Hostels and Homes pt. 2

Shitting Where I Eat

“By all means, go out into the world and explore. Kiss strangers, kiss friends, fall in and out of love until your hands and heart are libraries of all the people they have touched. Before long we all learn, right down to our bones, that some people are hostels, and others are homes”- Beau Taplin // Hostels and Homes

*Part One is about what it’s like to live in a hostel HERE.

*Part Three is a tribute to my friends HERE.

There’s a cardinal rule: Don’t shit where you eat.

It’s usually said regarding workplace flings. Don’t get involved with someone you’ll have to see on a regular basis. But hey…bad decisions make great stories.

The thing is, I don’t really like going out. I get bored at bars or clubs and would rather do almost anything else with my time. The most likely places I meet people are at work, gym, and…the hostel. Here are my two experiences breaking the rule. One worked out, one did not.

Jim

Jim L. is a Frenchman who was there in the beginning, when I first arrived at the hostel. Tall, incredibly fit, skates and surfs, eyes that crinkle when he smiles, beard, golden curly hair long enough to tie and a sunny, easygoing attitude with a playful wild streak. Everyone knew him because of his side hustle and everyone liked/ respected him because he’s a genuinely good person. He’s an Alpha dog who would never hurt a little bunny.

It was a slow burn on both sides: focused on our own things but always friendly to each other. It was about two months of friendly acquaintance, smiles at the front door, quick hugs in greeting at the dining hall, eye contact and a wave on the rooftop. He’d always be hanging out with his French crew but I never really saw him showing significant attention to any girls in particular. Then something shifted, idk. I’d look out for him in the TV room when I got home, his eye contact and smile lingered longer then usual on the roof, so I’d let mine as well.

One day, we found ourselves on beanbags at the front of the hostel and I told him, “Hey Jim, I just want to tell you that it makes me smile whenever I see you. You’re so friendly and I always feel good when I’m around you. You remind me of sunshine.” He absolutely beamed at me and returned the sentiment.

We went on a date that weekend. At that point in time he was going to be leaving in three weeks so we enjoyed each other’s company when we could. We’d greet each other, talk when we had something to say, and it would be meaningful conversation, but we didn’t talk much and that was fine with both of us. We’d sit next to each other on the rooftop while he did business and I’d read my Kindle and I never felt obligated to entertain him. When he’d leave to do something, he’d tell me where he’s going and give me a kiss before he bounced. It was sweet.

First time having sex was in the private shower in the first-floor stairwell. Most people think it’s just a toilet at first glance (including me). Best shower sex I’ve ever had. At least five positions, fit and felt right, came a few times. He was strong, forthcoming, attentive and romantic. Like dayummmm….

We also got an AirBnb two separate nights but at the same place because we liked it so much the first time. This lady Angela had a cozy home with a cat, dog, breakfast and a quaint outdoor area with a hammock only a 15 min walk from the hostel. Jim and I would cuddle, watch Netflix, get stoned, eat pizza, play with the pets and enjoy having free space away from the hostel.

Here’s the funny thing, we had sex, but not a lot. I think it’s because, it wasn’t the best or most important part. It was still great, don’t get me wrong.

But I truly just liked being around him. It was simple, comfortable, safe, and put me at ease. He was warm, honest, kind, goofy and steadfast. I wasn’t in love with him, but I love him. I love who he is and the way he treated me.

And I loved coming home to him.

Georgio

Georgio, FFS. Let’s get through this.

He’s from Cypress, tall, olive skilled, dark hair, muscular, cocky, incredible ass. Objectively hot by most standards. He looks like all my bad decisions. I saw the red flags a mile away and felt the familiar “toxic relationship” anxiety building into a crescendo in the short time we were dating.

I first noticed him in the dining hall but I made no indication of interest. He actually approached me about a week later because he noticed me demonstrating an Uma Plata on the roof to one of my friends. Turns out, he’s a purple belt in BJJ. We connected on jiujitsu and an enjoyment for cooking.

I’ll skip the minutia and spill the tea on what happened between Georgio and me. There’s a two-week span of dating and a month of fallout that could fill several pages detailing why this guy is a complete asshole, but he’s not worth the time and mental energy. Even now, I cringe at the thought of him, but he is relevant to my experience at the hostel and a reason why I left.

I feel incredibly pissed off having to mentally relive the selfishness, arrogance and insolence of this hypocrite, but I will do it for the sake of clarity and your entertainment. Here is a brief on the conversation which ended us.

I came into this with the intention of it being a conversation where I express something that’s bothering me. I say how I feel- using a lot of “I” statements, not “you” statements (which put people on defensive instead of them listening) , and I came prepared with solutions to easily remedy the situation which was completely fixable. Problem/ Solution. Easy.

It was a shit-show. I told him, I don’t like having sex in the dorm. During sex he’d tell me to shut up, put his hand over my mouth and to be quiet. It made me feel anxious and turned me off when he’d do this. Sounds like moaning and breathing can be controlled easily enough and after the first two times, wasn’t an issue. But the sound which became the source of contention is the bed creaking when I’m on top. His bed creaked at any movement.

