Strong Feelings, No Hard Feelings

Your name resurfaced after ten days of full radio silence.

You asked if I'm back in Chicago and suddenly talked about how you are going to your war torn home country next month. Ever the unsuspecting person that I am, I did not see this coming.

Did not see that this is how the universe is telling me that No, he is not for you. 

"It's my mother's wishes." you said.

"She misses home so much?" A completely reasonable question, until you put it into context and made that question sounds dumb in hindsight.

"She found a girl for me," I read your text and suddenly the air around me was gone. There was a strong jab to my lungs. I could not breathe, "she lives across the street from the house I used to live in. I remember her vaguely, but I know I used to fight... well, argue, with her,"

I remember saying congratulations, then you said you were not all ready for the change that is coming because "the wedding may be within a month or so."

You talked about how you had been fighting it for months--years, even. Talked about how your older brother fought the system 10 years ago and now he's absolutely estranged, "it's like he never exists... so I gave in. I choose to not fight it and be happy."

"I really wanna say I'm sorry," I said, honestly. My eyes were wet with water that came from a well that is probably located very close to the deepest part of me. The part of me that usually feel the hardest truth to be admitted, "but that is not the spirit you should hear right now. So, congratulations. But please know that I'm still so sorry that this is the way it should be for you."

I joked that if you used to argue with her, then that's a good sign of her being rational, smart, and sane. It was a half-joke, of course, but you know that. You liked my 'one of a kind sarcasm,' and that it was something I wrote that brought up the last time we met.

Sorry, I mean the first and last time we met. But it was the last few seconds. While you were wearing your shoes and I could not wait until you leave.

Because perhaps like your future wife, I found you irritating. Disagreeable. God, I hated you so much. And I don't use the word 'hate' too often because it's too strong; too harsh.

But you deserve that.

Because I did have a strong feeling for you. I did feel something was different. I was wrong about who my Jesse Wallace is. It wasn't him. It was more... you.

Do I want to see you again in 10 years? 

God, yes. More than anything. I want to see you succeed. I know you can be whoever you think you are right now (and I do think you think highly of yourself). I want to surprise you after a press conference of your world book tour. I want to take you to my favorite coffee shop and talk (again) about how I have tried to do the meaningful work that I told you I'd been dying to do, only to find that I may have the capability, but not the ego to do it.

Do I want you to stay with me forever and have twin girls together?

God, yes. Yes. A resounding yes.

Do I want to find myself at an airport with you, sending your son back to his mother after spending the summer with us?

No. Never. I would NEVER wish you'd leave your wife, for whatever reason, unless you really have to. Jesse did not leave his wife for Celine, yes, but he had to go through a marriage that he was unhappy in. He had to endure a life with someone he couldn't care less about, and put his son through all the suffering.

I would never want anything bad to happen to you. Or your wife. Or anyone you cared about.

My only wish is for you to find happiness. To find love. To find whatever it is that you've been looking for.

Because you may took something from me; but I gave it to you, and not once have I ever regretted that.

A Reflection, One Hour Later

Will I tell my grandchildren about you? Probably.

They need to learn that they should not have to travel for 5 hours just to get a boy's attention.
They need to learn that we accept the love we think we deserve; and their grandmother was once a fool for thinking that she deserved a love where she's the sole fighter trying to work things out with someone who merely wish for it.

Did I love you? Yes.

I may not know what love is, so I might be wrong.

But is there anyone else whose silent company I enjoy more? Is there anyone else whose fault I overlooked so much, that if it was another person I'd kill him? No.

Did I regret everything that I did for you? All that train rides, bus stops, chocolates, tears, sleepless nights? No.

You're worth it. And even if you're not, what you left me with, is.

The Good Bye

I can't believe that here we are now.

The point that I always talked about when we first met. The very point that I always knew was coming, but never really thought of how imminent it is. Until now.

