Delhi! (Again....)

I was trying to plan many things in Delhi. “Do you want to go to this museum? Or that one? We must go to this paratha place. Delhi is kind of crazy and we don’t have a lot of time, so let’s plan it out.”

After we thought about it, we decided, let’s just stay in our fancy hotel. Wayne had booked The Holiday Inn, which is much more luxurious than the countless Holiday Inns I had stayed at when traveling with my cross-country team in college.

We checked in, and Wayne was shocked at how they looked under the vehicle and in the trunk before letting us in. “No, they do this in lots of places,” I assured him. Then the namastes and bowing began. “No, they do this. Really. Say it back.”

We checked into our room...and immediately raided the minibar. Snickers. Soda.

Wayne put on Arcade Fire, the first I had heard since I left three months ago. Oh how I miss my music…(Streaming in India just isn’t so fast that I can always stream the music that I want.)

We ordered off the room service menu, which arrived in 20 minutes. We just spent some time talking, cuddling, being together - because we wouldn’t be together for quite a long while.

We went downstairs to the Fitness Center where I ran gloriously (with a tummy too full) with a view of a Delhi highway and Wayne swimming in the cold lap pool in front of me.

We met my friend Rajat in the lobby of the Holiday Inn. I had met him back in January at Meenal’s. We talked about my trip, about ultrarunning. When Wayne mentioned his back issues, Rajat inquired more. He’s not only a RD of La Ultra, and a badass ultrarunner, but an amazing sports doctor.

After dinner (During which Wayne ate the thali - 900 rupees at the Holiday Inn - thalis tend to be in the 100-200 rupee range, and this was wonderful.), Rajat examined Wayne, and said the same thing the ayurvedic doctor: it was a pinched nerve. He gave Wayne a series of exercises to do. And then he was gone.

And then...it was just us. It was so sad to say goodbye. We talked and I just wanted to bawl. Why wasn’t I going home with him? Oh yeah, I was here to study yoga.

In the morning, we woke together. I watched him get ready...and then….goodbye. So sad.

I napped, then got on the treadmill for an hour. Then a shower, and hop on a plane to Kathmandu!

Agra

So what most people think of when they think of Agra is, “The Taj Mahal.” Most people don’t think that it’s closed on Friday.

So Wayne and I had an extra day in Agra, and while I wouldn’t recommend it, we definitely made the most of it.

We got to Agra at night in the midst of tons of crazy traffic, people running around, and a zillion weddings. We were blown away, and our driver told us that it was very dangerous.

When we got to the Coral Tree Guesthouse (Our favorite place we stayed in India!), they told us they were having dinner. Did we want some?

Definitely!

We said goodbye to the driver, and ate dinner at the Coral Guesthouse. Typical Indian food, and very good. We were both exhausted, so we headed upstairs to our super cute room, and fell asleep.

In the morning, I wanted to go running, but Wayne dissauded me. “Don’t. It’s dangerous. Those streets...the traffic. Plus, it smells like sewage.” It did smell like sewage; it’s why we had slept with our windows open. Instead, I led us both in a yoga class, and we ate breakfast downstairs, showered, and headed out to touring Fatephur Sikri.

When Wayne realized we had booked an extra day in Agra, he looked up what was nearby. “There’s this neat-sounding fort town about 40k away.”

The drive was fascinating; usual India stuff. Neither Wayne nor I opened our Kindles. Instead, we watched gridlock, people biking with way too much stuff on their bikes, chai wallahs, piles of fruit for sale, people brushing their teeth, people begging, everything…

In Fatephur Sikr, we left our drive and walked because we wanted to. People often get confused about this in India…”But it’s only 10/20/30/whatever rupees, Madam.” I like to walk. So does Wayne.

The fort was beautiful and we took many photos. Then we went to the mosque. A self-appointed guide, who insisted he was merely a volunteer and a holy man, showed us around the mosque. It was interesting, though I didn’t like his comments about women (which reflected some of the Islamic constraints on women). After talking to us for 15 minutes, he tried to get us to buy some crafts that his family had made in their hometown (Crafts which we saw others had.). Though they were lovely, we were really annoyed that he had lied to us, and refused to buy them.

Instead, we walked around the palaces, the forts, took photos. We enjoyed the last of our time together, talking about our trip, our future, where we were now, our cats.

