Last Words: Be more like Beyoncé

“Be more like Beyoncé,” my friends told me when my short but passionate summer fling ended last week. Summer love in Reykjavík is the best. Long walks and ice cream by the harbour, sloppy french kissing in seedy bars. Pure ecstasy. And now it’s over.

New relationships sometimes make you want to improve yourself. You start to think of your crush as the most amazing person in the world and you feel inspired to be amazing too. So, I enrolled finish that degree my mom has tearfully mentioned to me several times in the past few years. I also became a devout vegetarian—and I finally started to like some of these fancy beers that are all from breweries so esoteric that their beers would start to taste like piss if they became mainstream.

And then I got dumped. But when my heartbreak reached its peak and I laid sobbing on the floor of my favourite bar, Mónakó, my friends told me to have some self respect and deal with it like Beyoncé.

I initially thought they were mocking my dancing abilities but in reality they were referring to her album ‘Lemonade’. In one of her songs Beyoncé says that “winners don’t quit on themselves” and I just couldn’t see how that applied to a loser like me.

But then watching the video of her walking around with a baseball bat made me instantly feel better and I have to admit that even though I take pride in being a peaceful person, I got a thrill from fantasising about smashing his guitars, ruining his record collection and destroying some of these penis drawings he likes to call art. It might make him feel as miserable as he made me for a moment.

Unfortunately my history with sports equipment sadly suggests that I would be far more likely to break both my legs and fracture my skull on my way over to his place with a bat in my hand, than to put as so much as a dent in one of his blues guitars. So I am forced to turn to other methods.

My aunt keeps saying that you need five new lovers to get over a one special one. So take me out. I have almost no preferences when it comes to gender, age or postal code. Then by next fall I will be able to wave my middle finger like Beyoncé and say: “I ain’t sorry.”