La Douleur Exquise

Glissando Contro Portamento

La Douleur Exquise II

Glissando Contro Portamento

~seikiunne11

Five years.

I never imagined I’d be back to this country. The first time I came here I was a silly, naïve girl, full of dreams and ambitions. I was an apprentice in training; I came to study and work at the same time. And now I come back with my degree, successful in a way but still so much to achieve.  But I’ve also become a grumpy stressed-filled career woman. The only rest I get is when I drop in dead sleep after a day’s mental exhaustion. There’s a lot of perks being an established writer: academic recognition, money, indescribable privileges, and of course getting to see the world.

I just wished I never lost the old me; maybe I’d be more appreciative of what I have now. Maybe I won’t be this pessimistic of everything and everyone around me. Honestly it was a contributor to my success, never trusting anyone. I focused on what I have, what I can do, never relied on anyone, and never sought help from anyone. I became confident of what I could do. Oh, well, admittedly boastful of what I could do. No one worked as well as I did, that’s why I deserve all what I have now.

And now, walking around this very familiar park, it brings a lot of painful memories.

The iron bench had worn out. It had a terrible weathered and beaten look. It’s as if barely sitting on it can get anyone tetanus. Nonetheless I sat on it. I breathe in sharply at the early winter chill. I dug my hands in my coat pockets seeking a bit of warmth. But nothing could ever melt my callously frosted heart. 

Heart? What the heck is that anyway?

Currently I’ve been labeled the “Ice Demon” or the “Blue Dragon” of the editing department. Obviously they see me as a heartless bitch when I tear up articles, throw away proposals, and reject final proofread works just because they did not reach my standards. I guess that was the reason I never had any friends at work, or even outside work. All I did, day to day, was read-write-eat. I barely have time to sleep. And after five years, this is the first vacation day I had. But of all places I wanted to see, I wonder, why here?

There were only a handful of people walking around. The place didn’t look as safe as it was before. The lake looked dark and dirty, not clean and fresh as before. The trees got old, but they became bare and withered. I came here seeking warmth, the vitality I lost. I thought I left it here, but coming to this place made me feel drained and sadder than ever. 

Feeling hungry I made way through the streets looking for a coffee shop. And I did find one, a small but bright bookshop café. The warm lights were so inviting and cheery in the gray cold of the streets.

I got in and it was empty. I sat on the bar and waited for someone to walk in from the kitchen. My eyes scanned the whole place. It was old, but in a good way, it gives this nostalgic feeling that can bring back good memories. I’ve never been here though, but it makes me feel that I’ve been to this place and I needed to go back. Finally the barista came and asked for what I needed. I asked what was on the menu aside from hot drinks and he said he only had salmon; sheer luck for me. I asked for a big mug of latte and a salmon sandwich.

A few minutes later he came back, he was looking intently in my face. I had to ask why.

“You look very familiar. But I know I haven’t seen you in my café before.”

I had to snicker, this man was too old to hit on anyone.

“Well sir, you might be mistaken. It’s my first time to come here.”