Back in the car, our driver took us to the Agra Fort. More tourist sales, and it reminded me greatly of The Amber Fort in Jaipur. It was pretty, but we were like, okay, next?

We went to Pinch o’ Spice for lunch. Clearly catering to Westerners, but so freaking good, we went up multiple times to the buffet. My plate was heaven: primarily paneer and sauteed veggies. We set naan-eating records.

We rolled ourselves down the stairs and had our driver take us to “Baby Taj,” which was really beautiful also.

He took us to a viewpoint. “You can see the Taj across the river. You go in the park, you pay, but down this road, free.”

We didn’t really feel like going to a park, we just wanted a nice photo. After, we wished we paid.

On the road, people tried to sell us stuff, an old woman tried to get me to take a photo of a man sleeping on a bedframe at the side of the road (for money, I’m sure), a boy and his goat chased us, I saw a woman hitting a baby. At the end of the road, there was the Taj, with some workers in front. I snapped a pic, feeling somewhat sad.

Wayne and I went back to the Coral Tree and relaxed. We read in the courtyard, snuggled, talked. We again had dinner at our place, and went to bed early, in preparation for an early morning at the Taj.

The Taj Mahal is, of course, beautiful. Everyone tells you to get there at sunrise...but they don’t tell you about the lines. We got there at 6 a.m. and there were lines, lines, lines.

The non-Indian ticket gives you a free ride on a “golf cart” (vehicle with electric engine), shoe covers, and a bottle of water. After purchasing our foreigner ticket, Wayne got annoyed at everyone trying to hassle us for a ride on their rickshaw. (You have to wait until a golf cart comes, which could be a few minutes, or you could even walk, which is maybe 10 minutes.)

We got on a golf cart, and waited on separate lines for women and men. I got in way before Wayne.

Then we went. It was beautiful, truly beautiful. A sight for love. I was so happy to be there with the person I loved more than anything else in the world that it did mean something.

But it was also lots of crowds and insanity.

After we looked around and took some photos, we walked back to the Coral Tree, had breakfast, and hopped into our taxi for a last day together in Delhi.

Run Love

How would it be to never run?

Wayne and I met through our running club. On our second date (what I have often joked, still hasn’t ended), we woke up the next morning, blissful, and headed upstate to go trail running. I felt so happy to finally have met a runner – but there were so many things other than running that we had in common. Like biking around Brooklyn, or eating good food, or talking about politics or good books or what we heard on NPR, or street art, or traveling, or Burning Man (eventually for Wayne; I had to introduce him to it.), or the beaches, or heading to the parks for summertime picnics, or petting the Luna Dune, and basically, everything else. But still – it was nice to run.

All our runs together weren’t blissful, but it still was fun to have a built-in running partner. In the cobblestone streets of Peru, or the beaches of Zipolite, Mexico, or through the gorgeous eternal spring-like streets of Medellin, we ran together, exploring, laughing, talking in English when Spanish was all that filled our ears otherwise. He met me on Valentine’s Day on the Williamsburg Bridge, and we stopped home and bought a bottle of champagne to drink post-run. We ran through the streets at night, streets that were so empty we felt like we owned them, finishing off in Kellogg’s Diner, eating food that only tastes good at 3 a.m. In the Marin Headlands, and in Big Sur, Wayne paused so I could hug the giant trees we ran past. We crossed the finish line of the Brooklyn Marathon together hand-in-hand. In his first ultramarathon, Burning Man 50k, when I saw him at the turn-around point, he just bawled in my arms. “Cherie, this is so hard. I love you.” And I kissed and held him tightly.  

This year, he didn’t run the Burning Man 50k; he was injured. When I came in for my last four mile loop, he was laughing, drinking a beer. “Please, come out with me. I’m having a terrible race.” I had spent approximately 40 minutes in the (thankfully clean) Port-a-Potties that dotted the course. He ran into our tent to pull on running shorts and sneakers. “Let’s go!”

We ran down C, making a right on 7:30. I ran like a maniac, weaving in and out, stopping at Bubbles and Bass for a cup of champagne. We finished, and I spent a good two hours hunched over sitting on a cooler, clutching my miserable tummy, in between handing out medals and sweaty hugs to finishers. It was so hard for him to watch and support and believe in my race, as an injured runner.

He has been having issues for a year and a half and was told this morning that he shouldn’t run again. Nothing impact. He has a form of arthritis and now is starting a round of oral steroids. Next up, injections.

