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My Mexican Month

starlet, darkchild, dark
Remember I said you wouldn't see me for six weeks? Yeah. Well, I'm back in England! Arrived this morning. And why would I be in England, you ask? Well, dear friends, that's a tale to tell indeed. A tale of twists, turns, contortions and complications, but also of romance, adventure and more happiness than might ever be accredited to have been my gift.



Heathrow Terminal 5 is quite simply amazing. I had a great time there. The woman when I checked in was phenomenally nice, knowing it was my first time flying and talking me through all the details. She asked why I was going to Mexico, and I told her I was in love. She cooed and asked to see a picture of the girl in question, which I provided via my phone, and she gasped "Oh! She's BEAUTIFUL!"

And I grinned, and went through security, and explored the really cool terminal for a few hours, and then flew to Madrid. Flying's amazing. The way the ground shrinks below and away... I was so excited, so full of energy! I watched as England shrank away into a tapestry, and soon enough was gone altogether, before the ocean was spread below, then some France, then the immensity of Spain... which is more brown than I thought it'd be. I arrived in Madrid within a couple of hours.

All the while, excited texts were being bandied back and forth from the airports when possible, informing my family and my girlfriend of the events thus far. At Madrid, I knew I was only hours from her arms as I made my way to the connecting flight to Mexico. Madrid airport is rather boring.

After months of planning, endless hours-long nights of talking and counting down the days, it was finally here, finally happening! Everything was set, and all the preparations had borne fruit. I even had my currency card, loaded with some money that my girl had insisted was to only be spent on souvenirs, as she was insistent on paying for everything else.

Please stop here for a moment, and read the last sentence again. And once more. Then one more time. Really ingrain that sentence into your memory for me, okay? It's going to be important later.

The flight from Madrid to Mexico City was twelve hours long and utterly arduous. The thrill of flying soon wore off, and I could only snatch small pockets of sleep where possible. At least by the window I could watch cities below as vast golden glittering shapes on a black blanket of ground far below. But it genuinely felt like I was sitting in that damn plane forever!

But it was worth it. Mexico City was finally here, rushing up to meet me, and the girl I loved was blissfully close. Time to go through immigration and reclaim my luggage! So I did.

And as I grabbed my case from the scanning security thing, I looked through the doorway and there she was, watching me. In a gorgeous little purple coat, creamy skin, dark hair, dark eyes, a smile just for me. And we waved to each other like it was nothing, and then she was away to talk with her brother.

The glorious weight of that intensely happy moment still lifts my heart to this moment! As I left, all luggage at my side, I went to embrace my girl at long and glorious last.

The joy of that moment is beyond words! The perfection I'd worked so hard and done so much to make mine was right there in front of me, and at long last we could hug and kiss as we'd always spoken of.

We'd done it! We'd actually accomplished this huge and difficult thing! And so it was time to go home, to meet the family who had helped my girlfriend make all this possible by providing a house for me to stay in.

We drove through the darkness of Mexico City in a sweet black car, and all at once I realised how far from home I truly was and how brilliant this utterly was!

I don't have a photo of Mexico City at night, though, so have one from daytime instead.



The city's amazing, nothing at all like those of England, wild and vibrant, crazy and colourful. People are trying to sell everyone things everywhere, and you can't even ride the bus or the inner-city train network without people trying to hawk various wares.

But the fact was, the happy couple were going home. And to my surprise and delight, the living room was laden with balloons and a paper-chain welcome sign, and a big orange balloon proclaiming love for me right in the centre, and I swear to God I never felt more special in my life! Mi amor and her family were warm and welcoming, and it wasn't long before I was shown my room, far at the top floor of the big lovely house my girlfriend and her family dwelt in.

Which is where I discovered another surprise... a Clonito! A small custom-made doll of myself that my girlfriend had made just for me!



Isn't that great? He's got little glasses too. Hey, and don't judge me man, you try looking good for a photo after twelve hours of flight!

I'd arrived in Mexico City at 5:30 in the morning. What occurred after my initiation into the household was a flurried blur of passion, but I know there was kissing of an unprecedented intensity, and that this would set the precedent for the week to come. So many hours spent kissing that my beard ended up cutting into her chin. And that still didn't stop her!