Until we said our good bye. Until we hold our last hug. Until we exchanged our last smile.

I always knew you were a lesson, not a blessing. Always knew that everything about us was temporary.

Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt when it comes the time for you to be my past.

To talk about you in past tense.

To keep you in my memory as a fragment of the past.

A fragment that I may or may not carry with me fifty, sixty years from now.

Because in spite of everything that happened in between; in spite of how my mind is always telling me something it deliberately assumes about you without ever actually talking to you... I always knew that everyone else was just a replacement of you.

A temporary replacement.

So temporary, in fact, that even when they should be the back up... Eventually you are the back up of them. Eventually, I ran back to you.

I know things changed.

I know that even six months ago, you weren't in that place anymore. My fickle mind, however, had just caught up and reached that place when it realized what it's missing.

It's late. I feel cold. Sad and broken at the same time. I'm afraid I'd never see you again. You tried to fill me with hope, but the precedents are not on your side and I can't live on hope. Enough of that from you for a lifetime.

A2, MI, USA

Aug 4th, 2018

We Can Live Like Jesse and Celine If You Want

He reminded me so much of you. So much. What reminded me of you was not himself—rather, the story of how it all went, albeit shorter and infused with a little more romance than friendship.

He's your age; perhaps younger by a few months. His confidence? He literally referred to Deadpool 2's character whose superpower was: luck. He speaks with an accent that sounds like yours, if not better. His voice was rather more soothing than your deep, rough, bass-y voice. Like you, he's not the tallest guy in the world. He was probably only an inch taller than me—I definitely could beat him if I weren't wearing flat sandals that day. Unlike you, though, he looks like a replica of the photographer Francesco Carrozzini. Dirty blond with blue eyes and tan, sun-kissed skin, he had on a bright orange-red jacket and sneakers with a white shirt and jeans. I'm guessing unlike you, he wasn't a mathlete.

He speaks a bunch of other languages like you. Also like you, he traveled a lot. He told me about the cities he has been, and his senior year of high school in Boston. He's street and book smart about politics, macroeconomics, and international policy. He knows what is going on in not just Europe but beyond that. He talks about the EU's central bank systems and compared it with an Argentinian policy. He is pro-Palestine, pro-choice, and supports LGBT rights without question. He's confused about how people say a Middle Eastern ultra-conservative country is undergoing a revolution brought to the country by a high profile prince who probably killed all of his cousins to get to where he is. He calls Jared Kushner the quintessential bad guy and refused to move to the States while Trump is president even though he is a citizen. 

Like you, he also talks about the mafioso culture of Southern Italy—but because he's from Sicily, he did not make a single joke about it. So, pretty much unlike you.

Perhaps also like you, he's a decent skier. I got sad though when I think about because... I didn't know that about you. I didn't know if you ski. I didn't know if... if you and I, we'll be deep into such interesting discussion like I had with him. Will we? Ever?

He and I agreed on several things—except for my love for this city, that apparently he did not share.

That day, Navy Pier was our Vienna. He was almost definitely a Jesse, and I, the Celine. Theoretically it should be Before Sunset, but, it did feel more like Before Sunrise. 

What was it that I've said about you before? Anyone would be perfect in a short period of time. 

You had been perfect because we only met for 10 days. So he was obviously perfect because I only knew him for 2 hours.

I could get lost in his big blue eyes if only time had let me swim in it longer. I tried to, but his brown Aviator-style sunglasses let me see more of my own reflection than the bright blue windows to his heart.

Mathlete, did you remember? We were 10 years younger back then. We didn't know how the world is supposed to work. So when we parted ways, it was just that. A simple good bye and a little wave of hand. Fast forward 10 years later... it's a little better. 

A great day that ended in horrible post-midnight texts. Then awkward silence. Then both of us trying to end this in a mature way. Acknowledging that it is the best possible alternative to how this should end.

