November 3rd, 2008.
My eyes blink open, and for a second, I don’t remember where I am.
Right, I’m in my rented room in Cádiz, the southernmost town in Spain. The landlady, a feisty redhead named Veronika. Probably in her late 20’s or early30’s, lives there too. Juan, the Dominican guy I’m traveling with is renting the other spare room, but he’s away on some obscure business trip.
I have absolutely no fucking clue what I’m doing there. I just knew I needed to get away. Away from the memories of the horrible attack that happened just months before, away from the normalcy of my life in Sweden (because nothing feels trustworthy anymore), away from the terrible decision I made to sell the travel vouchers from Juan. If I keep trying to fix what clearly is something horribly wrong with that business arrangement, then all the bad feelings will magically go away. They just have to.
I crawl out of bed and try to decide what to do with my day. I drink a cup of black coffee and eat a small yoghurt from the tiny bodega around the corner. The anxiety is making it hard to eat (part of me is happy about this and I hopes it will make me loose weight.) I just need to get out and keep moving. Yes, that’s it! The sun is shining, and the sky is brilliantly blue. It’s November, but the weather is pretty warm, and I’ll just need the black leather jacket I bought at Zara last week. It’s perfect.
Spanish men galore
It’s Saturday, and I’m going clubbing with a German girl named Sophia I met at a bar. She’s there studying Spanish at an official language school, not like me, who’s winging it on my own. I ask her what time we’re going out and she instructs me to meet her at the first bar at 10 pm and we’ll take it from there. I imagine we’ll be out late, so I take a long siesta. When I arrive, the bar is already full of people, and Sophia introduces me to her crew. The cheap wine is flowing, and we are communicating in broken Spanish and English, and I allow myself to forget all my troubles and melt into a bubble of alcohol, music, and dancing. I spot a cute guy named Angel, so he tells me in a loud voice to try to be heard over the thumping noise. He’s there with his group of friends - one is a sweet guy that I don’t pay that much attention to named Fernando - they wonder if we want to hit another club.
The next time I look at my Nokia phone, it’s a little after five, and I assume we’re winding down. Boy, am I wrong! There’s yet another club that’s going to close out the night. It doesn’t open until 6 am… Euphoric from dancing, wine, and being young and cute, I order another shot. I see a tall guy checking me out. His name is Sergio… we start dancing. To no one’s surprise, we make out, and when we tumble out at 8 am, he insists on walking me home. After an epic elevator make-out sesh, I turn him away at the door. I haven’t had sex with anyone since being brutally assaulted, and there’s no way I’m letting this guy inside - in any way, shape, or form.
Aphrodite is born
Days pass by in a blur of studying Spanish, walking down cobble streets and beaches, and visiting markets, cafés, museums, clubs, and restaurants. As much as I rack my brain, I cannot remember how Fernando gets in touch with me, but he does, and we start hanging out. Fernando makes me laugh every time I see him. His kind brown eyes are intelligent and curious. I can tell he’s a good human. I immediately put him in the friend zone.
Fer is as “Gaditano” as it gets. We laugh about how I thought I came to learn Spanish, only to find out that the dialect spoken in Cádiz is almost incomprehensible for native Spanish speakers. I persevere, and Fernando adjusts his Spanish to my level or speaks to me in English. He’s a wonderful friend.
One night we go out drinking with his friends, and unsurprisingly, I get pretty hammered. One thing leads to another, and I wake up the next day with a headache and Fernando in my bed. I’m not too mad about it. He’s grown on me over the past few weeks. I get up to go pee, wearing only tiny panties. I hear a gasp from the bed and look around in surprise - he’s looking at me like I’m Aphrodite being born from the sea foam. My heart swells. I can’t remember a man ever looking at me this way.
I left my heart in Granada
Fernando comes up with a fantastic idea. He wants to bring me to his favorite city, Granada. He’s driving us there in his mom’s blue car, and I’m so excited. Zooming down the highway, I feel free and happy for the first time in ages. Granada is everything. To be seeing it with a local guide is incredible.
We start our visit by eating at Fernando’s favorite Moroccan restaurant; the smells, decor, food, and music are sublime. Not to mention the decadent dessert and bold coffee. I’m in heaven. (If you ever get a chance to visit Spain, you must go to Granada - I promise you will thank me.)
We dance with Romani people and meander through winding streets and stairs that go up, up, up. The view of Alhambra is breathtaking - it is one of the most famous monuments of Islamic architecture and one of the best-preserved palaces of the historic Islamic world. Fernando shares his knowledge about the vibrant history of Granada and how it’s the only city in the world with its mix of Islamic, Jewish, and Moroccan influences. I’m spellbound, my senses are flooded, and the nomadic energy of the people invigorates my spirit.
Adios Wapa
Back in Cadiz, we don’t talk about dating or labeling our time together other than Fernando giving me the nickname “Wapa” (a Gaditano form of Guapa which means Pretty Girl.) But things are becoming increasingly tense with Juan, and I’m destined to start Health Coaching school in NYC in the not-too-distant future. I need to get back to Sweden, pack my bags and be on my way. Fernando and I meet at a local bar and order some beers.
I casually mention that I’m leaving and thank him for the time we’re shared. Fernando is pissed. His Spanish fire is stoked, and he looks at me, eyes blazing. “That’s it!!??” He tells me heatedly, “After this time we shared, you’re just going to say thanks!?” I realize my absurd behavior and finally, let myself feel the truth. I’ve fallen for the guy, and he for me. Tears fill my eyes, and I tell him I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry for everything. I tell him I’m so grateful that he’s restored my faith in men and that he’s the first guy I’ve been with since the rape. We hug each other hard, and we both know I have to leave, but now I can go with both of us knowing the truth, and rest in the healing love we shared.
There was something in the air that night. The stars were bright: Fernando.
Another version on this story
This story is a parallel article to the very first piece I shared on Substack about being swindled. You can read that here.
It’s so amazing that we can have two experiences happening at the same time, and depending on the perspective we take, we learn completely different things. I love exploring the various aspects of my life here with you. It’s funny that I felt drawn to share my story with Fernando, right after the article I shared about my husband. It’s like I’m making peace with the masculine, and these stories are demanding to be heard, and it’s part of the healing journey.
✨Welcome new subscribers!✨
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After the wonderful writer and poet, Susan Frybort of ‘Writing That Changes You' here on Substack, recommended ‘Unfolding’, I have had an influx of new readers.
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Much love,
Karna 💜
I adored every moment of this story. It is amazing how many plot lines we can live, all at the same time. It's like a kaleidoscope that you just turned for me, and I loved it.
Thanks, my love! You're the best life-partner in the world!