Today’s dress is J.Crew. The leggings are Black Milk, and the sequined sweater is Carlisle, where my mother used to work. When I moved to San Francisco in July 2012, I was heartbroken and struggling. I’ve been this way a few times since, but this was the first time. I had been living in Sydney for 6 years and had been broken up with by my first serious boyfriend. He was 4 years younger than me. We met at a Simchat Torah celebration at Chabad when he was 23 and I was 27. The relationship lasted nearly 2 years, and he was a virgin when we began dating. I should have known it wouldn’t last forever, but I got so deeply attached that all reason was gone. There were a few red flags. He initially lied to me about his age, wanting to seem older. When he told me the truth the next time we saw each other, he was nervous. I thought it was charming and cute. I had a 5 week trip planned to South America. I would be visiting Argentina, Brazil, Bolivia, Chile and Uruguay. I was working as a travel agent and was very excited to take advantage of some of my discounts. My boyfriend asked if we could have an open relationship while I was gone. He wanted to explore his new found sexuality. I was hurt, but I agreed to it. While I was there, and after I got robbed, he changed his mind, but the self doubt and insecurity was already planted. I didn’t feel I deserved better. The next obstacle was when he told me that he would be studying abroad in Ottawa, Canada, 9 months later. He was still at university and living with his parents, as many young Australians do. He said he wanted to be single when he went abroad for 5 months. I didn’t want to break up so we kept dating as I tried to put the future out of my mind. I spent many weekends with his family, who kept kosher and strictly observed Shabbat. You’d think as a rabbi’s daughter I’d be used to that, but I wasn’t. I grew up vegetarian and therefore we didn’t have separate plates. It took a while to get used to his family’s observances, and I was resentful. I wanted him to spend more time at my place. His father was a psychiatrist and consistently put down my neighborhood, Newtown, which he called the slums. It was in the process of gentrifying and soon became unaffordable. I was very lucky to have lived there for 4 years with the best roommate ever, Lea. My boyfriend also slept in a single bed. He was over 6 feet tall and it had been custom made for him. His parents were not about to get rid of it, although they were happy for me to stay over and we would switch to their guest room. It drove me crazy. When his older siblings would stay over, we would have to share his single bed, or one of us would sleep on the floor. They had a strangely laid out home that was one level. It was about an hour for me on public transportation. But week after week, I’d be there. It was my first serious relationship too, although I was certainly not a virgin. I was surprised when he told me. He had been more religious and had wanted to wait, but then he decided it was time.
I planned lots of adventures for us before he left for Canada. We had a lot of fun. He made me sweet cards, expressing his love. We had lots of inside jokes. After a lot of deliberation, we ended up staying together while he was abroad. Another bad idea. He needed to be free. I went to visit him there. We were both confused about what to do. He had nice friends, and I was jealous of them. I wanted to fit in, but I was older and wasn’t into partying and drinking. Most of them were in relationships, while mine was unstable. I’ve seen on Facebook that all of those couples got married. My ex is married also, with at least one child. I am blocked, but I’m a good investigator. I don’t think about him much anymore. Before we broke up, I had convinced him to move in with me. My roommate had decided to move out and I had a great deal on rent in a spacious home. I had to sell him on the idea. He packed some suitcases and left the security of his parents’ home. We also had a trip planned to China. I could tell he was freaking out. He seemed trapped. He tried to back out of the trip, but in the end he agreed to come. When we got back home, it was over. I had also gotten into an argument with his dad that was hard to recover from. I thought he’d pick me over his family and I thought wrong. It was all for the best, of course, but it hurt so much. I wasn’t working anymore, having tried multiple temp jobs in the travel in industry that I was either fired from or quit. It was time to leave Sydney.
Comments