It sucks so bad when you can’t do what you love most. He is hoping that the steroids and if he does strengthening and core that he’ll be able to start running someday. He is signed up for the Brooklyn Marathon this autumn, as am I; I had hoped we could celebrate together.

From so many misdiagnoses to a depressing diagnosis, I hope he can get to where he can once again, do one of the things that he loves most in the world.

Traveling with Wayne

Traveling with you can be so relaxing…I could get used to this!

The Deli

I was waiting to get a roll of paper towels, because Wayne forgot and it was 11pm and of course I, like any New Yorker, needed my paper towels NOW so I could clean the litter box. I wanted things done right now, like any New Yorker. So I picked my recycled paper towels off the shelf and was shocked to see the couple in front of me with their massive amount of stuff. (Most New Yorkers buy a Red Bell or some beer or chocolates.) They were shopping - chips and cheese and blueberries and they asked for a big bottle of Dr Bonner's soap and a Mrs. Meyers candle.


Something touching - in how he tried to pay, or contribute, and how she gently, quietly shook her head now. He nodded, reached over her for the two heavy bags. I could see their love was new. He was covered in tattoos, wearing a shirt for a punk band, but all he was emanating was love for her. She was wearing some old black shirt with the arm holes way cut out so you could see her bra - and she too had a lot of tattoos. But mostly, you saw the adoration.


They didn't notice me. They barely noticed the smiling guy behind the counter. They were so sweetly falling in love, it struck me. This is what it's about.


I watched them float out of the store, and paid for my paper towels, too much for what they are, but that's what New York City delis are like. And then I went home to my little world, where the boy in love with me was washing a sink full of dishes - and our cat slept happily under the A.C.


And it was just another night in NYC, where falling in love and being in love are what keeps us going.

One Year

What have I done in one year?

In one year, I have run three 100 milers, some 50 milers and 50ks.

I've gone to Florida, to Vermont, to Lake Tahoe, to Reno twice, to Black Rock City (my home!), to Big Sur, to San Francisco, to San Quentin, to New Orleans, to Florida again, to Connecticut, to Philly, to Peru, to a lot of other places.

But really, what I did do?

I fell in love, hard. In the hallway of my teammate's studio, after making a phone call, you came out and somehow we ended up kissing, feeling that zing, realizing wow, this was something special.

Our second date lasted an entire weekend, and when Monday morning came, we realized we didn't want it to end. So we didn't let it. And we've been on that second date since then.

Happy Anniversary, babe. One year and many more...

Short Runs

Because we weren't out to set out speed records today.

We slept in, tangled in blankets and each other, limbs and cat and comforter, and woke up, our hands reaching for each other. And finally, we rose.

Our legs ached - mine from a 50k on rocks and hills the day before, yours from a brutal speed workout two days before. Could we do the 10 miles at 7:45 pace?

We opted for enjoyment...and rest. We weren't ready to beat ourselves up. We tugged on running clothes and headed out.

At Gantry Plaza, you flopped on one of the chairs. I always wanted to do that, always having run by them. I sat in your lap and we watched the boats go by. You held me. We talked of island expansion, of fireworks, of important moments. And this was one, just enjoying the day, each other, ourselves.

We rose. We ran home, laughing. We ate breakfast. I ruined the eggs, you helped me save them. It all tasted fine, especially when peanut butter is around. Especially when I can kiss you after.

And now, I'm off for another short run, this time, alone, but the one this morning is what sustains me for now.

Settlers?

I've been thinking a lot (and talking w various friends) about what it means to "settle." And love. And settling down. It seems to be a theme, and people in my life seem to be obsessing over whether they should settle, or settle down.


I've settled down right now, but it's all about love and I definitely haven't settled. 


But there's this whole NYC single woman thing where you have to find the perfect guy - and when you start to get to a certain age, you panic, and thus, find yourself "settling." A lot of it, I suppose, is the panic of wanting children. But what do we want? Can we have the perfect partner - the person that compliments us, that works well with us - but also makes our knees weak when we kiss them? I think it's possible - but maybe not for everyone at every moment in time.


I understand there's reasons for settling - children, work, people who work well as partners but not romantically, not sure what else...but I still don't ever want to have to do it. There was a point in my life where I was in a relationship where I just wasn't happy - I wasn't over the top miserable, but it wasn't fulfilling me like I knew I could be fulfilled. I moved on. It was immensely hard, as staying would have been so easy, and so comfortable.