The unity and joy, the realisation of the love, the sheer giddy unyielding permanent intense happiness of everything became the glorious de facto state of existence. My face would be grasped and her eyebrows would arch and she'd whisper "I love you so much!" and she'd kiss me with a longing that had incubated for months.

Promises were reaffirmed, everything being better than we ever imagined was confirmed to one another, and we had outings and adventures, we held each other watching movies, we had long kisses goodnight and longer kisses good morning, every detail of everything I did was watched with wide loving eyes, making sure everything was perfect, and there was no way I was permitted to pay for anything. My girl and her family treated me as a guest of honour.



Zocalo is a cultural jewel of the city, laden with markets, museums and some truly impressive architecture. It also has the largest national flag of quite possibly any nation anywhere. My girl and I went here and there, laughing and joking and kissing, taking countless photos, having the time of our lives... seriously, you've never seen two people have such a good time in a cathedral. She told me how she loved how I could turn anything into fun and games, how she'd never have imagined a cathedral as somewhere to be playful.

The week went on and joy continued to flow. With vibrancy, with brilliance, we skittered and tittered, we shared profundities, and I guess bit by bit things about me others don't get to see began to show. By the end of the week we were gloriously inebriated in her favourite rock bar, and as we staggered back to the car alongside her brother and his friend in a shared merry drunken stupor, she rolled onto the back seat in fits of impish giggles, looked up at me with the most enchanting eyes in Mexico as I shambled onto the seat beside her, smiled a soul-melting smile and playfully uttered three little words any man would love to hear, with the kind of innocuous charm only the truly cheeky can get away with.

"Let's have sex."

We didn't, of course. Well, not that particular ti--well, look, we need not talk about it, but suffice to say as far as such things go I was so happy that someone finally got it, you know? Understood the way I roll, so to speak. The playful angle, the gleeful intensity of it all, the communicative aspect of it, the... exploratory... well, look, things seemed to work nicely. Okay? Okay.



DON'T YOU EVER TELL ANYONE YOU SAW ME WEARING BLUE, ALRIGHT? She used to like it. That was why. Got it?

I think it was the visit to the art gallery I first noticed The Change. I mean, it's an art gallery. It was a private tour for her brother and his workmates, but he managed to get us in on it. An apparently famous artist who painted many many fat people. But the point was, it was an enormously classy and sober occasion, and nothing baits me into feeling playful like imposed seriousness.

But the young lady-lady, she was more reserved, more distant. Looking back now, I think that's when The Change first started.

It's a terrible moment. The moment when things I do begin to annoy or disturb instead of cause uncontainable glee and passion. It was subtle at first... I put it down to womanly things, you know the sort. A little bad of me, mayhaps... but I knew this girl, I knew she was complicated. We went to Coyocan, full of things being sold, full of new foods and drinks to try, and street performers... one of whom pulled me out from the crowd and began a whole routine with me, with me not speaking a word of Spanish. So me and this little street clown guy fooled around together in front of a crowd, and it felt amazing. That sort of thing doesn't happen every day!

And maybe it was hubris. Because I was convinced me capering with a street clown in front of everyone, and blowing my girl a kiss when he asked me to blow one to another girl instead... I was convinced this would impress her. It's not why I did it, of course, but... she loved me, right? This wild man who'd come so far for her, who'd jump into any situation so gleefully, take life in stride and live for adventure and laughter and love. But some weeks later, after The Change had taken its terrible toll, she admitted in her candid, blunt way that she'd actually considered the entire thing 'stupid' and 'ridiculous'.

...Yeah.



And of course I rocked LittleBigPlanet™ tee shirts all over Mexico. This was in Coyocan. Damn, I'm going to miss Coyocan.

But you're probably starting to see the picture. Things were getting colder. Not the natural recession of limerence, but outright... awkward. Damn unpleasant at times. For every night spent watching a movie (or British TV on Netflix; I introduced her to Doctor Who) whilst stroking each other's hair, for every spontaneous bout of kisses that led to exploratory handscapes, for every grand outing... there were awkward silences, there was an unspoken growing distance, there was a sudden reluctance to talk about her plans to come to England in November of this year... and a lot of the time, there was just outright rudeness of a quite... disturbing nature.

One morning, upon finishing breakfast, I was set to leave the table, and was engaging in doing so. Her ladyship did not approve of this action.

