My little latin love story. Part 3 of who knows how many.

Do I really have to do this introduction thing every time? You could just scroll down. Okay, anyway, last time we had just exchanged e-mail addresses...

The next day I thought about writing her. The talk we had was very enlightening and felt nice. I’m not one to believe in love at first sight but some that have heard this story would say otherwise. I wanted to continue that kind of dialogue. But I couldn’t call her the very next day. I would appear desperate, and we couldn’t have that especially with the male code and all. Half way through the workday I was looking up some customer information on the computer and suddenly my e-mail showed one new message. It was from her. I almost clapped in excitement but my masculinity stopped me. She wrote only to confirm that the e-mail I had sent was the correct one and that she had sent a copy of her e-mail to confirm for me that I had hers. I responded saying that she had the right e-mail and that she should reply to confirm that she had received my message. She responded the next day.

I began to write her daily. She would write every time she had enough money to go to an Internet café, usually she wrote every day and was probably spending money she shouldn’t have spent. Periodically we would meet in a chat room and chat until her money ran out. We talked about missionaries that we had come across after the mission. We complained about how some ex-missionaries had formed clicks in post-mission life and how high schoolish it was. She would tell me about how some missionaries gunning to get married would show up at her house to take her out. She would always think, “I knew what a piece of trash you were during the mission, what makes you think I would want to go out with you?”

We also talked about missionaries that were very nice at first but when they attained a certain position they became egotistical jerks. We spoke to each other like we had known each other for years. We tried just for the heck of it to see if Mili could come to the wedding of my sister. We felt that we were compatible and that maybe we could have a relationship together but we both knew that we needed to spend some real time together.

So we submitted the proper forms so she could get a three-month visa. The embassy denied our request for her to be able to attend the wedding so we just continued to write each other.

I was beginning to spend a lot of time on the computer and the phone line. My Mom and Dad didn’t say anything about how I was occupying the computer all the time, but it had become a habit of mine to try and foretell what they wanted me to do and then do it. I learned this mainly because my father has never been one to praise, complain or even to say ‘I love you’. So instead I would try and do things where he would have to voice his approval. For me getting him to say thanks was just as good as a hug and an ‘I love you’. In this case I wanted to purchase my own computer so he would notice that I didn’t want to be an inconvenience for him. My little sister was in living in Salt Lake and was selling her computer so I bought it and set it up in my room. At the time I thought that $500 for a computer was a really good deal.

To be continued...

My little latin love story. Part 2 of who knows how many.

When we last left our hero... -where was I? Oh yeah- I was calling my a sister missionary that I knew.


"I’m looking for Milagros. Is she at home at the moment?”

“That’s me”

“Hi, I don’t know if you remember me but I’m Elder Breakdown or at least I used to be.” Her voice dropped a little. If I remembered right she didn’t care much for my companion or myself very much. It didn’t help that my companion didn’t care much for her either. My companion, Elder Segura (We called him Elder Sure), was a native Peruvian and was very proud of the way he spoke Spanish. It really irritated him the way this particular sister missionary spoke fluently the Spanish form of Jive/Hibonics and she spoke it often. I never really cared either way. I just supported my companion in his rants of how we were representatives of the Lord and that we needed to speak as such. She would always retort with “I’m just speaking in a way that makes people feel comfortable and doesn’t make them think I am better than them.” They had these types of fights all the time and I was almost sure that my companion would start them out of spite. Most of these fights would end the way parents would end fights with their kids. “I’m the Zone Leader and this is the way things are.” Once she added a military salute at the end before walking away with her companion. I had to stop myself from laughing out loud.

“Elder Breakdown, yes I remember you. How are you?”

“I’m good just trying to make it though post-mission life.” And so went our conversation. Her talking about all her failed relationships, mainly the guy she just broke up with was just a lazy bum and she wasn’t going to marry one of those. And me whining about how every time I began to really care about a girl she would dump me for some silly reason. She was very sympathetic but she didn’t pity me, and in fact spoke more of trying again anyway despite the bad experiences. I was pleasantly surprised by her point of view and was glad that I had called her. She made me feel good and I felt that I was talking to somebody who understood my point of view. I had to end the call, my job was only a little better than minimum wage; it’s ten-cents a minute to call Peru and we had already been talking for an hour. We exchanged our e-mail addresses and said good-bye.

To be continued...

My little latin love story. Part 1 of who knows how many.

This is going to be an ongoing segment. I wrote this story some time ago but since it's a little long I am going to break it up into bits. Anyway, here we go.

It was just after Christmas and before New Years. It was that special time of year where you just spent a whole day with your family and you are gearing up to spend a whole night with your friends. It’s that transition time where you are not quite sure where you stand or quite what to do between parties. It was really bad this year because of the fact the only days before Christmas my girlfriend dumped me for a guy that she had been writing to. She had never met him physically but she choose him over me. It wasn’t really a surprise to me to find out later that things didn’t work out between the both of them.

I needed somebody to talk to, preferably a woman. Only a woman can give you the sympathy that you need that you would never get from your friends. Male friends would either make fun of you or ignore you. Often the male approach worked but I needed somebody who I could whine to and who would give me the pity I so dearly wanted. I couldn’t talk to my mom. I needed to feel like somebody pitied me without obligation.

I thought through all my female friends, Sarah? No, I lost contact with her before I left on my mission. Diana? No, she got married while I was on my mission and it just wouldn’t be right to whine to a married woman. I wasn’t all that surprised that that was the whole list. Most girls I knew I dated and if I dated them they broke up with me and I wasn’t very good at doing the ‘just friends’ bit. I tried it once, but you can only allow your heart to go through the grinder so many times listening to your old girlfriend talk about how so-and-so uses too much tongue. There are just things ex-boyfriends shouldn’t know despite what the all-knowing TV says. I remembered that October of last year, while I was still on my mission, a native Peruvian sister missionary gave me a birthday card that included her name, address and phone number.

I thought that if anyone would understand it would be a female that is or at least had recently gone though the pains of post mission life. I had fond memories of her; on the other hand it was more like entertaining memories about her. She wasn’t like other sister missionaries in the way she did things. She wasn’t a conformist so she stood out in my mind. So I found the card in my mission memory papers and gave her a call.

To be continued...