According to scientists love is release of chemicals into the brain. These endorphins cause us to feel a sense of euphoria. This makes sense as it is the same release when we eat chocolate, exercise or for some take illegal substances. The human body and by extension the human brain are amazing things. Biologists have a reason now for every thing we do, they even have a biological reason for why we experience de ja vu. Apparently it is caused by one eye receiving the signals of an image and sending it to the brain before the second eye. Kind of like an echo on a dodgy mobile phone reception.
As much as I apply myself to rational thinking and am quite grounded in science. I do believe science is only half the tale. Some things in my opinion cannot be explained by science. Sure it is easy to explain love from a purely biological point of view. It furthers the propagation of the species. The chemistry of the brain amplifies a psychological need for attachment which further guarantees human beings as the dominant species on the planet. I do not believe that something purely chemical could inspire some of the best art, poetry and literature if all we were experience was an advanced chemistry kit.
Mummy and I discussed relationships and love a lot. Unfortunately for my mummy she had the love of her life end… without her permission. That love was replaced by a love for her children and grandchildren. She always was an amazing lioness.
My own experience with love has at times been really intense, bittersweet, at times hurtful bit in general a lovely experience. Sure not all relationships work out, for better or for worse people can drift apart, fall out of love and even grow to intense dislike. To quote Alfred Tennyson, “tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all”. These words can often sound like empty platitudes spun to a recent devolved relationship, yes on the surface. They are something I subscribe too, like many experiences good and bad (‘the girl’ to name one), they shape us, inform us, they teach us and ultimately we are better versions of ourselves due to them. The term formative years is usually applied to our adolescent years however I feel we are always becoming ‘informed’ and love plays a big part of it.
This particular tale is not about the greatest love of my life, the life changing Jack and Rose moment. This is actually about something very simple. Very brief. Very formative.
At 19 years old I embarked on my second holiday with friends. The destination: Shagaluf! Myself, Big Girl, ‘Velvet’ and ‘Jasmine’. The last two will feature soon enough…. Yes I realise I do a lot of foreshadowing however we have 360 days to go so I’m positive we will get around it all, If not I owe you a Big Mac! Ok a big Mac sounds good…. with a strawberry milkshake…. No that’s not this story. My love of food is for another day!
So the holiday was booked, the plane was inbound, Magaluf Via public indecency, bring it on! This would be our second holiday as friends so I knew it was going to be exciting. The previous holiday had 10 of us, so this one was going to be a lot more ‘low key’… yeah of course it was. Myself and Big girl had progressed from those cute kids who had a joke on the way to the school play to inseparable soul mates who under different circumstances would probably be married with kids. Needless to say she did meet her prince charming, have two beautiful kids. She made a friend extremely proud of the women she had become. Don’t get me wrong it was a long journey before she met prince charming, long, funny and filled with many chats around a bottle of wine.
Anyway enough of that mussy crap, I’m a strong butch male who used to be forced to play rugby!
So we were inbound to the party capital of the world. You know the type of holiday? 18-30’s, reps gone wild, people performing sex acts in public…. all that crap. I guess if that’s your thing you will find it, however we found it relatively tame. Maybe we were looking in the wrong places? Don’t get me wrong I’m sure we had our wild times but it was definitely not media worthy. We were good Irish boys and girls.
We had arrived in downtown Magaluf, checked in to our apartment and quickly proceeded to grab a cocktail. With luggage in hand, cocktail in the other we checked into our domicile for the next couple of weeks. The most glaring thing that stands out at the time was the total lack of air conditioning. We felt so Neanderthal having to live in primitive conditions…. they had a ceiling fan…. you know the type, they were the 70’s style ceiling fans that were installed in every conservatory….
Conservatory; Noun. a room with glass roofs and walls, attached to a middle class house trying to feel superior to their neighbours… also see hot tub, decking, French doors.
First world problems of course but we all need something to complain about pre trip adviser!
So lets set the scene. We were living our best lives, a week of cocktails, pool life, tanned bodies and the best giggles. We were the shit! we walked into BCM like we owned that joint. The last thing on my mind was a cute doctor. Up to this point I had met a few guys who I liked and kissed some of them. On this holiday I had not made myself unavailable but I also wasn’t ruling anything out. I was in the straight capital of pulling so my expectations were quite low. How could this little gay boy from Ireland stand a chance?
We were having pre drinks:
Predrinks: Verb, the ability to have drinks before the main event, foolish behaviour, a way to save money, a precursor to ending up inebriated.
Normally the custom is to have pre drinks at an apartment or home. On this occasion and the custom on a holiday is to ‘pre drink’ in a low key venue before the main event. We had decided to venture into the ‘strip’ and partake of the many aperitif’s on offer. Im sure the French would be outraged that we refer to a peach schnapps and lemonade as an ‘aperitif’, but that’s what the British do well. We have an excellent ability to turn ‘haute’ into ‘wont’.
Meanwhile in the STD capital of the world we were enjoying the sunset, the ‘pre drinks’ and the company of four friends enjoying their young lives. I seen from my periphery vision a young gentleman staring at our young, brash group who had clearly had too many peach schnapps. He was wearing a blue stripped shirt and tanned shirt. He had beautiful blond hair. It wasn’t styled. It flowed naturally in the Spanish wind. We exchanged looks and his gregarious friend caught my gaze, then he caught big girls more than ample assets; she had blossomed since puberty and acquired a really impressive set of ……….. eyes.
As the friend stared at big girls ‘eyes’ he reached over to us in his extremely eloquent way and said, “use havin a good night like?”.