But I wanted more. I wanted happiness.


Iliana and I were talking about how we'd never want to just settle. Again, a NYC woman thing I think. We've done it before, and we definitely don't want to date any more assholes. But then this morning, Nelson and I were talking about women and men and dating, and he told me this long joke that was basically insinuating women were constantly looking for perfection, and nothing was good enough, and men will be satisfied and not look further. And while some of this is def based on gender stereotypes, I think part of it is our society imparting this idea to women that you have to be perfect: you have to be pretty, thin, rich, have a good guy, have a great job, a well-behaved kid, well-behaved adorable pet, nice clothes, be interesting, have good hobbies. I feel like I'm a hot mess half the time, with library books and letters from V falling out of my sequined bag onto the laps of strangers on subways, with a job I like (at an, ahem, nonprofit), talking too loudly, doing weird things like going to Burning Man and running 100 miles and calling it fun. So I fall outside of the norm, I guess. I don't settle for an ordinary 9to5 then watch some TV kind of life, so I wouldn't want to settle for any kind of relationship that's less than amazing.


But I've found it all right now, and I'm def not settling.

Don't Forget What It's All About (My Favourite Graffiti on the Williamsburg Bridge)

Love is always the appropriate reaction

Apocalypse

"When there's the apocalypse, I need someone who's going to be reloading while I'm shooting."

--Nelson, on our run this yesterday (He also mentioned being an ultrarunner was kinda necessary. Good thing G is an ultrarunner and I'm sure she'd be good at reloading)

N and I talk about everything - about love and our dreams and how to help our friends and how to help ourselves and races. Today, after I left him, I felt like I was flying, running faster and faster and faster through the streets, past sleepy-eyed hipsters and squealing buses and rushing commuters, ignoring the numbness in my toes, pushing myself past where I've been stuck, that sloggy, slow, asthmatic aura that has been oppressing me lately. It felt amazing. I ran beyond when I had time to. I ran beyond myself, and found myself. But it's always like that.


Note: an excellent drink called Apocalypse Shot I had on Little Corn Island involved 3/4 Flor de Cana rum, 1/4 Kahlua. I wouldn't mind one now.

Cacao Ceremony

When I first got to San Marcos de la Laguna, I was a hysterical wreck. I was crying all the time. I told everyone, “My love and I just ended things.” It was hard, so hard.

People suggested different things to me. “How about rebirthing?” So I pay you $350quetzales for you to sit and watch me breathe, something I’m struggling to do with my asthma right now? Or I could try reiki or a mind-body therapy or a massage or tarot cards.

Then two people suggested to me, “Oh, I know what you do need to do. You must see the chocolate man. He’ll help you.”

The chocolate man? Sounds like a man I need to meet.

The chocolate man is this amazing guy, Keith. Ultimately, he’s a healer, and a compassionate sentient being. He’s an older American hippie dude who lives in San Marcos as a cacao shaman. He uses cacao to tap into your deepest emotions, to release emotional density, and to provide emotional release. As I love chocolate, and he came at a high recommendation, and because I was willing to try anything, I decided to meet him.

Having gotten only vague directions to his house (head out of town, like you’re going to Tzununa, going behind the church. Go straight, not up that steep hill. You’ll pass Hostal del Lago and a house with an outline of a Canadian flag. You’ll see a very steep downhill; take it and it’s the first house on the left, with the signs for the Cacao Ceremonies.), I ran past the next day. One, two, three, four times before someone was home – his assistant, who told me to come back the next day. There would be a ceremony at 12:30 for 200 quetzales, and perhaps I wanted to see him for a private session as well? His chocolate maker promised me, “He will put back together the broken pieces of your heart.”

At 8am, I met Keith for a chat – “I’m broken hearted. My boyfriend and I broke up two weeks ago and I’m a miserable wreck. I can’t function, all I can do is cry. I love him so, and all I want is to be with him.” Keith recommended the group session, but said a private session might also be good.

At 12:30, I went to Keith’s porch. Many people from town who I’ve met were there, including Candy and Ada. Keith’s various healers-in-training, including Brenda, Moses, and Ambe, were there as well.

