When Harry met Z

Notes from Barbara

I had finished talking to both of them. My piece was out, editors were a bit surprised by my new endeavours, and even more that I knew some Hollywood entertainment types. Hey, I am versatile, after all this is LA right? I am bound to bump into celebrities...I told them.

There was a muscle in me that had been numbed for a long time, ever since my divorce I threw myself into work. I accepted an assignment that took me to Afghanistan, where I worked in a small office shared with other foreign correspondents like me. 

I slept with my phone next to my pillow in case we got the usual phone call alerting us of some new development, a new bomb, car explosion, fire exchange between soldiers. I lived through that time nourished by adrenaline. Our personal lives were reduced to visiting other foreign journalists, reading books, or watching some DVDs (some people might not even know what those are). 

From Afghanistan I was sent to various places, and my last assignment abroad was to China. To cover human rights topics, mainly.

More than 10 years had passed since my divorce when I decided to return to LA. Hoping to get a promotion, to maybe be made an editor, but things at the newsroom were cutthroat, the list for the promotion was long, and after a long financial crisis, I was told I was lucky to have a job.

Very often, I wandered near my office, thinking on my next career move. How could I manage to either change companies, or do something. I felt stuck.

That's when I met Harry Styles in the bar downstairs of our LA office.

Meeting him had made me realise there was this muscle that I had abandoned completely. I never took care of it, never flexed it, all my personal desires were connected with work and my career. Where is my personal life? Where is my love life? Love, did I say?

Well, I am not completely in celibate. I had a few flings here and there. IN Afghanistan I met a cute Australian photographer from a news agency. WE met in a friend's party, and hung out for a few months. He used to call me "babe" (I think he was the last person to call me that). And then he was assigned to another country (we briefly met again in China, but he was with some other chick then).

When I covered China, there was once some protests in the Tibetan region, together with a photographer and a driver we managed to sneak in. While there a huge riot broke, and many other journalists managed to cross the mountains to cover the story.

I remember one night while returning from our coverage, I ran into a blond blue eyed journalist, who said "Hi", "how are you", with a strong French accent. 

We ended staying in the same hotel room for the remaining of the riots. Fooling around while the Chinese army patrolled the streets. Those were the type of stories I had during the last 10 years or so. And those kept me happy. It was enough.

But, hearing Harry and Z's story made me cry. Have I ever experienced LOVE? Love in the way this two people have? 

Before finishing the story I asked Harry - more out of personal curiosity than journalistic obligation - how did they fall for each other. "How did it happen?" I asked him. Hoping he would give me a recipe that I could follow.

Harry said: "Hey Barbara, you are not interested on those small details, right? I thought you wanted the big picture". Yes, I answered. I lied. 

I wanted to know exactly how it happened because I had forgotten how it felt, how it happened, in what moment the attraction, the fun, the care, turns into that wild beast that is love that devours you, and drives you mad with joy, or sadness.

Harry didn't tell me any details. When I met Z, I also tried, but both of them were protective of their "secrets". I guess they are right to be so protective. 

I tried to picture them, maybe when they went to do charity work, when they were in Africa (I checked they went there to support a charity organisation), perhaps then? They realised they not only share mischievousness, but also cared for the world? Like two enlightened princes, like Siddhartha when he wandered the world, and discovered poverty, illness and death?

Was it at that moment of enlightenment that both bonded and their relationship became one of the soul, and not only one of the flesh? 

My mind wandered. Maybe it was a projection, I always thought the perfect partner would be someone altruistic, someone who does charity worked, who cared for the world, who had a sense of social responsibility. Wait a minute. Barbara. This is you. And maybe this is why you are still ....single? 

Maybe I was one sided, and have idealised love. As a result of my divorce I had convinced myself that love is unattainable, far away, and it needs to be PERFECT. PERFECT.

Maybe love is messy, it is not perfect, love is being vulnerable, love is making mistakes. Maybe love is how one learns to grow?

Maybe Harry and Z didn't bond over charity work, or enlightenment over poverty ravaged regions, and people, but maybe it was pure lust?

I also pictured them. Lads. Mischievous lads trying to experiment with love, meeting their flings, perhaps some of the most gorgeous and famous people in the world (that we know of).

Perhaps they organised orgies, inviting beautiful girls to share a night, to party, and that is how they realised there was also a physical attraction between them? 

Perhaps it was during such a session, when their goal was to party with other girls together, when they found themselves entangled, realising it was hard to let go?

Or was it when, tired of a concert, they fall asleep in the same bed, tired, sweaty, and their company kept them grounded....

I will never know. Or perhaps I will. It does not matter. Perhaps there is a bit of true in all of this. My muscle has been awaken, thanks to these lads, beautiful gorgeous lads. Some stories are worth telling, and I felt this one had taught me things, reminded me of things I had forgotten about. Love, love, love is all it takes to makes us feel alive. 

(To be continued...)