But I guess at least this time I can say that I tried. I guess this time I wouldn't have to keep on wondering what if for the next 10 years.

I guess this time, I can peacefully live with myself.

Quarter Life Crisis - One Month Later

The first month following my 25th anniversary has been nothing but rough. I don't think I have ever hated and been proud of myself at the same time more than I do now.

It's weird (like everything else in life when you're in your 20s, I'm afraid). How come no one ever told me it was gonna be like this?

Honestly, I never quiet understood what "quarter life crisis" actually entails. Is it an emotional situation so bad that you want to rip your heart out every time you let yourself think about it? But I thought that was teenage angst--because if there's any advice soothing enough for me right now, it would be this:

That advice was given to Elio by his charming father in Call Me By Your Name. But Elio is a 17 year old gay kid who had a wonderful encounter with the strikingly handsome Oliver in a beautiful Italian countryside--not a 25 year old straight young woman in a cold Midwestern city struggling with the way things turned out to be for her. Elio's fear feels legit. My fear?

What do I tell my kids about all of these things?

I'm no Eliza Schuyler. I do want a legacy. For my kids. For little Shirley and Audrey who take ballet lessons after school. For their kids who will call me Nana. For my adopted son who was born out of wedlock by some couple who cannot afford childcare but were too scared to find an abortion clinic.

What do I tell them about how I lived my life?

There's just too many feelings--these days it feels a lot like reoccurring episode than just "an episode." I feel suffocated sometimes, because... feelings can be too much.

It's a mix of joy and pride, but mostly fear. Fear of whether I did the right thing. Fear of whether or not it is right that I'm proud about it. Fear of whether or not I should feel regret--because I don't regret any of it. Fear of... living with myself in the years to come. What kind of person will I turn out to be? Is this the real me? Is it not? Am I a monster?

I have so many questions. So many doubts.

Isn't it all the problems reserved for teenagers? Because this part of the monologue sounds awfully familiar to 16-year-old me:

The Morning After

When he said he was coming, she thought he was somewhere nearby. One Uber ride away, perhaps, or close enough that if she could see a dog-shaped cloud in the sky, he would see the same thing. Turns out, he had been driving an hour away from a neighboring town, straight after work, cancelled dinner appointment with someone he referred to as his boss, just to see someone he'd never laid his eyes on.

Her.

He went through a great pain looking for the coffee house that they agreed on that he went into the wrong spot and had to take Uber to come to her. He was dressed in a tweed suit and flat newspaper boy cap as if they were not in a scorching big American city. In contrast, she was dressed like a quintessential student: crisp white t-shirt, jeans and a black ballet flats plus The New Yorker tote bag for lifting up intelligent spirit.

They were of the same height; and later that night, after a quick peek at her ID, he found out that that she's a few months older than him. She knew from the moment they started talking that he was not the replacement for The Disappeared. She knew that it was no longer healthy to keep on remembering herself how The Disappeared made her feel during their first encounter; and yet she couldn't help it. She still hoped she did not have to find a replacement for The Disappeared... But the world rarely goes the way she wants it to be, and this time was no exception.

After a quick, chardonnay-filled Italian dinner and a comedy show, she finally felt beat. He had been a gentleman the whole day--at least in the 7 hours that they have spent together. She knew he was no The Disappeared. He's probably better--at this point, whatever she thought about The Disappeared was probably a romanticized version of what actually happened. She's biased. She felt pathetic for feeling biased for someone who has disappeared, but again, the world rarely goes the way she wants it to be, and this time was, of course, no exception.

He would have to drive four hours away but since he was not feeling well after all the drinks they had, she invited him to stop by her place. She was almost drunk, but then again so was he--almost. He said he'd get a hotel room or just sit on the couch, and they got a Lyft ride soon.