Now, if you were in love with someone and didn't want them to leave, how would you respond to this? Maybe suggest diplomatically you would like them to stay? It didn't go down like that. She accosted me with a hot glare as I stood and uttered, "You're a fucking asshole."

Right there. In front of her mother. Who didn't understand, thankfully, but by virtue of her presence prevented me from retaliating as I so desired. So I just got confused instead.

"Eh?"
"I always stay when you finish breakfast and you're just gonna leave me here?"
"Oh. Well, no then."


So I sat down. And things were awkward. Girly got herself a glare from me as soon as the opportunity presented itself, of course. And I'd like to make very clear she apologised. With a hug and everything.

Proximity was becoming an issue. The girl was discovering things about me. She didn't like them. From simple (and confusing) things like how I hold my hands up in front of myself when I don't want something, to the fact that I eat with the fork in my right hand and the knife in my left (does anyone else have a problem with this? Seriously? Because apparently I'm entirely wrong in doing this)... things like that.

By the time of our second weekend, things were showing signs of strain but also explicit joy. We went to an amazing place, I think it's called Xochamilco or similar (I always get these complicated Aztec-ish words wrong). Me, my girl, her brothers and their friends. They're like gondola barge thingies on a canal, and basically everyone goes there to get drunk. We were no exception.



And this very afternoon provides the perfect example of just the kind of obscure dichotomy that was beginning to take hold of the relationship. In one instance, I was guzzling down rum and cola, and upon finishing doing so hooted like a frat boy, smashed the plastic drinky glass against my forehead and roared, "VIVA MEXICOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Trills of chuckling ensued at this Englishman's madness, and my girl laughed and touched my back and said one of her many meaningful little phrases; "I love the way you are!"

Good, right? Same afternoon. Total turnaround. I point excitedly at a passing boat with the British flag on it, as I am wont to excitedly point at my flag and remark on it because I am, for the first time in my life, a foreigner. And it's a great feeling! Being constantly surrounded by a language you barely understand is no bad thing, folks, and a great way to learn.

But her ladyship does not approve.

"Why do you always do that? It's just a fucking bandera!"

...I... you... but... hey! Maybe it is, but it's my fucking bandera! It's also the best flag in the world. It just is. I'm not going to go and announce that in front of a bunch of Mexicans, of course, since they're proud people and they do happen to live in an amazing city. But come on. The Union Flag. The Union Flag. And so far from home, it's pretty meaningful, you know?

Anyway, she apologised again, but... by the time of the evening, when we all went to the rock bar again, mind games began to be played with each other. I did get a song dedicated to me by the house band though, so that was pretty cool.

Finally, outside the bar, she and I had a discussion. Answers finally became clear. The more she pulled away and pushed me back, the more I chased her, and vice versa. We were stuck in some sort of spiral, slowly poisoning the relationship. We also swore at each other.

I had a lot on my mind, a lot to talk about. She promised me we'd talk. She then proceeded to get extraordinarily drunk, to the point of rolling around in the street howling into the night for about half an hour. We talked about twelve hours later, once her hangover had gone away.

But positives remained, even as the accusations grew more prevalent. I don't know how to make a bed. I'm lazy and selfish. Things like that.

And then I made a classic error. An utter error.



That is not the error. That is a picture of me at the football stadium. That was great fun!

No, no, the error was this. I cried. In front of her.

Now, ladies, you've got it lucky. You can stub your toe, bawl like a baby, and nobody thinks any less of you.

But a man is societally forbidden from showing any emotional weakness. Maybe at a funeral. That's okay. But even then, only like a really close relative. Other than that, crying is a big no-no. Life's strange like that.

So if a man trusts you enough to cry in your presence, that's... really the ultimate declaration of trust, right? So I was happy when she allayed my fears and held me tight and told me she wanted me to be happy. And things were great. Until she then started using the fact she'd seen me crying as ammunition for yet more of her delightful acidic remarks.

"Are you gonna cry? I want to see you cry again."

It was a difficult week. She avoided my gaze, avoided all but necessary contact unless she felt like it. By the next weekend, when her brother's friend's parents were coming for a meal, she was almost a stranger. The friend's father asked how we met, and asked then if she planned to visit England to see me after my visit.

She said a very chilling thing.

"Maybe."

