I hope you learn how to be happy. And be kind to yourself, like you are to everyone.
I hope you put yourself first and see you how I see you.
I hope you believe that you deserve to be loved. And that when you meet someone again who loves you, you are ready to receive and accept the love.
Go sailing. See VVG. Take up IP law. Live in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. Watch cherry blossoms bloom.
Live your life.
Someone asked you how you’re doing and you answered, “I’m great” and you actually aren’t lying. And then you got a message from someone in your past. It was a photo. A photo of a door into a room with the caption, “Do you remember this door”, not even punctuated.
Do I remember the door? To be fair, it took a bit of recollection. I thought of the person who sent it and it all came back.
Why did he send me this? Did he honestly believe that experience brings me good memories?
It was when I lost my job and was actively looking for one in order to stay in the foreign land I called home. I wasn’t ready to leave. I was scared and alone. He was a confidant for at least 5 years before that day. He supported me at work and I performed really well in my position, the entire time everything was professional. And then I left the company and stayed in touch, still professionally. When I found out they’re not renewing my contract in the new job, I reached out to ask if there’s a place for me with his new team. He invited me for lunch. I didn’t think twice, nor thought of anything bad that can happen.
Met him at the restaurant where they had family rooms. My naivety convinced me it was normal and justified the situation as him not wanting to attract unnecessary stares; he’s a Middle Eastern guy in traditional clothes having lunch with a female in Western office clothes. He asked me how I was and told me he’ll try his best to help me find another job, he told me to order food. I was so uncomfortable I couldn’t eat. I wish I left then and there. He then took my hand and placed it between his legs. I was immobile, “What is happening?”. And then he kissed me. I was in shock. I moved my face away, drank water, and said, “I need to go”.
The photo he sent me today, was the door to that room, with a caption, “Do you remember this door”, not even punctuated.
I do remember that door. I do remember what happened behind it.
You enter the sunglasses store after your friend loses his sunglasses while trying out a shirt for the nth time this month. You try on the pair you’ve been wanting to get but dismiss the idea of spending because you don’t really need another one. Then something else catches your attention and you tried them on and it felt and looked right on you. You put it back on the shelf, you don’t need another one. The sales assistant saw you. He approaches admiring how the glasses fit you. Urged you to get it. “You look good in them”, “I know” is your reply. “I’ll get them for you if you don’t”, “then get it for me,” you said. I’m not falling for this sales talk, you thought. You walk around and somehow always end up checking the pair out. You surrender and end up buying them.
Just a drink. “It will keep me calm, I’m feeling a bit restless,” you said. You drove after two glasses of vodka. You woke up in the hospital, no, in a car, your mom and siblings are next to you. You’re still driving but your legs are fractured. Everyone is asking you what happened. You don’t know. What happened? “Why am I alone? Was I travelling by myself?” you kept on asking them, but they kept on asking you back. You bit your tongue, trying to wake yourself up, you couldn’t believe your eyes, someone is dead. It didn’t work. You were not dreaming. You see your friends, everyone’s concerned, but they don’t appear concerned about you. What’s going on? You pinched yourself, tried to wake yourself up for the second time. No, it’s not a dream. You kept on asking questions and no one gave you answers. It’s dark. You slapped yourself in the face, one last time, this cannot be happening. Trying to figure out if you are dreaming…then, you wake up. And you thought, am I now really awake?
It’s not a dream, it’s a nightmare. I hate it whenever a dream is about dreaming. When your dream feels and looks so real and you try to wake up from it but you couldn’t.
I really hate it when people lie. And hate it even more when it’s so obvious; if you’re going to lie because you don’t want to hurt that person, don’t, you’re just making it worse, especially if the person you’re lying to isn’t as dumb as you think.