ESB

So this has been four years since then.

It took me four full years to be able to actually sit down with my feelings and look back on that particular week, and write about what it was all about. It took me four years, one trip to Barcelona, one trip back to the exact same city where it all happened, and a number of emotionally unavailable men that I unsuccessfully recruited to replace you.

What I did not expect is that I would come back to that same corner of the world and be able to remember more from that particular week than I thought I did. Perhaps I actually do remember more than bits and pieces of what happened, but my selective memory chose only the painful ones so I could move on more easily. Little did I know that by coming back, by seeing the same surrounding hills (minus the snow), by seeing the same buildings, same demure architecture of boring old government buildings, my memories of the good parts would be evoked.

My memory came back. Only the good parts. And I smiled.

What I did not expect is that I smiled. I was expecting to cry while listening to the same playlist you showed me on the way back from the short trip. But no. I was smiling as the bus took me to the one spot in the city that I specifically mentioned to you I wanted to check out but you did not take me. Perhaps I've come to terms with the way things are. Perhaps I've accepted that I'm the villain in that particular chapter of our lives. Perhaps, like so many Hollywood movies, you and I were supposed to go through the growing pains of dating a million assholes until we meet the one we'll stick with, and in your movie, I am one of those assholes.

I always knew the city can be cold and the people beautiful. But that day - that very day, it was warm. The golden hour washed over me and beautifully shine on the caramel stone and marbles. I am grateful that I met you. That such encounter led me to this city. That I learned so much about what my heart was capable of - of what she really desires - from the brief, but extremely valuable time that we shared.

I didn't know where you were at that exact time. You were probably working from the couch while cuddling the dog. Or washing your car. Or running errands. Or doing laundry. I did not even know which part of the town you took me to. Which mall. Which restaurants. Which neighborhood your old guys live in. I wondered what they were up to, but took comfort in knowing that they cannot be at the place that I was visiting. I whispered to the air, "Thank you." Hoping that you and your family can feel it through the air. I loved you so much. Maybe I will always do; in various other ways. You were the main character of a certain chapter in my life, and even though you are no longer in the books, you will always be there somewhere, sitting in a small but treasured corner of my life that I will never stop being thankful for.

This Thanksgiving, I am thankful for realizing that I've moved from constantly feeling stung by a bee at the slightest thought of you, to being able to come back there and smile a relieved smile because I've known you. I don't think you'll ever read any of these words I've written for you, but hopefully, the air will send you my thank you whenever you come back home.

Thank you.

Lady Run

I was coming downstairs to pick up food deliveries earlier this evening when I saw a very familiar scene. A scene that I used to be an active participant in, but now is simply an observer. A passive one. Because I believe in privacy and whatever journey that anyone's in, is their own business to deal with.

An average-looking guy with average height and body type, dressed in homely t-shirt and cargo shorts but doused with an unnecessary amount of perfume, entered the elevator. Without any talking, I can safely assume what he is and what he does: he is either picking up food or someone cute. It was ony later after I was waiting for the elevator again after picking up my food that I realized it was the latter: it was someone cute.

The cutie is about the age I was. She wore long straight-leg trousers and cardigan, and carried a canvas tote bag. She was asking him which floor her is. 

Oh my God, she is me.

Three years ago. But still, she is me. This is how people used to see me 3 years ago.

Inside the elevator, he greeted an elderly lady who entered from the fifth floor. When she got off by the seventh floor, she asked me whether that's her neighbor. He laughed and said not really, but she's kind of an agent for the rentals in this building, and he met her in 2019 when he first came to this city. Then they got off before me, straight to his apartment.

I smiled and thought to myself, I've come so far from those days.

I wished her well deep inside of my heart, and against his family's wishes and all odds, maybe they can work it out. Maybe they won't. But whatever it is, I wished her and him well. I wished her that, if this isn't what her heart wants, she'd realize it soon and will come out of it sooner than later. That she'd find someone that will make her realize her worth, and that she's much better than what she thinks she is. I hope one day she will find her path.

Maybe I'm being judgmental, and maybe I'm wrong. I swear by God I hope I'm wrong. But I wished her well. Because maybe one day back then somebody saw me in an elevator and wished me well. Maybe somebody hoped that I'd find someone who make me realize my worth, and that I am better than what I thought I was.

I hope one day, he will change.