“How can you let go of people easily?” he asked.
“By giving them time and space, when they are sad. By not asking them what’s happening time and again when they say they don’t want to talk about it. By trying not to worry about them when they tell you not to do so. By realizing that you’re not important or close to them as you thought to be, after all people do share what happened when things go wrong no matter how closed off they are.
And every time, you feel like you’re starting to get worried, distract yourself. Read books – on loss, on happiness, on moving on. Watch a new tv series or movies – tragic, comedy, action. Go on vacations – with your family, other friends or alone. Take classes – dance, ceramics, kickboxing. Learn about politics, science and development. Attend events. Meet new people. Make new friends. Experience the world. Write about these experiences. Share them with your other friends.
And finally, resolve to start fresh.
So that when you meet them next time, you will realize that you’ve grown, and evolve into something else. Something they won’t be able to relate with. And when you talk to them, you will realize that they no longer understand who you are and who you’ve become. And you are a perfect stranger to them. That’s how you can let go of people easily. Because if someone isn’t ready to share what’s bugging them, if someone needs time and space from you during the bad times, then know that you never mattered enough at the first place.”
“Who are you waiting for?” she asks.
I take a good look at her face. Her dark brown hair is tied up in a bun, but not in the way you usually see those young girls of her age do it. Her tied bun looked more like maa’s hair tied into a bun. There are a few strands frizzy and dried, flying off as if they are naked wires, searching for plugs. I laugh remembering how mother always complained that she looked like a grandmother from behind when she tied her bun like that. She must be looking like one even now. My eyes fall on her forehead. It is covered with tiny indistinct spots, almost invisible if you aren’t concentrating hard enough. There are dark bags hanging below her eyes because she had lost sleep for a couple of weeks. Although a sleep lover, she’d been refusing to sleep for some unknown reasons to both of us. Her nose is sunburned and a little tanned than the rest of her skin. There are light speckles and scars in her face. Sometimes, I feel like if I looked hard enough I could find more furrows. But right now, she looks tired and worried. Even as she looks straight back at me, I somehow feel that she is looking beyond me, searching for answers, seeking escape, looking for a way out. She is tired and worried.
“You,” I finally say with a sigh. “It’s time for you to come home.”
Because I’ve realized that even the girl in the mirror needs a reminder of the love you have for her. Especially during time like this.
Disappointment tastes like Americano turned cold because you were too busy writing on your notebook about how you like your coffee, when you should have been drinking it. “I like my coffee the way I like my men” you used to say, “strong, dark and bitter.” But turns out you don’t really like its taste after the coffee has gone cold. Halfway through your cold bitter coffee, you almost want to give up. Which is when you also start to wonder why you ever loved the bitter coffee at the first place.
Of course you still love your coffee bitter, stronger, and darker. And of course you don’t mind at times, when it starts turning cold as you listen to your just-arrived-from-months-and-months-of-traveling friend. Or as you talk to your love who proclaims that he can’t seem to concentrate on anything anymore but somehow remembers every single word you wrote on your last assignment.
Only when you are alone, sipping the dark brown coffee as you read an email from your sister, does the coffee taste more bitter. The helpless weighs down on you as you read about how her lover refuses to seek help for his depression. And only when you are alone in a cafe full of lovers and best friends, laughing, whispering, and holding each other, you realize that your coffee is not how it used to be.
But it’s Your coffee and nothing has really changed. It is as strong as it was before – when you had a company. It is as bitter as it was when you were happy. It is as dark as it was when, both, you and your coffee were warmer.
It’s your choice that has changed. And that’s exactly what disappointment tastes like. That there is no one to blame but you, for letting your coffee turn cold as you were too busy focusing on your life instead of enjoying it.
Know that you can break my heart in millions of ways than it had been broken before. And the wounds you would leave behind would be so deep that it will take forever for the blood to clot. And I will have scars all over my soul, of cracks you left behind. Know that I was strong when those boys broke my heart. That I knew I would recover, it would just take some time. That I always heal. That I always move on. But you will forever be etched in my heart like a tattoo and the ghosts of your memories will forever haunt be like a childhood dream. Know that you leaving is something I prepare myself everyday for. Know that you leaving will still affect me anyway, in far worse ways that we can ever imagine. People leave or they die, I always say but know that you are not those regular people in my life. You were someone I would never risk having this close that we can listen each other breathing. You were always supposed to be far enough not to know hear the sound of our hearts skipping. Know that you are near now, and as much as I don’t want to burden you about you being home, but you are closer to it. Know that you were my friend first, the one I turned to in the middle of the night when my PMS is kicking in unknowingly. So I would rant and whine and say stupid things like I hate everyone but know that I never mean that. Yes, I hate people but you were never among those regular ones. Know that you were my friend first, someone I have always felt comfortable sharing my deepest secrets I never dared to share with anyone. You may not remember them and it’s okay. But just know that I will be lost completely if I lose you. Know that I will be empty if you run out. Know that none of those boys could ever break me but I would forever be broken if you decide to leave.
Know that you can break my heart in millions ways that it ever has been broken. Know that I just hope you won’t do it.
It’s not death I fear,
I would welcome it with an open arms,
Like an old friend I haven’t seen for forever,
Like you would welcome love.
What I am afraid is dying through suffocation
When you are in a room full of smoke,
And you realize that you only have these fumes
That burns your chest with every inhale, to breathe.
When you are choking on ether,
And you can’t really feel it because
There is nothing to choke on.
When you are in a close space
And the hot air you breathe out
is the air you need to breathe in.
When you are drowning in the sea
And you realize there is nothing you can do about it.