Greetings, friends.
I had a boyfriend, years ago now, who treated everything like a game. At first, I thought it was a quality that worked in his favor, considering my personality. He was a laid-back, carefree guy who never got upset about anything. If I was late, he'd laugh. If I forgot something we'd planned, he'd say it didn't matter. If I told him about a problem, he'd turn it into a joke. We never argued, and I thought that was a good thing, a sign that we were compatible.
It took me a while to realize what was really happening. It wasn't that he chose not to get angry. It was that he wasn't listening to me. He wasn't paying attention. Everything I said went in one ear and out the other without leaving a trace. That's why we never argued: because to argue, you have to have listened first, you have to have processed what the other person is saying, and he wasn't doing that.
One day I told her I was worried about a school assignment. She responded with a joke about bosses and offices. Another day I told her about a problem at home. She laughed and changed the subject.
I thought it was just the way she was, that she didn't know how to manage her emotions or that serious topics made her uncomfortable; or that, since we were so young, she didn't know what to say in those situations. But the truth was simpler: she didn't pay attention to anything I said.
He lived in his own world, distracted, absent. He could be physically present with me and yet not be there at all. His responses were always generic, as if he had a repertoire of stock phrases for situations that didn't matter to him. He never remembered what I had told him, nor the names of the people who were important to me, nor the plans we made.
One day, after a pointless conversation in which I brought up something serious and he responded with a joke, I got up from his sofa, grabbed my bag, and left. I left his house and his life quietly, without explanation, because I'd already given plenty and none of them had worked.
The saddest, or most ridiculous, thing is that I don't think he's even realized we're no longer dating. He probably thinks I'm busy, or traveling, or that I just didn't call by chance. That's how he was. And that was the biggest mistake anyone has ever made for me: loving me without listening to me, which is the same as not loving me at all.
Saludos, amigas.
Tuve un novio, ya hace años, que se tomaba todo como un juego. Al principio me pareció una cualidad que funcionaba a su favor, teniendo en cuenta a mi carácter. Era un muchacho relajado, sin preocupaciones, que nunca se molesta por nada. Si yo llegaba tarde, se reía. Si olvidaba algo que habíamos planeado, decía que no importaba. Si le contaba un problema, lo convertía en chiste. Nunca discutíamos, y yo creía que eso era bueno, que era señal de que funcionábamos bien.
Tardé en darme cuenta de lo que ocurría realmente. No es que él decidiera no enfadarse. Es que no me escuchaba. No me prestaba atención. Todo lo que yo decía entraba por un oído y salía por el otro sin dejar rastro. Por eso nunca discutíamos: porque para discutir hay que haber escuchado primero, hay que haber procesado lo que la otra persona dice, y él no hacía eso.
Un día le conté que estaba preocupada por una tarea de la escuela. Me respondió con un chiste sobre jefes y oficinas. Otro día le hablé de un problema en casa. Se rió y cambió de tema.
Yo pensaba que era su forma de ser, que no sabía gestionar las emociones o que le incomodaban los temas serios; o que, como éramos tan jóvenes, no sabía qué decir en esos casos. Pero la verdad era más simple: no me hacía caso a nada de lo que le dijera.
Vivía en su propio mundo, distraído, ausente. Podía estar conmigo físicamente y no estar en absoluto. Sus respuestas siempre eran genéricas, como si tuviera un repertorio de frases hechas para situaciones que no le importaban. Nunca recordaba lo que yo le había contado, ni los nombres de la gente importante para mí, ni los planes que hacíamos.
Un día, después de una conversación absurda en la que le planteé algo serio y él respondió con una broma, me levanté de su sofá, cogí mi bolso y me fui. Me marché de su casa y de su vida sin hacer ruido, sin dar explicaciones, porque ya había dado muchas y ninguna había servido.
Lo más triste, o lo más ridículo, es que creo que aún no se ha enterado de que dejamos de ser novios. Seguramente piensa que estoy ocupada, o de viaje, o que no he llamado por casualidad. Así era él. Y esa fue la mayor tontería que alguien ha hecho por mí: amarme sin escucharme, que es lo mismo que no amarme en absoluto.
