Last month I spent a few days of vacation in Munich. Fresh hotel bedding, no dates to keep at work, no obligations. Swimming in the Izar River and warm nights in the beer garden. Wonderfully! Only me and good vibrations. I was dressed in new clothes, I felt beautiful, and above all I felt myself again. Without a broken heart. I haven't smoked for two weeks and suddenly I could even eat a salad, not having felt fries with ketchup and mayonnaise to satisfy hunger.
I had a bright mind and a pure soul. What was called “own love” – not as a slogan, but as a real feeling. I was happy about this and, above all, grateful. I rarely be in this condition. This is a version of me, for which I missed. Hey, cool Lasko, we haven't seen each other for a long time! I was in love with my ears in a woman I was in those days.
It so happened that I was at a film screening organized by my friend, where I did not think about anything, I sipped Prosecco and suddenly: Bum. Mario. 190 cm tall, dark curls, a warm smile, a little Balkan aura and the most beautiful face I've ever seen. Oh, please, not again! But it happens that when you feel good yourself, often others also see it.
I got into a free conversation. We talked and laughed. Everything has been fine so far. Nothing has happened yet, I thought. No games, only real interest. However, we did not stop at conversation and laughter: Oh, we flirted! I don't know if it was his look, which would seem to invite to the bedroom, or the fact that during the conversation he got up to help the waiter who dropped the tray. The fact is that my heart was made by this little jump. He also found me funny and eloquent. Of course. It was my holiday version. Premium version. The best of the best.
We spent the whole evening and night until dawn. The night in his perfectly cleaned apartment on the top floor was, like saying it, exaggerated. Excessively beautiful, excessively intense, excessively intoxicating. The next day there was no awkward silence. Instead, breakfast at sunrise with coffee on the roof terrace. My head hurt, but he, like a real gentleman, had cooling wraps on hand. Later he walked me to the station, carried my suitcase and kissed my forehead farewell. These 20 hours together seemed to be a foretaste of living with him. Excessively good life.
On the return train to Berlin, however, it got calmer, quieter. And then suddenly very loud. The first doubts arose. The carousel thought was spinning at maximum speed. What was it? What wasn't there? Did I just make a big mistake, was it really as good as I thought? I was hoping that he would speak – and at the same time I did not want it. Wasn't it too perfect for me? Hope and fear intertwined like in melodramatic art. But it was my art. Maybe it was a chance for great love? Or maybe just a well -lit stage?
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Holiday romances
Emotion mountain queue
When I charged the phone, a message appeared. And ten of my photos liked on Instagram. Then came the invitation to his house on the Croatian island. Sounds like a fantastic idea! I wanted to go there. But something else appeared. Fight. Resistance, which did not result from arrogance, but from fear. It could have ended with a disaster again. So certainly not [pojadę]! My feelings changed like when driving a mountain cable car.
We continued correspondence. Mario was too perfect to be real. Let's summarize: He looks after his father's dementia and is involved in helping stray dogs from the Balkans. During his studies, he helped rebuild houses in Srebrenica. He was cordial, he tried, he was one of the good ones. He sent me a cheap hair clip, which I left with him, and which was not even worth the cost of shipping – and a jar of marinated pepper from his Croatian aunt. Who else does that today? A man who really gets involved. Mario was charming – but unfortunately I was only myself.
So over time I became more and more taciturn. I was withdrawing more and more. Not because I underestimated his efforts, but out of pure fear. I didn't want to offend him, but at the same time I just wanted to end everything. It was too much for me. I knew how bad I was behaving. I knew this role – but from a different perspective. The one in which you wait. He hopes. And then you stay disappointed.
Actually, I should be honest right away. Say I'm afraid. Not only that I will be hurt again, but that I will let someone enter my real life. Because since I returned to everyday life, he is again chaotic, loud, full of contradictions that will constantly catch up with me. I am no longer the version of myself, which blooms in the morning sun in Munich, but the one that in the morning in Berlin is silent for two hours and turns into a monster without coffee. The ADHD version, which is constantly struggling with everyday life, often feels overwhelmed with trifles, which started smoking again, orders breakfast at Uber Eats and sometimes does not leave the house for several days. Summer Eden from Munich does not live in my 65-meter Berlin apartment with a view of the gas station. Because the bitter truth is this: I am usually not as cool and carefree like that weekend. I would like to be like that. I would like to be a woman who Mario met – this free, funny, relaxed version of himself. I miss her even for 330 days a year. Behind the one that appears when he does not have anything and can do anything.
But life is not a long weekend. And now I know: I'm afraid of closeness – I'm afraid that closeness can unmask me. That someone will see my chaos and can't stand it. Not because he is a bad man, but because I often fight myself to endure it.
But I did not want to be unfair and ignore Maria or reject him – it was not an option, I learned it. So I gathered all my courage and wrote it for the last time. With each letter it became more and more clear to me that maybe I met the right person in the wrong time. And yet I have a feeling that I was losing something that I never had. I wrote to him that I was not ready. That it was beautiful. And that I prefer to keep good memories than to start something that may fall apart under the weight of everyday life. Maybe it was stupid. Maybe cowardly. Maybe both. But it was an honest answer.
Continuation of the material under the video
Meetings that remain
Maybe this was my last real chance for something great. For closeness. At home. Maybe. But I couldn't accept it. Not now. Not that way. I want to give myself time not only to endure my real self – the daily version – but like it. Do not hide or optimize her, but give her space. My goal is no longer being an ideal version, but a complete version. Maybe someday there will be a place for a holiday paradise. Not as an exception, but as part of me.
New clothes are still hanging in the closet, and next to the coffee from the coffee maker there are even oat milk and muesli. This is a small beginning. Invitation of a holiday paradise to everyday life – it would be beautiful. It is quiet joy that I even know that she still exists, this lighter, brighter version of me. That I met her. Because she was not visible for a long time – or she was simply drowned out by the noise of everyday life.
There are meetings that remain, even though they end. And sometimes the biggest gift you can do is honest “not” – directed to someone else, and “yes” to yourself. We will never find out if Mario would be happy with a real, everyday version of me. But maybe this was the decision: not for love, but for the truth. Mario will remain in my heart – together with the sun over Munich, marinated paprika and a short, beautiful faith that everything is possible.
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Eden Patrichi is a Berlin screenwriter, actress and columnist. He writes about relationships, everyday life and friendship.
I’m Ashley Davis as an editor, I’m committed to upholding the highest standards of integrity and accuracy in every piece we publish. My work is driven by curiosity, a passion for truth, and a belief that journalism plays a crucial role in shaping public discourse. I strive to tell stories that not only inform but also inspire action and conversation.
