Since Jason Momoa revealed his new girlfriend to the world on Instagram on Monday, the pair has been the talk of the internet.
Though some may be surprised, he has been making subtle references to their long-simmering romance to followers for some time.
When he was still married to Lisa Bonet, the 44-year-old actor got to know the 32-year-old actress on the set of the 2021 Netflix movie Sweet Girl. But there’s a catch!
Momoa and his husband separated for more than five years, although they were still legally wed.
Bonet and Momoa formally separated on October 7, 2020, therefore there was no conflict between them when he and Arjona started dating.
On January 8 of this year, Bonet filed for divorce, and the next day, their cases were settled amicably.
Momoa went all out, creating a carousel of pictures from their most recent trip to Japan, now that he could finally show them all how much he loved them.
He referred to Arjona as “mi amor” in the letter, but if you’re not sure what that means, just look at their adorable pictures of one another.
Their close embrace is depicted through their body language in the second picture, where her hand is softly resting on his arm and his arms are wrapped around her. It’s not laughing!
The writer said, “Japan, you are a dream come true; you blew my mind.” We sincerely thank everyone who opened their homes to us so that we could embark on yet another amazing journey with our beloved and make memories with both old and new friends. Motorbikes and mayhem on the highway. Warm regards, J.’
In 2019, Arjona wed attorney Edgardo Canales; however, little is known about their separation or if a divorce was requested.
Despite the impression that Arjona is a relatively new member of the Momoa family, his stepdaughter Zoë Kravitz chose her to be the director of Blink Twice, which will be released in theaters on August 23 and stars Channing Tatum.
Given that Kravitz and Tatum are now engaged, the wedding is probably going to be spectacular, and Momoa, Bonet, and Lenny Kravitz will probably be there.
Following 13 years of dating, Bonet and Momoa made the decision to tie the knot in October 2017.
The 15-year-old boy Nakoa-Wolf and the 16-year-old daughter Lola are being reared by the ex-couple behind closed doors.
They didn’t declare their split on Instagram until January 2022, writing, “We’ve all felt the strain and adjustments of these revolutionary times. “A revolution is taking place, and our family is not an exception… feeling and growing from the seismic shifts occurring,” said the joint statement.As a result, we inform our families of our impending divorce. We share this not because we think it’s important to draw attention to ourselves, but rather so that we can live morally and authentically in our day-to-day lives.
Buttons and Memories
I miss my mom. I used to push all the buttons just as she would walk down the aisle, a mischievous glint in my eye. Each time we visited the grocery store, I’d dash ahead, my small fingers dancing over the colorful buttons of the self-checkout machine. With each beep, she’d turn around, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “You little rascal! One day, you’re going to break it!” she’d say, shaking her head, but her smile would give her away. Those moments were filled with laughter and light, the kind of memories that could brighten even the dullest days.
Since her passing, the grocery store has become a hollow place for me. I walk through, the automatic doors sliding open with a soft whoosh, and I feel the weight of the emptiness settle in my chest. The shelves filled with brightly packaged goods seem to mock my solitude. I can still hear her voice, echoing in my mind, reminding me to pick up my favorite snacks or to try a new recipe. I wander through the aisles, my heart heavy, searching for a piece of her in every corner.
I remember how she would linger by the produce, inspecting the apples with care, always choosing the shiniest ones. “The best things in life are worth taking a moment to choose,” she would say, her hands gently brushing over the fruit. Now, I find myself standing there, staring at the apples, unable to choose. They all seem dull and lifeless without her touch.
The self-checkout machines are still there, their buttons waiting to be pressed, but they feel like a cruel reminder of what I’ve lost. I can’t bring myself to push them anymore. The last time I stood in front of one, the memories flooded back. I could almost hear her laughter, feel her presence beside me. But it was just a memory, fleeting and painful.
Every week, I return to the store, hoping that somehow it will feel different, that I’ll find a way to connect with her again. But the aisles remain unchanged, their fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like a persistent reminder of my loneliness. I see other families laughing and chatting, and I feel like an outsider looking in on a world that no longer includes me.
One evening, as I walked past the cereal aisle, I spotted a box of her favorite brand. It was decorated with bright colors and cheerful characters, a stark contrast to the heaviness in my heart. I hesitated for a moment, then reached out and grabbed it, a sudden rush of nostalgia washing over me. I could almost see her standing beside me, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “Let’s get it! We can make our special breakfast tomorrow!”
With the box cradled in my arms, I made my way to the checkout. I felt a warmth spreading through me, the kind of warmth that comes from cherished memories. But as I stood there, scanning the items and watching the screen flash numbers, I realized that I was alone. The laughter we shared, the spontaneous dance parties in the kitchen, all of it felt like a distant dream.
When I got home, I placed the box on the kitchen counter, a bittersweet smile tugging at my lips. I thought about making pancakes, just like we used to, the kitchen filled with the scent of vanilla and maple syrup. I reached for my phone to call her, to share the news, but my heart sank as reality set in. There would be no more calls, no more laughter echoing through the house.
That night, I sat in the dark, the box of cereal beside me, feeling the weight of my grief settle in. I poured myself a bowl, the sound of the cereal hitting the milk breaking the silence. As I took the first bite, tears streamed down my cheeks. Each crunch reminded me of the moments we had shared, and I felt an ache in my chest for the warmth of her presence.
“I miss you, Mom,” I whispered into the stillness of the room. “I wish I could press all the buttons just one more time, hear you laugh, feel your hand in mine.”
But the buttons would remain untouched, just as the aisles of the grocery store would remain silent, a reflection of the emptiness I felt inside. And in that moment, I realized that while the world continued to move forward, I would always carry her with me, a bittersweet reminder of the love that once filled my life.
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