We began by drinking the ground up roasted cacao beans (cooked with water), us adding raw sugar or chili sauce as we desired. Keith told us about his interest in cacao and its potential links to Mayan shamanism, and how he got involved with healing with chocolate. It sounded cliché-ish when he said, “The chocolate spirit came to me…” but after my session, I absolutely believed him.

Cacao can push you to a different state of mind. You don’t hallucinate, but it does allow you to tap into various emotional densities. After drinking the cacao, Keith talked about how so many of us have allowed people to treat us like a garbage dump, how we allow others to shit on us. Because of this, we store pain to the utmost degree. Empaths, we suffer truly. He also led us through various meditative exercises.

Just before going to the cacao ceremony, I had received saddening news in regards to my ex-love. I was crying on the way over, and was also the first one to cry. I cried many times, I cried harder than I’ve ever cried. I cried, loud, body-shaking, intensely relieving and painful tears. I let so much out, so much of the pain I’ve been keeping.

“Let it out. Don’t keep it inside. There is no reason to keep all that density inside,” Keith urged as others around me were doing the same, were meditating, or were helping others.

I don’t even know who it was helping me all the time, but I was grateful. I was crying, seeing nothing, feeling nothing but absolute pain. I felt a horrid sense of loss, about B but also about a million other things. I cried my heart, I cried my pain, I cried for all the things out there that need crying for. I cried so much I felt sick. I cried with my eyes closed. I cried so much Keith quipped, “Lesson number one: cacao and mascara do not mix.”

While I cried, Ambe stroked my back and sang to me. Someone else rubbed my feet. People put their hands on me, giving me good energy, pushing the light inside of me. I was covered with a shawl. I was encouraged to just cry, to keep letting it out.

I didn’t know what else to do. I felt like I couldn’t stop it. I kept crying. And crying.

Keith worked individually with me many times, probably because I was such a wreck. He helped me to push out the pain, push out so much density that I have been holding onto for so long. I realized many things about my past relationships that simply were not true, that were not healthy for me. I realized I need to make myself happy before I can make anyone else. I realize that, while nearly impossible in our culture, nonattachment is an ultimate goal.

I cried because it is so easy for so many people to have so many things – you know, their dream life of all that good stuff, love (the ultimate thing we all need/want, I believe), great job, happiness, house, maybe family and money if they want that – and why is it so hard for me to even get one droplet of love?

And then I cried because so many people have absolutely nothing – no money, maybe no job, they’re alone, diseases, so much struggling – and I have so much more than them and I’m crying over what is now lost?

I would calm down and meditate, and then cry again. Back and forth. To myself and beyond.

It’s hard to explain, but it was one of the most intense days of my life. It was probably the best thing I did for myself on the trip.

People were able to release various negative energies, to meditate, to heal themselves and others. Since B and I ended things, I have been unable to feel truly happy. I cannot let light in. An English herbalist (who later correctly pronounced me to have struggled with various menstrual problems throughout my life, and he recommend I drink marigold tea, loads of it) helped me pour in the light as I opened my crown chakra.

And the light came. There was a struggle, a very deep one, to remove the pain, but I was able to do it with help. I filled up with light. I knew the ending was not near, but it truly helped.

After the ceremony, I felt drained. We staggered up the hill, almost drunk, exhausted, drained. I ate dinner and passed out…

And went back the next day for more.

This time, it was just a private one-on-one session with Keith. We did not use cacao, but meditated together. We tapped into a past life of mine (and perhaps you, dear reader, don’t believe in past lives, well, in that case, call it my subconscious) and I’ve realized, I’m always looking, I’m not very often in the present moment, connected, and I need to learn to change this. In a past life, I was a woman, living in England, and this was a long time ago – when cars and technology did not dominate, and when things were hard and simple, but that doesn’t mean they made sense. I loved a man who never connected with me, who was never around. I had children, many of them (though four of them died), but still felt lost and alone and unconnected. It wasn’t until I was dying that I connected with my grandchildren, played with them without inhibition.

I realized I have a serious problem: I never am living in the present moment. I’m always looking forward to what’s next. Part of this is because all of the people I have been in love with, at least for part of the relationship, lived away from me. I’m okay at being a long-distance partner because I have so much going on in my own life, but it keeps me always looking forward to when-we’re-together-next. Even if I’m with someone, I’m looking forward to the next time we’ll be together, because we’ll be together for longer, or look forward to the time when I’m living with someone. I can’t live in the future because I’m missing out on so many good things in the present.

