Paula Brukmüller - Flowers from Greece - The Autobiography of the Journalist Who Turned a Personal Tragedy into an Inspiring World Tour

- But I want to know why you favored him.” – Luis insisted.

- Enough! Enough! – I was already mad.

Luana could understand the whole conversation but she remained silent next to Jean. But Laurent threatened to get up.

- Okay, guys. Things are getting tense here and I don’t want to get involved. – he spoke in English with his French accent.

- No, Laurent, please stay. Luis is insisting on a subject that is already closed, but I’m sure he will stop now, right? – I turned my face to Luis, who had a nervous smile on his face.

We tried to stay there for a few more minutes, but Luis was really annoying, so I gave up waiting for him to leave us alone and went to my room. That night I cursed the exact minute I gave in to the pressure and let Luis kiss me. Just remembering that moment made my stomach turn.

One night after I had politely clarified things with Luís, I was sitting with Luana at one of the bar tables, talking trivia with other volunteers, when he came to my side and discreetly showed me some notes on his cell phone.

From that moment on, I abandoned any attempt at being friendly or even respectful towards Luis. The text on the device read “21 cm.”

- This is my size, just so you know. – He said quietly, trying to make the screen visible only to me.

- What? – I asked in astonishment. – I didn’t ask you anything, and I’m not interested in your size, you idiot.

- I already know you’ve been talking about me. – He turned off the display and walked away.

I was so disgusted that I rolled my eyes and turned the glass of Tequila Sunrise at the same time.

- You surely have a mental problem. – I raised my voice as he crossed the bar.

That same night Luis came and apologized to me for the inconvenience. Although I already knew that he had fantasized about the madness that I said something about his physique.

- Some people have told me that you’ve been saying that I have a small dick. – he justified.

- Stop fantasizing, Luis. No one told you anything. I didn’t see your dick, I didn’t touch your dick, I didn’t even come close to wanting to do anything with your dick. We both know that you’re lying. Please don’t speak to me anymore.

I had a few more drinks that night, and as I was on my way to my room, having wished a good night to those who stayed at the bar, Luis followed me and tried to steal a kiss from me on the stairs leading to the barracks.

I was so angry that I cursed him, demanding that he kept his distance from me. I didn’t realize it, but that behavior had already crossed the line and I should have complained of harassment with Isadora.

The beach was completely empty that afternoon. With the waterfront bar closed, not even the few guests were willing to take the 122 steps and 300-meter walk to the sand. I particularly liked that emptiness very much. Most of the time, it was me, the sea, the sun, and Bob the stray-dog.

The meditation that afternoon was intense. I had just said goodbye to Luana and was a bit melancholic. Also, before closing my eyes, I decided to try to understand what Luis’s defiant presence on my trip might be trying to teach me. Everyone says that when something in the other person bothers us a lot, it is because it reflects something within ourselves.

I refused to accept that I could have something like that desperate need, lack of self-esteem, and over-inflated ego. But I already knew that I couldn’t consider myself superior to him either. Then, before meditation, I took a deep breath and wrote in my reflective journal: “What can I learn from Luis?”

My reflective journal was born the week after my divorce when I was still in Curitiba and had no plans to go to Bahia. What kept me somewhat balanced at that time was meditating and writing my feelings in a notebook to rationalize what I was really feeling. It was such a violent emotional turmoil I believed I could go mad at any moment. Turning my feelings and emotions into words helped me maintain my sanity.

Living with Luis bothered me very much, and regretting kissing him made me so angry that I simply wanted to erase it from my mind. As a result, I had not even mentioned his name in my reflective journal, let alone the gratitude journal. But everything we deny grows. So I decided to stop resisting and try to understand why I had attracted such a difficult situation to my life.

I synchronized the rhythm of my breathing with the sound of the waves and watched my thoughts dance inside my head. A cool, almost cold breeze blew, but I just noticed the air swaying the loose strands of my hair and gently touching the skin of my arms and legs. The sun was starting to set, but it was still warm with some intensity on my face, my lap, and my thighs crossed over the beach towel spread in the thick sand. At the nape of my neck, I noticed a trickle of seawater running from my wet hair. The icy, steady trickle made me shiver, but I resisted the urge to contain it.

When I opened my eyes, the sky was already colored by vibrant orange and an extract of clouds on the horizon mixed shades of blue and lilac. The sun was a small yellow fireball about to touch the line that separates the sky from the ocean. Tears welled up without warning and I just let them run free down my cheeks until they were in my lap.

I just wanted to say thanks. Thanks for all the changes that led me to that sunset on the Mediterranean Sea. Thank Felipe for being firm in my suffering and insisting on the divorce. Thanks because it all happened after I had already signed the termination of my contract on TV, otherwise I would not have had the courage to go on such a trip. I felt genuine gratitude because that deep rejection pushed me into much more beautiful and transformative things.

At that very moment, when I rationalized that it was the desire not to feel rejected anymore that led me to struggle to be happier. I finally understood another behavior of mine that originated in the emotional wound of rejection. In the first few seconds, I couldn’t turn it into an organized thought, but it was as if a flash exploded in my mind and I could only cry even more.

After having that unreasonable discovery, I started writing and I was able to make sense of all that emotion. Rejection was so painful to me that I couldn’t stand even seeing other people feeling rejected. Being rejected was as difficult as rejecting someone and so I was unable to hold onto it, especially to men. “Don’t do to others what you don’t want them to do to you.” And to obey the saying, I did not kill, I did not steal, nor did I reject.

I might even refuse a flirt at first, but if there was insistence, emotional distress, psychological blackmail, I would give in. And at that moment, several memories of my adolescence and youth sprang into my memory. All the boys I dated against my will simply because I couldn’t say no. One of them, I dated for three months, and even forced myself to have sex with him, just because he insisted so much and he said he loved me and I couldn’t fight my own will.

Other guys that even caused me revulsion. All faces came to my mind as I stared at the words I had just written and could only cry.

Finally, Felipe seemed to be sitting in front of me. At that time, I was crying so heavily that I looked around to make sure I was really alone on the beach.

How painful it was to admit that the beginning of my marriage was not the fairy tale I made people believe. Along with the aching cry came remorse and shame. The last time I cried so loud was on the bar steps of our house when Felipe cried with me.

It took me a while to give in to Felipe’s flirtation when we met. We always met at the same parties and bars and he tried to get close to me. One day, I decided to give in and ended up prolonging that casual relationship with him because my ex-boyfriend, who I was still in love with, treated me like rubbish and, with Felipe, I had the comfort and attention that I was looking for. When I realized, Felipe was in love, making plans for me to move with him and even buying our engagement rings. Afraid of losing the affection and attention he gave me, I let things get out of my control and, sorry to hurt Felipe, I moved to the other side of Brazil without being sure what my heart truly wanted.