****

Later that evening, after a tough, grueling cramming towards the end of exams at the library all day, she went to a pharmacy. The same pharmacy that she just went to with him earlier this morning; during the last few minutes before the split seconds that changed her life forever. The same pharmacy where he looked at her as if she was Venus and he Adonis, and he said, "I'm gonna pick up something that I forgot to have last night."

She knew that moment was coming; she was just too naive to think she was too smart for it.

"Hey, you were here too this morning, right?" asked a lady behind the cashier, whom she remembers helped him picked up a new phone charger earlier. The lady also helped him during check out, and from her smile, she knew that this lady must have remembered what he bought. After all, it wasn't such a common purchase for a Wednesday at 7:30.

She just smiled. The lady looked at what she was buying: a soft lavender box with the words "Plan B" emblazoned on it. The lady smiled at her -- a much more kind and gentle smile this time -- and said:"You'll be fine, girl." 

If you gotta go, go now

One half of me believes that you'd stay.

It believes that you care about me.

That you're in it; both of your feet in the boat and you're ready to sail.

That of course you meant everything you said; because words have meaning.

Another half of me just can't wait for you to go.

It's hanging by a thread, knowing that it'll happen eventually.

That you'll leave; you have one foot out of the boat already.

That you never meant anything you said; because lies just sound better and that's all they were.

A Love Affair

Another item on my bucket list just ticked off. I now can proudly announce that I've done solo traveling before I turn 25 and it was truly a love affair to me since this is exactly my favorite  city in the world: New York City.

I've traveled alone before, but usually it's either for business or my partner makes me feel alone (yep, things just get sad quickly around here). Never before I have the chance to be alone in a great city that becomes home to millions of people and yet, all the time that I was there, I never felt lonely.

When you travel solo, you are literally alone. No one knows your name. No one knows what you are actually doing and why. You are free to shape your own image, create your own story, make your own decisions (either it's only about what to eat for dinner or what you're gonna do in a cold, dark, night). You are only where you want to be; when you want to be, and how you want it to be. Depending on how you see it, the world either doesn't exist to you (it's all you!) or you don't exist to the world.

You are completely on your own, and let's face it: when do you think was the last time you are so far, so independent, from any label attached to you? Probably never before.

I have never feel more liberated than I ever did the whole time I was there. I could choose where I want to be. I could be in bed at 8 pm in my hotel room, or I could be in a stranger's bed in Astoria, having sex with someone I'd never have to care about ever again in my life.

It could've been anything. Nothing, and no one, was stopping me.

And New York--there's no better place to be alone than New York. You've heard countless stories about it. The lonely, the distraught, the drunks, the drug addicts, the workaholics, the shamed sluts... you've heard it all. You can see yourself in that woman sitting next to you at the subway station, or the little boy standing alone holding on to his science project inside the train. You can see yourself in the hard-working construction worker who never stopped shouting. You can see yourself in virtually everyone you meet--or even see--in the street. It's a bowl with millions of people looking for... oh, who knows?

Maybe that's the reason why people love New York.

If you could see yourself in almost every single person you encounter, you'd never feel so alone in the world.

If you could see yourself that you're no alone in the world--that someone is having a day as hard as you, a life as tough as yours, a future that you're not sure yet but willing to work for... you're not going to feel like the world is falling apart and everything is going against you.

What I Talk About When I Talk About "We are The Choices We Make"

My birthday is in April, and this year I will be turning 25 years old.

Even three, four years ago, I would've thought of a 25 year old woman as "mature" or "confident" or "nuanced." Today, three months shy of my 25th anniversary, I realized how far I am from all of those words I used to associate this age with.

Why? Here's my train of thoughts:

My mother was exactly my age today when she married my father, a good 36 years ago. She was 24, but three months away from her 25th birthday. She had been working for a couple of years, I guess, but had been dating my father for about five years. Nineteen months after that, her first child was born. She was 26 years and four months old.

