Me and my English

I have a long-term affair with English; it isn’t actually an eternally cheerful relationship but a love-hate romance. I can almost remember the first time I met “him” - that goes back to my childhood- I was about twelve, at that time I were studying French at the school and I wasn’t truly satisfied , I needed to know the language of films, understand the songs around me, hear the sweet sound of English. That was what I told my parents and, eventually, although we were living in a small village, I could attend to a special Saturday English course. I was feeling very nervous the day before I had to begin my first class. A young charming teacher, Mariano was his name, was the man who introduced it to me. That was the beginning of this never-ending liaison. After that, we met at high school. Years later in the university we could have some shy appointments but, unfortunately, the time went by and real life made me forget it. A few years ago, he offered me a new opportunity of reconciliation; therefore I tried to know it again in the school of languages. All was ok until the 5th level, I had previously been behaving like a good fiancée, and we certainly had progressed together. But in this last level we had a sudden break. That made me lose concentration and we almost split up. I knew that it wasn’t a real separation -I wouldn’t have been able to stand it. Then I got used to reading English books and seeing films in the original version. Moreover, I went to an English meeting every Monday into a pub to speak with foreign people.
Now, I’m trying again. I’ve just finished the English book ‘How to be good’ and I don’t lose the hope that some day I’m going to understand his whole world.