Maybe?! Um, where in the last several months has anything ever been a 'maybe' when all you've done is tell me you want to make a life with me?!

I'm not stupid, contrary to opinion. I know this girl, and I can see what's going on. Yet any questions as to if she has doubts about us are dismissed as foolish.

...By the end of my third week, I get The Talk.


You know the one.

I LOVE YOU, BUT I'M NOT 'IN' LOVE WITH YOU.

So that's great! That's fantastic. So now I have to hear about how we have no chemistry (kisses aside)... though chemistry's difficult to enjoy when one is always being pushed away, admittedly. I don't know. I know I made a lot of mistakes, but neither of us planned for this. I was convinced that this was it and I was going home. And she was very gentle about the whole breaking up thing, to her credit.

The next day, we affirm our friendship, and her family takes us out. Suddenly, she's more like my girlfriend than she's been in weeks, and she broke up with me yesterday. Grabbing me, telling me she wants to kiss me, laughing at the jokes again, fooling around together just like Zocalo again. And later, she did actually kiss me, wistfully remarking how complicated things were and how handsome she thought I was and apologising for how things had turned out. Later, we go to the park, and she tells me at least we can still enjoy the kissing, the one thing we're both agreed on as being good.

The next day, she takes me to the park and tells me actually kissing is off the menu.

The day after that, she deletes her own Facebook account, taking with it months of messages and dedications and conversations, without so much as a 'by the way, I will do this' in my general direction.

In the final week following the breakup, she seems strangely oblivious to the fact that breaking someone's heart actually rather hurts them. I'm expected to be very upbeat, and God knows I try my best, but I'm living with my ex-girlfriend and having to watch her ruthlessly dismantle our relationship. Deleting things, changing things, affirming that her life is entirely her own and I have no place in it.



Six Flags. That was good. Before we broke up. Last outing before we broke up, actually.

Anyway, point is, I was being hurt and nobody seemed to care about it. It went on all week, constant digs at me, outright insults like "There's lots I don't like about you." or "You do a lot of things that annoy me.", not that these were considered insults... I'm too sensitive for taking these things personally. If we're supposed to be being friends, why am I being spoken to this way?

Having come all this way, given all of myself for better or worse and just been treated like... you know? Heartbreak is fine, but why the constant disrespect? Fact is, she just didn't like me much any more. I ended up losing my temper on the Friday of that week and taking it out on my ex-girl's mother, the one person who didn't even remotely deserve it after her constant care and attention, and probably the single most stupid thing I've done all year.

After much discussion, I was still permitted to stay. But my mind was already made up. Why should I keep being insulted by someone who rejected my love, then my friendship, then me as an individual? What about the life in England I put on hold explicitly to come here?

The next day, the girl and I had our biggest argument yet. Shortly after it all, we're both remorseful, and we both wonder where it all went wrong, and she holds me tight and suddenly kisses me in a brief mad frenzy.

On the Sunday, we went to a really cool park. She kissed me there too, and said we should enjoy each other as we can. I'd been emailling my parents. Extraction was imminent. I was getting out of Mexico before I could be any further damaged.

And maybe it sounds weak, but you need to understand, you have no idea how much strength it took. Labouring under constant scrutiny, constant accusation, constant insults, constantly watching as someone you built your life around making happy goes ahead and plans her life without you, right in front of you, treating you like you're nothing, rejecting the olive branch of friendship. No matter how stupid I've been, no matter how many things I've got wrong, I didn't deserve this!

Monday. Email arrives, telling me I'm out in a couple of days. The whole house gets cold. Her family barely speak to me. She's breaking her promises to talk to me better, going against her remorseful confessions at regretting how badly she treated me, and becoming worse than ever. Now I'm apparently an idiot for not knowing about something happening in Switzerland, a somewhat unrelated country to my own. My upbringing is considered a rather bad one. If I stand too far away, I am lambasted with swearwords. I am annoying, I am unlikeable, and on the penultimate day I'm told in great depth how the entire month has been meaningless to her, and any presentation of evidence at her happiness is disregarded.

It's totally dead. Not just the love, but the friendship, all of it. Despite my best efforts, I've watched it all be crushed before my eyes. Because, as I always knew was her way, she does as she pleases. I'm an echo.