I was cooking dinner in my kitchen tonight and, looking back at a series of failures I've had in that area of my apartment, I thought to myself, how exactly did women my age do it? I don't even know how to cook rice properly. I don't know how to make eggs the way my mother used to do it. I don't know anything! 

As if I wasn't feeling bad enough, I thought of my friends who are now married with baby--babies, even. They're my age. They got married some time ago, even younger than the age my mom married my dad. They have completely different lives from me now. They hear cries night and day. They carry babies. They have regular sex with their husbands. They post pictures of their small families...

Did I feel a tinge of envy?

Maybe. I'm not sure what to name that feeling. I don't think it was, though.

I guess it was a sense of my mind wandering off to a foreign land, an alternate universe where I am living my friends' lives.

I couldn't help it. I couldn't help but think of what if? Because I know the state that I am in... and I don't think I have ever seen myself being as happy as the pictures they post of them with their babies.

Because if the question is whether I'm ready for that kind of life, I will be sure to answer that there is no way that I am ready for it right now, let alone a few years back.

But what if I made myself ready? Just... what if? Will I ever look as happy as they do in those pictures?

Once Upon a Snowy January

We were sitting down on my couch, a soft ballad that I've never heard of playing on the TV that shows a video of somebody playing guitar in the middle of a bright forest. I looked outside, snowflakes come falling down as if dancing right outside the window. It was a gloomy day, but somehow felt bright enough to paint a beautiful picture in my head.

You were eating toast with your legs folded up in the cushion. I was just happy with my morning coffee, resting my elbow with an enormous mug on the backrest. You were talking stories about your high school years. Your mother and sisters. Your late father. The family you left and missed the most.

I did not know what I was supposed to feel about you. Until today.

Looking at you, listening to your stories. Seeing your laugh and smile. There is a voice inside my head that softly whispers, "Take a mental picture of this moment and keep it in your mind."

And I did.

So that even though it will not work well, even though this very moment was the end of it all... Even though this moment was a sign of good bye

.

.

.

I will still have this moment.

Maybe not you. Maybe not the happiness that slipped into my heart like a cup of hot tea on a cold day just like this... but this moment.

I will always have this moment.

And that would be enough.

A Good Year

Welcome to another episode of year end review, where I try to give you the very essence of the past year in my personal life. This page has always been personal, and it's always been awfully me (I don't even try to make a witty URL at all). The reason why I believe in telling you these things, whoever you are, my dear reader, is because I know that you're wonderful human beings and if you keep coming to read something I post here, it's because you care. Not curious, but care. The older I get, the more I realize that it's not everyday you meet someone who actually cares. But you guys do. Thank you for reading (which in a way, for listening) what I had to say. I can never thank you enough.

Next year, I'll be 25 years old. I have been hearing about the infamous "quarter-life crisis" from my friends and I know that they are real. Of course, people in their 30s that I know will just roll their eyes, "Oh come on, don't be dramatic." but I trust my friends and if they feel it, it must be real. I think as a society, we should be mature enough by now that whatever someone say they feel is real. Don't shrug it off. Don't say it's not real or it's just them. That is exactly how so many mental health issues went undiagnosed.

I feel like 2017 have been preparing me for that very crisis. This year, I've been traveling and moved to a different country by myself. I've tried saving up some money. I've tried being alone with myself a lot and thus facing my own fears, coming to terms with who I am and what I am. It's been absolutely exhausting, but the result hasn't been absolutely devastating.

On the contrary, I feel like I've been doing some things a little differently than I used to do it. It's probably because the circumstances have changed: the available time, resources, space... many things, really. But also, maybe because I was anticipating the quarter-life crisis that's gonna come at me in mere four months. After all, worst comes to worse, I have to be ready, right? I have to survive. I have to, somewhat, be strong enough to do that.

God, this has been a wonderful year. People say time flies when you're enjoying it, and it's just what happens to me and 2017.

Thank you for this opportunity to live up 2017. I will forever remember this year as the year where things just take a turn into the better.