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

When I stopped to look at some palm-straw boxes, the salesman from the tent next door showed Cristián a tray full of rings.

- Beautiful girl. Beautiful. Girlfriend? – he asked, smiling and pointing at the costume jewelry.

- Wife – Cristián replied, hiding his mouth with the back of his hand and paying attention to my expression.

- Uhhh Lucky man! – The Vietnamese replied, almost whispering, but celebrating with a radiant excitement.

Cristian laughed with satisfaction and spent the rest of the trip repeating the salesman’s expression with the same intonation each time he saw me getting out of the shower or putting on makeup. I was shy, but I loved his effort to make me believe he thought he was the luckiest guy on the planet.

In Ho Chi Minh, the ancient Saigon, in the far south of Vietnam, we were caught in a thick, freezing rain as we left the public market. We spent a heavy afternoon visiting the Vietnam War Memorial Museum and I cried a few times seeing pictures of children and old people in distress. I left there with a headache and decided to look for more moderate programs to end the day.

I had lost eight pairs of flip flops in Thailand and was wearing Diogo’s flip flops, which were bizarrely large for my feet. I was so happy that I didn’t mind walking for days with shoes six numbers bigger than mine. I thought it was funny. But that afternoon I decided to buy new sandals. After the shoe stall, we stopped in a square where dozens of men and women played some kind of soccer with shuttlecocks.

I had never seen any similar sport, but it seemed to be the Vietnamese national passion. Apparently there were two different ways to play. Within a court, with a volleyball net in the middle, or in a circle, just as Brazilians play with a soccer ball.

The Chileans were quickly accepted into a circle and had fun learning the moves with a Vietnamese who claimed to be the coach of that sport, which I could never figure out the name. After the game, we strolled the public market and I saw Cristián try to bargain from eco-leather wallets to cheap fake sports shoes.

We entered a food market to escape the rain when the sun was setting, and we ended up getting excited about the beers. A live music show cheered up the place and, at some point in the night, the beer glasses were replaced with a bottle of rum.

Diogo and I were singing excitedly when I noticed the second bottle on the table. The next minute, I was waking up with Cristian kissing me voraciously, not caring about the hangover breath that morning brought me.

It was our last 24 hours together and we spent the day drinking lots of water and trying to figure out what had happened the night before. Cristián was the only one who remembered everything. The big problem is that we separated from Pablo and Diogo after smoking pot around the city and neither one of them could tell where they were until they found the hotel address at daybreak.

Diogo said he was seduced by two Vietnamese who took off their clothes and asked for 1 million dongs for sex, which was less than $50. He was grateful for not having the money, otherwise he would have paid it, he said.

Pablo, on the other hand, lost his cell phone, credit card and gave a 50 euros bill to a homeless person. No one understood the reason. “I think I was very happy,” he argued.

- Good thing you took care of me. If I wasn’t with you, I would certainly have a bizarre story to tell. – I hugged Cristian, feeling grateful.

- I wouldn’t say that. – He laughed looking at Diogo and Pablo.

- I did something wrong? – I asked, searching my mind for flashes from the night before.

- You kissed a Ukrainian on the mouth. And right in front of her husband, – he revealed, and everyone laughed.

- Goddammit! Really??? – I asked incredulously.

- Yes – Diogo added – You wanted me to kiss her, but I said I wouldn’t do it because her husband was next door. So you went there yourself and kissed her.

- Don’t worry – Cristián added – he didn’t care.

I didn’t feel embarrassed. I found it funny and had fun with my audacity. Kissing a woman in such a traditionalistic country, religiously speaking, and still in front of her husband? I had certainly lost my mind when I boarded to Vietnam after a boy ten years younger than me.

“I’m here without the strength to get out of bed while I hear your cheerful voice singing a sensual reggaeton. I’m trying to protect my heart from this storm that has collapsed every time you looked at me with such sweetness and fury at the same time. I was whole when you convinced me to give you that first kiss of 2019. I had my bags ready to leave that morning. I had a plan. I was giving my feelings a break because they always make a lot of mess. And now I’m here, trying to pick up the pieces that we scattered on the floor of Vietnam. I’m leaving, but I am leaving with you attached to me. ”

I wrote on my cell phone notepad as I listened to the shower marking the rhythm of the song Cristián hummed. I translated it into Spanish and sent it to his cell phone before turning off the bedroom light. My backpacks were ready in the armchair under the window. On the round wooden table, my sunglasses he broke on the night of our boozing at the market and a japamala with a green buddha image that I was leaving as a gift.

That early morning, Cristian made dozens of selfies with me, just as he always did when we were in bed talking about anything and laughing at absolutely everything. After we last loved each other, I let the tears stream from my eyes in silence, protected by the darkness of the room. I made a tremendous effort to keep my breathing natural and not move my body, but I couldn’t hide my tears for long.

We were awake and I could feel in the air that there were a thousand thoughts and words bubbling between us, but we didn’t know what to say. Cristian searched my cheek for a kiss, perhaps trying to give me some comfort. He didn’t know I was crying, but the pain of another goodbye was choking us both in that bed. It was like having an anvil pressing on our bodies.

- Are you crying, Paulinha? – he asked softly.

- Just a little. Don’t worry – I said, whispering not to denounce my nose completely jammed with the contained tears.

- Why, my princess? – He wiped my tears with his hand and realized I was lying. Even my hair was already wet.

I was silent, pinching my lips and my eyes, and trying to hold my breath to keep from sobbing.

I turned to the opposite side and when I felt the crying was under control, I went to the bathroom. I turned on the shower and released that contained energy from my body. Naked in front of the mirror, as the water slid down my back soothing my chest, I just thanked myself for allowing me to live this crazy adventure.

I didn’t sleep until my cell phone alarm went off at 5:30 in the morning.

- I’ll be waiting for you in Chile, with my arms wide open, my hot babe – he hugged me after I put the backpack on my back. – Diogo, come comfort me. Paulinha is leaving me! – he shouted, turning his head to the door that was already open.

I was torn to pieces. I was always the one who watched the other turn and leave. When I said good-bye to Laurent in Greece, I thought it would be easier to leave before him, but I found that it was not abandonment that hurt me, it was separation.

At the airport, while writing a poem full of metaphors on my Instagram, I remembered once again that it was exactly a year since Felipe and I had been apart. Certainly, my subconscious was enhancing that pain, since I knew that Cristián was just a seductive man with whom I had an adventure.