The Way It Was Before

thirty-nine

Even so, I don't want to leave this story on a sad note. After all, I promised myself when I was fifteen to be my own anchor.

It occurred to me one day that I was becoming the kind of person I didn't want to be, and that terrified me. So, I took the time to stroll around the places that were tainted with the memories of them, and then I contemplated on my weakness of being attached easily to people.

I supposed it was the symptom of not having anybody in my life when I was young. Apart from my family, I had nobody—hardly had acquaintances and friends. Therefore, when some people entered my life and stuck around, that rare occurrence would amaze me so much that I fully attached myself to the significance of the newfound connection. It made me fear that once I lost them, I would never again find people like them in the future.

This realization changed the way I saw myself. The love I had for Michael was so deep and insurmountable that at first, I wasn't quite sure what to do with it. Finally, as I walked forward, I learned how to transfer that love to myself. I plunged into creative endeavors. I read more books, listened to upbeat music every morning, enrolled in elective courses, and applied to part-time jobs that enhanced my social skills and journalistic side.

I took up Psychology in college because I wanted to understand people more. I wanted to listen to them. I wanted to help them float on the surface until they could swim on their own again. That's my dream. Michael's letter made me realize it. As a result, I made many friends again. I even dedicated myself to learning the French language. I can still hear his voice echoing those foreign words in my mind, and the moment I finally deciphered them, I laughed. I laughed until I thought my seams would burst. But I probably cried even more.

We were such lonely young fools giving mixed signals to each other but at the same time wanting to understand each other.

The seasons have changed, and so have I. The fear is still there like whenever I meet someone, the first thing I imagine is how we'll part ways, but I have learned to accept that relationships can be fragile. My heart has changed, and it will never go back to the way it was before. It's inevitable to get your heart shattered at some point. You need to experience it to grow from it, and that's something I have realized recently.

It's funny. After all that studying, all those books, I'm still learning something new every day. If I told Clover about it, I bet she would laugh and say, "Told you to have some real experience."

Now here I am, sitting cross-legged under the shade of a tree. There are clusters of students in the courtyard in front of the university library building, and they are lounging on the grass, eating snacks, and doing other sorts of activities. It's like high school all over again—back when I was fifteen, and back to the day when I met him in the band room. I'm leaning my back against the trunk, balancing a laptop on my legs, and writing down my memories one by one.

I'm afraid I might forget them someday—the details get confusing as years go by, and my mind is starting to struggle to put all of the pieces back together—so I'm trying to preserve the past. For me, there is a strange beauty in remembering. Although they're painful to think about, sometimes those memories give me the will to carry on, to do better. The number of days I had spent with my old friends mattered less than how they had affected my life.

They helped me grow. I hope I was able to help them in some way, too.

It still hurts sometimes.

It is in these moments of nostalgia that I know something in my life is missing, and the hurt never completely goes away. That's why I cannot say that I have finally become invincible, but one thing I'm sure enough to say is that I no longer find myself gasping for breath like before. Even if I stumble as I walk, I will not collapse.

Michael, my dearest what-could-have-been, will never read this, but I want him to know that it's been six years since he left, and he still crosses my mind almost every day.

I used to wish for us to meet again someday, in some place that would take both of us by surprise. So long as we lived under the same sky, I thought it was possible. Silently and ardently, I waited for that day to come.

And it did. By some miracle, it did.

It was about a week ago. The weather was fair, and I was walking down a busy street in New York, enjoying the mild heat of the autumn sun. I was heading to a café to meet up with a friend.

Vehicles were honking and speeding through the highway. Footsteps were drumming on the pavement. I had my head bent down to keep the sunlight out of my eyes as I maneuvered my way through the bustling crowd. Countless strangers passed me by, but only one of them stood out. When our shoulders aligned for a split second, I felt it. The strong, nagging, electrifying feeling of familiarity.

With the oxygen being ripped out of my lungs, I turned around and scanned the crowd. Amidst the noisy, stressful, tireless, fast-paced city, I saw him.

It wasn't a figment of my imagination.

It wasn't a person who looked like him.

It was truly Michael. In a thick dark coat and a bright red scarf that matched mine. A violin case in one hand. His long, messy hair that I used to admire was cut short and in a side-swept style, which allowed me to see his dark eyes and how full of light they were when a pretty brunette walked up to him and held his hand.

And just like that, time stood still. So did I.

His presence—his fleeting presence—awakened the long-buried feelings in me. Goosebumps filled my body. His features almost looked the same as they had back then. But his eyes were more poetic. And his smile was more genuine. He looked infinitely better than the last time I saw him. And that was six years ago.

He turned his head as if sensing eyes upon him. I looked away before making eye contact with him and resumed my walk. Then, I turned around to see him once more, but the crowd got thicker. I never found him again, the spell was broken, and time went back to its normal flow.

He is now a stranger that left lovely marks on my soul.

I knew I should have caught up to him, said hello, and asked him if he still remembered me. But I continued to walk with my head held high. A brief sense of loss crossed my mind. Then, I shook it away and smiled. The coincidence made me deem that the universe is such a huge clown.

Six years. Six years of waiting, remembering, and longing, and finally I saw you at least once more.

We could have been in another place, in another time, far, far away from each other, but it happened, by some miracle, it happened—our worlds aligned once again. It only took a moment. A moment to remember how he was back then. A moment to see how alive he is now. A moment to imagine how incredible the chances were to catch a glimpse of him in an overcrowded place. It happened between the spaces of my heartbeat. And it only took a moment to watch it pass by.

It's one of my favorite moments.

I was happy. I am happy. Happy because he has grown into a fine man. He has finally forgiven himself. Has probably explored the world and gone to some good parts of it where he discovered himself and his new love. I'm certain that when somebody asks him if he's okay, he'll say, "I'm fine." And it won't be a lie.

Perhaps we were like a pair of lines that meets once and then drifts apart forever. Or like a book with end pages ripped out. A sad and unfortunate thing to think about.

But there are some days that I wish we'd cross paths again. Not to interfere with his new life, but to make him see me and think, "Look at her. She has grown, too."

And there are some days when I question if I'm still in love with him or perhaps not anymore. I called it love before because I believed it was. Now, I don't know. Maybe it's just my memory that's still in love with him. Whatever the feeling is, it has broadened my understanding of life and love, and if it has done the same for him, then there's no reason to be disappointed anymore.

But most nights, especially the nights when I can't sleep, I can't help but look at the stars. It comforts me that somewhere out there, he's looking at them, too.