A Karmic Relationship in Málaga

By Maggie McNeill

Art by Anders Rokkum

A karmic relationship is something many of us may face during our lifetimes. They are intense - someone that becomes an impactful piece of our existence within a certain space in time. They are beautiful, heavy, turbulent; a storm of emotion, a rare phenomenon in which a person has the ability to put you in a trance. They parallel a Siren, as seen in Greek mythology; a beauty so captivating it flushes all rationale from your brain. A hypnotic entity that coerces you into drowning. If you are not already aware, most Greek storylines involving a Siren result in the death of a Sailor. 

I found myself in this situation during my first semester of Erasmus. I was incredibly sick of the city - going to the same clubs, seeing the same people you thought you befriended the week before, people that never bothered to remember your name. I wanted something better, something more meaningful, and I knew there was much more out there. It was during this time, when I met someone that changed the trajectory of the rest of my year.

The day we met, we hung out for three days straight. He provided me with everything I knew I was missing; he showed me how to fall in love with Andalucía. My life began to feel surreal, riding his motorbike through the pueblos on the coast, moving from beach to beach to watch the sunset, going on walks in the mountains. He was teaching me how to rock climb. I spent time with his friends - often enough to the point that they became mine as well. His dad was a painter from France, who played music in the house almost every time I was there. We laughed about how cliché everything was, which only made it better.

The thing about these connections is when they feel too good to be true, it’s probably because they are. We were a ticking time bomb. Everything was perfect until it imploded on itself. Love at first sight might be possible, but not when you become instantaneously co-dependent. It was too much too quick, and it crashed and burned. He was just out of a long term relationship – I know I was a void filler in a sense. I was asked to be patient, but what is there to be patient about when you are already being invited to family dinner? 

I had hope that things would be okay, but the nuclear bomb exploded while I was back in Ireland for Christmas. Everything I once had was instantly ruined, I felt like I had nothing to return to. No more climbing, less friends, less beautiful landscapes. The impact itself was horrible, but the persistent radiation was worse. I felt like my body was eroding. So many things used to remind me of him – the spots where we parked his car, the coffee mugs I bought at the market with him, the notebook I borrowed and never gave back. So many of the reasons I fell in love with Málaga, I accredited to him.

For a while things were difficult, but I began to heal. I focused my time on people that cared about me. One of the monumental points that made me know life was getting better was finding the small mountain landscape close to my apartment. It became my happy place, a scenic Andalusian view, independent of some guy with a motorbike. I loved to walk along the orange rocks, taking in the view of the city, collecting litter, embroidering; really anything to give me some alone time with nature. Málaga turned into somewhere that I was living with my own narrative. Just because somebody opened my eyes, it did not mean I had to close them again after they were gone.

Now that time has passed, I acknowledge there were warning signs before ground zero. When life is too good to be true, it tends to make you blind. As much as it hurt at the time, I would never change my experience in Málaga because it taught me a lot about myself. He taught me a phrase in Spanish once, “Cosas de palacio van despacio” (“Things of a palace come slowly”). If you wish for a relationship to be fulfilling and healthy, you must give it time to grow. It must be tended to, gently and gradually. If the process is rushed, it is impossible for it to ever be sustainable. A weed grows quickly, but it dies quickly too. Trees take years to develop, but are built with an incredibly strong foundation. This is something I know for a fact, but I will admit, it still remains difficult for me to not want to skip ahead the growing roots. 

So, take these words as a preface to a poem I wrote during my time in nuclear fallout: 

SIRENS

It fucking happened again.

Every time I get something good

It slips away,

every. fucking. time.

I listen to the same songs on repeat

waiting for the emotions to subside.

The same songs,

the same feeling

of being thrown to the wind

of being insignificant,

of being discarded,

of being replaceable,

but the you

becomes interchangeable.

This is becoming a me problem.

Why do I care so much about the yous

that don't give a shit about me?

Did it really slip away?

Or did I cause you to leave?

I just want clarity,

every. fucking. time.

You always make me question my worth.

You always make me question my actions.

I replay every moment in my head,

wondering where I went wrong.

You always make me wonder what I did

to ruin our perfect scenario.

You always make me judge myself.

You always drown me in emotion.

Every fucking time I start to write

to cancel out the noise in my head,

the noise of you.

Every fucking time the you is interchangeable,

but the feelings stay the same.

The regret,

the loss, 

the insecurity,

the mourning,

the confusion.

You’re my siren.

Making me fixated, delusional, 

so focused on something

that will almost certainly do me harm.

But I don't care.

Your sound cancels out all other noise.

I can no longer hear my rationality. 

I can hear my friends,

but I don't listen.

I am hypnotized

by somebody that never intended it.

Or did you?

Do you know that you’re my siren?

You had to know.

The sound of your voice, 

The words that you say,

they are music to my ears. 

The sound of your guitar,

as you played me your melodies,

while sitting on your bed.

You look up at me

wide eyed,

putting me in a trance

as deep as the ocean.

A smile as bright as the sun.

I was so blinded,

and still am,

by that captivating cheeky grin. 

You had to have known.

While humming to the music,

and strumming the strings,

with the same fingers

that used to caress me,

tapping on my skin

to the beat of my heart.

Soft and subtle,

but your sound waves vibrate, breaking down my walls.

Trapped in my impression of you,

my boat is sinking. 

I drown amongst the words

that you used to say to me.

I drowned when we laid under the palm trees at the beach.

I drowned the first time we watched the sunset.

I drowned at the park.

I drowned at the market.

I drowned when we pinky promised to trade jumpers.

when you laid in my bed

and said you had feelings for me.

I drowned when we climbed.

I drowned the countless times

we sat on my balcony, looking at the mountains

contemplating the meaning of life.

I drowned sitting in your kitchen,

as you fed me pasas malagueñas.

I drowned when I first met you,

as we sat in that bar–

“I just knew that I needed to meet you.”

Needed to meet me?

Me? 

How many mes have you drowned?

How many mes have there been?

With the noise canceled out,

with your hypnotic smile,

with the way you used to look into my eyes?

How often do you do it, siren?

How many more came after me?

Or was it just me?

The storm is over

but I’m still fucking drowning.

I need the sunshine,

the sunshine of your smile

to bring me back to shore.