Photo circa 2012. Canon EOS 40D.
“I have this stupid nodule that grew near my right eye, look…” I leaned in closer so you can see the lesion better.
“Hmmm, doesn’t look infectious…” you smiled and resumed eating your cheesecake. Our close friends sharing the same table looked at each other, and from the corner of my eyes, I caught them catching a sigh of relief.
People rarely ask me now about us, and on the very few occasions that they do, I can finally smile without faking and say it’s over. For two years now, it is over.
I saw some old photographs of us today. They were preciously and genuinely beautiful. They made me remember how some five years ago, I wrote this about you:
"...You like pinching my oily nose, you would walk me home rain or shine, you listen to my photography babbles, you tell me I’m not cute but pretty, you know when to take over when I’m overworked, you debate with me, you listen and give me brotherly advise, you call me 'doktora', you laugh when I wear sky-high heels, you reprimand me for not getting regular eye check-up, you know I can’t calm down when there’s work to do, you know when I feel like being radical, you know how to match my unnecessary toxicity, you treat me like a thinking woman instead of a baby, you talk to me about adult and family life while watching the sun rise, you like challenging me and I like competing with you.
You can be Lancelot when I’m Guinevere, Mr. Rochester when I’m Jane Eyre, Mr. Darcy when I’m being Elizabeth Bennett, Pierre when I’m Marie, Clyde when I feel like being Bonnie..."
I’ve always thought it would be you – the one I’d end up going home to, the one I’d constantly bring to family reunions and homecomings, the one I’d be licensed to annoy for the rest of my life. My old roommate once told me that people never really end up with the ones they genuinely loved. I never believed that. But now I do.
When the wounds were as fresh as our younger memories, I’d look at you and wonder how doubt and jealousy had creeped their way in our peace, tormenting us relentlessly until we let go of the beautiful future that should have been ours. We were the garden that would never see spring come, the piece of art that was left unfinished, the prose that never had the ending written. We’ve become the disease that never saw a cure.
Remember how we once got lost in Chinatown? Remember that summer when we went crazy exploring museums and parks? I’ve been revisiting a great number of them, trying to rewrite memories, where there exists not a ‘we’, just a ‘you’ and ‘me’.
There are things I wish we did and did not do, things I wish we said and did not say. After years of keeping it in, just let me say this… thank you for the four amazing years. We were spectacular, but the spectacle wasn’t meant to last for eternity. I hope you find peace, because now, I finally did.