea to try to emulate Singleness 101. Transform the intense pain I had been and was experiencing at the moment into pure and liberating dark humor. Of course, after 57 episodes of Re/Start, I can’t say I have quite achieved my initial goal. Nor the other one, which was moving on.

My feelings towards my ex have fluctuated between love and hate for the last three years. She made me extremely happy and very miserable. There was also a vast space of kind, quiet and overall good times in the mix. Contaminated, unfortunately, with shit that came from my wounded mind and heart. Those unforgiving fuckers. So, that’s how it went and why it ended.

Re/Start. Restarting. Sounds about right -and about fucking time- to do it. Yet, is there anything wrong with not completely moving on after seven months of ending the most important relationship of my life? I don’t think so. So fuck anyone that dares to judge me without being in my shoes, and fuck this stupid guilt I feel for not having been able to make it, so far. This is a process I can’t rush. Also, an emotional exploration that I am willing to undertake. Because if this is the price to pay to love again, I’m all in. And it only makes sense. Wounds hurt while healing. Wounds in the soul hurt more, but heal as well. In the end.