Today dawns. It's time to leave. And she's helpful, amicable. I take a last look around at Mexico City as I'm driven to the airport, and we talk like good buddies after an adventure. She even admits she's had good times after all. Shucks!

And so, the woman to whom I gave everything I possibly could helps me take my luggage, and as I get ready to go through security she hugs me tight, repeatedly kisses my cheek and wishes me the best.

And it ends just as it started. Me looking at her and waving through an open door as I go through airport procedure.

And then she's gone. I'm in Mexico City airport. Hours before my flight to Dallas, Texas, USA, to then transfer to London, to then be driven home. Home. The thing I've been craving. Where I can be free, without repirsals or judgements or a constant need to justify my actions. Where my entire life isn't apparently wrong on some deep, fundamental level. Where I can tell people truths and actually have them accepted. And where I've now got to figure out what I'm going to do with my life.



There's a picture I drew while I was there.

Anyway, I had a great time in the airport terminal. I like terminals! And I sat down and even though it half-killed me to look at them I read through every text message on my phone from her and deleted it. Was it even the same person who'd so constantly told me "Te amo por siempre!" so gushingly, so constantly, each text representing hours of conversation elsewhere, so many messages speaking of the excitement of a month ago before I'd even arrived? I was the single focal point of her life, she adored and cherished me and almost everything I did. I didn't give way to tears, but I read every damn message and deleted every one, all those times she asked to never lose me, thanked me for taking away her fears and being there for her... and I'm sure she deleted her own without a single glance in their direction. One of us is going to honour the amazing journey we've taken together and it might as well be me.

Anyway, I needed to face those loving words and know they're no longer true. I'm no longer in love, but damn I still hurt! It wasn't the breakup that did it, but the coldness. Trapped with this coldness. Picked up and dropped on a whim.

Yet she took care of me, right until the end, and made sure I was okay. Despite everything. That must've been difficult, considering her perspective of me changed so much in such a short amount of time. It must be confusing.

So I got on the plane, and I felt a sweet relief to watch Mexico shrink away to insignificance beneath me. That amazing city, full of adventure and opportunity, cut short by circumstance and by my decision to leave.

And that's the thing. She said I should take some advice and speak up and go after what I want. And this bewilders me, because I did that to get there, and I did the same to have my family help me leave so suddenly. I must confess the suddenness of my leaving and its effect did please me.

But she was speaking about how we'd had an opportunity to visit the famous pyramids despite her constantly telling me now it wasn't possible, but I hadn't suggested it on a given day and so now we couldn't and it was all my fault. That clinched it for me. If I'm expected to play guessing games I'm not sticking around.

It was my decision to leave, and I get what I want! How the hell am I someone who doesn't go after what he wants? I'm leaving because I don't want to spend time with a volatile person who doesn't like me very much! And don't even get me started on how the fact I didn't want to buy a bottle of fizzy drink means I have 'no fucking education about women'.

Hey. Remember the sentence I asked you to remember? Got it? Good. Because I was complained at for only spending a small amount of money. One month ago, I was constantly told to stop adding money to my international cashcard. What. The. Actual. Hell. Happened. Here?

Regardless, I flew to Dallas. And you know what? I was thinking how amazing Mexico City is, and then I saw Dallas from the air, tidy suburbs dotted below like tiny neighbourhoods from The Sims, and I realised... the world is huge, and fair play if you want to be proud of where you come from, but... Dallas, it was so tidy, so quaint, so clean and nice-looking... I can see why America really likes America. It genuinely looked amazing down there, much nicer than where I'd just been. Hey, sorry, it's true.

And then, yes, for an hour or so I was in America for the very first time. Can you believe it? I felt very aware of my accent! Then I sat in another plane full of friendly Americans for eight hours to London, arrived, met my parents in a jetlagged stupor and came home.

So here I am. Haunted, mildly confused, teetering from the joys of freedom to the continuing pangs of my poisoned persona. My confidence is damaged, my self-image is in tatters, and she's out there several thousand miles away doing whatever the hell she likes without consequence.

But that doesn't matter. Because I did an amazing thing, with a briefly amazing person, and it showed me that so much is possible, and that so much can be broken, and I daresay she didn't destroy me, but I was so wide open to her and gave her so much of myself it's the closest to annihilation I've ever been brought by another human being. I was going to change my whole life for this girl.