The ONLY time it DIDN’T creak was when were laying on our sides, spooning and his penis is inching in and out of me while I am forced to get myself off. He even told me to get myself off. Like, why the hell do I need you then? We did this a majority of the time. And I went along with it because I liked him and I thought it would get better. It did not.

I thought I could fake it until we eventually made it. But after faking it so many times with him, I realized it’s counterintuitive to the whole purpose of sex: to feel pleasure and to feel closer to your partner.

Him: I don’t want to disturb the people in the dorm. I have to see them every day since I’m living in the room.

Me: I totally understand that. So can we try having sex in the shower?

Him: I don’t like having sex in the shower.

Me: Ok…how about we get an AirBnB?

Him: I don’t have the funds for that right now.

Me: Ok…I have a friend who has a spare room. I’m sure I can pull a favor for a night.

Him: I don’t like planning these types of things.

Me: Look, I’m trying to come up with some solutions here because I’m not enjoying myself and I feel anxious when we’re having sex. I don’t want to associate those negative feelings with you because I like you.

Him: Those aren’t solutions. Those are alternatives. The problem is not WHERE we have sex. The PROBLEM is that YOU are too LOUD.

Me: But I need to MOVE so I can feel something. I’d like to enjoy myself and have an orgasm.

Him: But you don’t NEED an orgasm…

Me: Well…I’d like one. I mean…isn’t that kinda part of sex? Does my pleasure mean nothing to you?

Him: Not disturbing the people in my room is more important to me than your pleasure.

Me: Then can we do it somewhere else, please?

Him: The problem is not WHERE we have sex. The PROBLEM is that YOU are too LOUD.

I need a moment. Let that sink in. Just wait for it… *breathes*

We broke it off after this because we clearly have fundamental differences on many levels. A day after this, we decided to just be friends. Friends. He even said, “I still want to be friends and know what’s going on with your jobs” etc. Apparently, our definitions of “friends” were not the same. Mine involved smiling and being civil. His involved yelling at me in front of the entire dining hall when I tried to talk to him after three days of us awkwardly avoiding each other, and I mean zero to a hundred real quick.

Me: Hey can I talk to you for like ten minutes?

Him: Can we make it five?

Me: Yeah, I can talk for five.

Him: Actually, I don’t want to talk to you at all.

Me: (confused because I thought we were on friendly terms) …Why?

Him: I don’t owe you anything.

Me: I just wanted to say a few things…

Him: You’re harassing me.

Me: What? We’ve been avoiding each other for days and I’m totally fine if we keep doing that but I’m a little confused. I thought we were friends and I just wanted to talk-

Him: I DON’T OWE YOU ANYTHING. YOU ARE HARASSIG ME. LEAVE ME ALONE!

Wow. From then on, I pretended he didn’t exist. Until…I walk into the bathroom one evening and he’s there. I make eye contact and keep walking. I’m hanging up my towel and I hear:

Him: Hey Muriel.

Me: What?

Him: Do you want to be friends? (not even an apology)

Me: Fuck you.

Him: No really, can we be friends?

Me: (I was tired and have a forgiving heart) Fine.

I’m going to skip the omelet incident to the part where I tell him to fuck off for the last time. I tell him to pretend I don’t exist and I’ll do the same. This is over the span of 2-3 weeks which were my worst weeks living at the hostel and the catalyst for me making serious plans to leave.

This is the “shit” part of shitting where you eat. My dear reader, imagine your shittiest ex and your worst break up. For most of you, it happened, but you could go back to your own place and heal. For most, you also had good friends to help you through. Now imagine going through that break-up with your shitty ex, but having to go home to that shitty ex every day and ALSO being surrounded by mutual friends, who also all live at home with you both.

I felt like a lost a home in more ways than one.

But I got my vindication.

You see, I give people the benefit of the doubt. Do you remember: He completely put it all on me and made it my fault for “being too loud” (he drove this point home multiple times) and at the very least, I understood that he had the utmost desire to not disturb the people in the room.

But a few weeks after we broke it off, he brought a girl (not from the hostel) back into the same dorm he shared with seven other people and proceeded to have incredibly LOUD sex with her at 3am. So loud, in fact, that it woke people up and some went downstairs to have a smoke break because the banging of the bed “sounded and felt like an earthquake”.

And how do I know this? Some of my friends slept in that same dorm with him and told me the next day. Apparently, they didn’t get enough sleep.

I made a comment to him about the “loudness” of “earthquakes”, smiled, raised my cup and walked away.

I knew. He knew I knew. And now other people know: HE’S A FUCKING HYPOCRITE.

I completely lost any respect I had left for him. I can dislike someone and still respect them. But I don’t like him. And I don’t respect him. He’s a shit person, the lowest of the low in my book.

The way comedian Chris Rock puts it: If he was hanging off the side of a cliff and I’m at the top with a pocket full of fucks… and all he needed was for me to give a fuck so he’d live… I wouldn’t give him one.

It would probably be too loud for him anyway.