Part of the bigger problem with B is that when we ended things, we talked about how we still loved each other, and hopefully, if we can work on the problems within ourselves, and if certain currently-uncontrollable circumstances are dealt with, we can be together. Someday. That’s not what I need right now. I need to work on recovery, on healing, on moving forward. I can’t keep looking to a future that might not exist. I need to be happy in the present moment – and if I’m happy now, I’ll be more likely to be happy in the future.

I didn’t end up crying, but I did feel enormously relieved, and moved. I realized I had done some things which, while I think weren’t so evil, they hurt my partner and I should not have hurt him and should have done everything possible to not hurt him, even if at the time I thought he was being irrational.

I felt much better. I felt like a different person.

Ambe and Moses were hosting an ecstatic dance workshop. We started on the ground, connected to Mother Earth, then rose in layers, dancing, letting the music bathe us. I felt so ALIVE. I felt alive like I haven’t in a long time. I reached out to other people, dancing with my eyes closed, smelling soap, sweat, love. I easily understood how each person in this very dance floor could easily be fallen in love with. All had such wonderful, beautiful, invigorating, alive energies. I smiled towards the sky – I haven’t smiled in a long time. Tears have been clouding everything for a while. It felt great to be alive – dancing with the baby on the Guatemalan guy’s back, smiling at how River swayed his body, grabbing Ada in a spin, pushing forward, back, all around, there goes Brian, there goes Keith, oh god, this is simply marvelous, this is life, this is love, I am here.

I felt healed.

But we’re never healed. We’re all healing each and every day. The next day, I went back for one of the informal daily studies that Keith hosts. We drank cacao. It was very much like the first day, except less intense, less formal. We began with a meditation.

I lay down on the beach in the midst of the meditation. Keith came over. “Where are you?”

“I’m lost. I don’t know where to go.”

“You’re falling.”

“Yes. It’s dark and cold and there’s mud everywhere and I can’t stop myself.”

“You’re going to fall for a while but when you stop, we’ll be here.”

A woman pressed her hands against my body, giving me her energy. I shivered. It was awful. “I want to leave.”

“You need to sit with the darkness.”

“I can’t. I need to leave.” I felt a panic overcome me. Much like the panic I felt at BM when my lip hurt and I was caught in a dust storm and I just needed to run, I knew I needed to get out.

I sat with it. I worked around. I explored but there was no way out. It was suffocating. It was frightening. It was miserable.

Ambe and Brenda came over. I was having a hard time. “Let the light pull you out.”

It was a long process, very personal, and I can’t even explain it very well, but the light pulled me out. It took a while and it was not fun.

After, talking with Keith and meditating further on it, I realized I feel lost. Sometimes I allow my partners to give my life happiness and direction, and I can’t do that. True, I don’t know where I’m going in my life (Will I live in San Marcos or San Francisco or Brooklyn? Will I ever sell my books? Will I ever find true love?), but that doesn’t mean I’m lost. It means I’m traveling, but I need to stick with where I am, my beautiful scenery and learn to appreciate it.

I also became aware of other areas in my body that need healing, because pain still exists.

As Merja and I walked out, she said to me, “Ruins are ruins. They’re everywhere. I think you should skip Tikal and spend more time with Keith healing you.”

I can’t put off the end of my trip forever. I did seriously ponder it, but decided to move on. Massages will heal me. Solo hikes. Swims. Runs. Other ruins, yes. People. I can’t stay in a safe space forever. I need to move out and on, and embrace the world out there. Cacao or no cacao, I must learn to help others, to spread the love, and to spread the light – though first, I must do all of this within myself before I can help anyone else.

Chicken Bus

When I left San Jorge, I hurled myself onto a chicken bus. A chicken bus with an overstuffed mochilla and a broken heart is a bad combination. I cried the entire time.

I took a ferry, and cried. Still, it is always worse on the chicken buses. I loathe them with a passion. They are old school buses, where people sit three or four on each bench instead of two, where standing in the aisle (or even, for small children, resting in the overhead bins is normal!) is crowded…

Sometimes, I feel like a princess but I really do hate the chicken buses. I had to explain to the guy next to me, “Estoy muy triste porque mi novio y yo rompimos hace una semana. Se amo mi novio mucho.”

Yes, I know how to talk about a broken heart in Spanish.