When I got married, didn’t know what was I getting into. Never thought I would fear a holiday weekend so much. His spare days are a prophecy of insults, shouting, silence and triggering old wounds that I thought were already healed or at least silenced.

 

I met him, young, drunk, troubled and as Morrisey wisely and beautifully described “ I never, never want to go home. Because I haven't got one. Anymore”.

 

"Do you want to listen The Smiths at my home?" He said. "At the end you are the only person in this island that know who Morrisey is"

 

Yes, I said. Wishing already that he asked. My first, “ I do”.  Through wispers sang Please Please, Please let me get what I want, wishing to love someone deeply, wishing a new union to be the light that never goes out.

 

Shortly, all the walls appeared. We married lonely, in a tiny Chinese office. Fighting for papers but at the end, two tiny little passports with our names and the promise of “They lived happily forever and ever”.

 

Silence, for nearly 2 years. Silence. “Can I put this picture in my Instagram quoting "husband" in Chinese?” I asked with hope in my heart. His eyes shrank and he moved his head from one side to another. “It’s better if not yet”. Silence without an explanation, without telling me why his mom, dad, family and friends couldn’t know about me. I wondered every night what was so wrong about me. Was it my beauty? Was it my nationality? Why was I so shameful… Years later my friend comforted me saying that I am the kind of woman that a men should be shouting from a rooftop that we married.

 

He just felt it wasn’t the time, he was going to look like he did something stupid. I still do not understand. Unanswered questions.

 

We met listening The Smiths. The anger runs through my veins. 

 

I ripped his The Smith’s T-Shirt, showing him my anger, my regret of have said that first I do, my scars by knitting them but overall proving him that a needle and a thread are the same as his constant I am sorry, There is not turning back, I know is over.