Of course we all responded in the affirmative. I think Jasmine had too many fishbowls and maybe agreed multiple times. We didn’t mind as Jasmine was always at her most funny when she had several fishbowls! So the group re-formed. We had socially adjusted to this external force and realised, we are adapting. I looked at the Dr. and sheepishly shrugged, almost explaining the behaviour of Jasmine and his friend, however secretly grateful it gave me a chance to have a chance to talk to this interesting stranger.
He was dressed very classically. Imagine a ralph Lauren model on a polo campaign. Ready for golf and ready for fiscal planning. I had never experienced this before. The before was a Ballymena guy. A Ballymena guy is someone who can be described as someone who like myself had been very insular. We are good people but when we someone from an outside perspective we loose our shit…. lets try and remain cool here. we are sophisticated, we are valid….. we have eaten fois gras even though we morally have issues with eating a product produced from force feeding geese…..
I digress, as always.
We have all met that person we want to impress with all our being and in our young naïve way probably don’t. Its fine, We don’t always have to have our full together selves all the time! That’s one thing I’d love to go back in time and change. But alas…. we have to deal with the messes we present at the time. Its ok. We are human. What I’ve learned over the years…. those things are amazing!
As we chatted in the ‘pre bar’ that evening I could feel the flirtation levels reach maximum velocity. I had little experience of this to this point. I wasn’t particularly dumb in this regard but It was a new sensation in regards to flirtation. “Was he flirting, is he even gay? am I imagining this?”.
The number one thing every gay man goes through, its not coming out, its not body issues, it is navigating the landscape of “is he gay or not?”. I envy the straight community as this is implied, in our community this is denied, and a risk.
So myself and the doctor ( I call him such as he was doing a medical degree) were chatting and really connecting. It turned out he himself was in the closet. I can relate. It is not a nice place to be and sometimes a necessary evil. When that story is shared I hope the heterosexual audience to this blog will understand that we are not being overly dramatic gays seeking attention ( all the time). Coming to terms with ones sexuality can be a life defining moment, “I’m different”. That is not always the easiest thing to come to terms with.
sorry I keep digressing in a random political tangent, I’m not a militant gay. I don’t have a rainbow flag tied to me bed. Though If I did, it would be the best damn rainbow flag ever! 10’s across the board!
Myself and the Dr scurried ourselves off the toilet. We knew it wouldn’t be accepted. we knew we were different. We met, in secret, at the toilets. We shared our first kiss. I don’t know for a fact but I think he probably had his first ever kiss. In secret. Away from his friends. Most people boast….. he couldn’t.
We went separate ways that night however I did manage to take his number. I was always savvy like that. I asked him what apartment he was staying in and as luck turned out it was just around the corner from mine.
The next day: obviously we had a few headaches, big girl wasn’t feeling too well. velvet needed a shower to recover and Jasmine was contemplating her place in this world. standard Shagaluf practice.It was probably midday, when we had decided to get our walking dead asses out of bed…. finally. I looked out over the balcony.
the doctor was looking up.
What????? Hold on…? is this for real? This connection apparently bizarre and uncommon connection was real! We had each others phone numbers but I had neglected to act on it, Bad Michael! I would learn this lesson in later life. Life is about taking chances, making moments, risks….. why not?
So after this less than Shakespearean display (even though I felt like a Capulet!) we had arranged to meet that evening. He was still very much in the closet, such things which made me apprehensive. His apartment was by the seas (he was a trainee doctor after all), so that evening I decided I would meet him. We spent that evening in Magaluf having fun with all my friends. I will admit that I kept looking at my watch/phone. I never would leave them however I was waiting on the opportunity to escape and meet my beloved doctor.
My chance finally came. I’m sure it was around 3am when my friends dancing shoes had been worn out. Unlike their shoes my excitement hadn’t. I was going to meet ‘my’ Doctor! This handsome English gentleman. I bid my friends farewell. I cant remember the exact words now but I would imagine big girl would have filled me with encouragement, Velvet with sexual advice and Jasmine with lyrics from Disney songs that would of caused a lot of encouragement. I felt good.
In that moment I did feel like a Capulet, searching for my Montague. I approached his apartment. called him down. He approached is balcony and saif:
“my cousin is asleep, climb up and see me”
So I climbed up the two story building. It was pouring down with rain. It was almost a storm. My clothes were soaking wet. I was nervous shaking. I reached the balcony, my shivering body tired from a night of endless dancing. I wouls nervous what to expect, what would he think?
I reached his balcony, he grabbed my back, It was pouring down, both our hair was wet. We looked at each other, smiled;
He gave me the most passionate kiss I had ever had.
The rain was pouring. We were smiling. I would love to end this story that we fell in love and the rest is history. Unfortunately not. In fact that was the last night we ever spoke. We didn’t even exchange numbers/facebook/Instagram/ …. you get the picture.
I don’t blame him for that. He was at the beginning of a journey and I was halfway through mine. We both were in different places at that point in time. What I am grateful for though Is that experience. It sent tingles through my whole body. It was exciting. It was fun. It was real!
We all have those experiences, I personally think those experiences contribute to who we are. I know Mummy did. She loved this story. We talked about this many times. We joked about ‘the one that got away?’. I know Mummy would have loved her baby boy to have married a doctor, what self respecting WASP wouldn’t? That moment was really significant for me as It really opened me up to… love. Yes I wasn’t In love…. I didn’t love the doctor… but It made me think. It made my pulse race! Surely that’s what it’s all about?
Mummy and me talked about this many times. She knew.
We both knew.
Mummy I will meet my doctor, whatever he does, on my wedding you will be proud.
A Grievers Guide to the Galaxy 