Relationship Stuff

Cucumber sandwiches and tea for breakfast today. Simple yet somehow elegant.

My husband comes from Colombia, and I am from Sweden. Sometimes (quite often actually) I think Colombia must be the polar opposite of Sweden. It goes without saying that one country is tropical and Latin American, while the other is located close to Santa Claus’ whereabouts. People are different. We can try all we want to not generalize, but we are different and where we come from (country, politics, and, yes, geographic location) does have a hand in shaping who we are, the way we think, the way we view the world.

If my husband hadn’t been as un-Colombian as he is, and if I hadn’t been as un-Swedish as I am, our relationship would have never worked. Last year in Sweden, a friend said, upon hearing about my Colombian better half:
“Ooo, does he dance and stuff? I mean, don’t they party a whole lot there?”

When I told my husband, we both had a good laugh. Nothing could be farther from the truth in his case.

In reality, my husband is more Swedish than a Bergman movie. He’s very quiet and not very macho either. I, on the other side, don’t think of myself as very Swedish. I’m not quiet, I am fairly religious, and I most certainly don’t party like it’s 1999 every Friday, like many of my compatriots seem to do. All those crazy things you’ve heard about Swedes, much of which involve nudity? That’s so not me!

But there are areas in which my husband and I disagree to a point where I can feel my blood boil.

Nothing makes me angrier than social injustices (homophobia, classism, sexism, racism – you name it). Unfortunately, the way I react to hearing or reading about it is that I get very upset and work myself into a rant. The way my husband, on the other hand, gets upset, is by turning completely silent. And silence, to me in my agitated state, is like a slap in the face. My husband’s silence when I’m upset, drives me insane. I see it as failure to realize the enormity of the issue at hand. It makes me feel as if he doesn’t have my back.

“But screaming and crying isn’t going to make it any better,” he says stoically.

Or worse:

“You’re beating a dead horse, Eva.”

I hate that last one. What I want from him is a sign that he agrees with me (which I know he does), and to me that sign has to be him behaving exactly like me.

How silly is that? Yet, it happens. And keeps on happening.

Both my husband and I come from broken families. When our son was born, I swore I would bend over backwards to give him a family that stays together. So far, that hasn’t been easy. But then again, what of importance ever is? Traditionally in my husband’s country, women take care of children and housework. Traditionally in Sweden, this is a biggie that has broken many a couple: Equal share of household duties or else! You see now what I mean when I said that where we’re from shapes us?

Initial attraction is one thing, staying is another story. One friend of mine has been married for 28 years. I asked her the other day how she felt about that, and she said:
“It’s been too long!”

But she smiled when she said it. The only complaint she has is that her husband won’t clean up after himself in the kitchen after he makes bacon.

My husband and I are navigating unchartered waters since we don’t know what makes a family work. We have no blueprint of a functioning family. We only know that we want this to work. I’ve learnt a few things, that the principle isn’t always the point, is an important one. For me, it’s better to do the dishes than to complain that my husband doesn’t do them. He, on the other hand, always picks up my favorite wine. On a weekend day, when I am tired, he takes our son out to the playground to play ball. I cook dinner. He throws his clothes everywhere; I pick them up (sometimes). He teaches our son time, because he knows I’m too impatient to do it. And so on. Is it perfect? Far from it. But I also know this: It will never be. The perfect person doesn’t exist. Nor does the perfect relationship.

A favorite homemade Valentine from years ago.