But I'm back. Getting used to British timezones again. Already contacted 3DS Buzz to confirm I'm soon fit for duty. Got to contact the career office and such after the weekend. Tomorrow, I'd better head to Norwich and explain to my community friends what's transpired.

With dignity, damn it. And dressed in my finest, because I'm back, and I'm hungry for more. It's strange to be English in England again, there's magic missing, and I want that magic back, the magic of exploration and adventure and wealth and, yes, romance... but maybe a romance chosen more meticulously this time. And certainly not in a fashion wherein I'd give my best, travel eight thousand miles for someone and have her change her mind.

I'm getting used to things, I even recognise my house again, and that cars drive on the left here... and they're bloody well supposed to!

This adventure has ended. Despite mistreatment, some of which came from me and I confess to such, I did some freakin' awesome stuff out there. And I learned some tricks in Mexico that's going to make whichever woman next wants me very happy indeed. Let's just leave it at that.

I'm not ashamed of my failure, and though there are many things I miss, I'll remain vigilant. I did something countless men around you never would, I proved that I'd truly do anything if I love someone enough, and we all know there's someone out there who can actually bloody appreciate that. Not that I'm now set to break my back finding her. I've got a life to re-establish. People to un-alientate. A career to advance. And a lot of videogames to play!

And there it is. My Mexican month. Simultaneously the best and worst relationship of my life, rolled into one. I refuse to be deterred by this happenstance, that arose from following my person truth. If my mettle is to be tested, then by all means do so.

I've already proven I'm capable of so much more than you could possible imagine!


Now. A breakup involving a girlfriend who goes cold on you. We all know there's a traditional song for that, so let's let that go right here and get ready for tomorrow.

It's good to be back!

Comments

( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
makoto140
Jul. 2nd, 2012 07:29 am (UTC)
Ugh, I'm stupid, I didn't realize this entry was here before I commented on the other one . . xP Consider me officially informed about your Mexico experience!

Aaaaaaand this is why I consider my own gender to be so damn confusing, and why I don't get along with a lot of girls for the most part =P Not saying that all men are great either but . . from many stories I've heard, women tend to play these little mind games with you. You guys seemed so lovey-dovey on Facebook, so much that I'm surprised I didn't get cavities from reading it =P And then, BAM, this? It's one thing to awkwardly realize upon getting to know a person that you actually don't really go well with them but . . continue to abuse them persistently afterward? She has issues. It sounds more like she hates herself for causing all of this, and is taking out her self-hate on you, blaming it on you to make it easier on herself, covering you with kisses when she feels she has to make it up to you somehow to ease some of the guilt, then trying to delete her entire mistake. Life's not THAT easy, sister. It would have been easier to just admit her mistake and enjoy the rest of the trip as being good friends.

Ah well, at least it was a really good experience! And I'm really, truly glad you enjoyed the US, despite your short time being in it! Sometime I hope you visit here, and if I'm free, I'll gladly show you my favorite places! (I'm sure our Six Flags is better ;P Although now I want to go to the one in Mexico . .)
beatnuki
Jul. 2nd, 2012 07:41 pm (UTC)
The one in Mexico is great! I had a fantastic time there! And for my first Six Flags experience it was certainly good fun!

It's great to hear from you nonetheless and I'm glad you could be filled in on the (short version!) of my mad month. There were so many great times, but unfortunately despite my best efforts certain parties are adamant on clouding them over with negativity. It doesn't matter though. I just want to move past the negative emotions so I can remember her as the thoughtful, funny, compassionate, romantic, kind person we all saw before, as you so rightly mention!

Because that's who she is, somewhere among the apathy and discontent she later showed. She did well, since having one's ex around the house can't have been easy, but... I deserved better!

And talking of deserving better, I've lots to feel unsure of myself about too. I'm the kind of guy, it seems, who'll drop anything to go after what he wants, and I know I've pushed away people I shouldn't have in all this, and I'm truly sorry about that.

And it's funny, because as I read your comment I remember our first trepidative talks about all this and me specifically saying, "I know her... she wants me as long as I'm the best option available."

Spookily prophetic!

It was an amazing experience though, so much so that to be back in a little numbing, I miss the adventure!

Also, Marc totally should mix up some zombie potions when Supernatural comes out!
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )

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