The Thing with Letting Go

They said someone you want might be not the one you need. If they were the same person, well then, consider yourself lucky.

Him
She was a good friend, the best one someone could ever have. She was nice, funny, smart, and it would be a lie if I didn’t mention that she was pretty. We started going home together about two or three weeks since we first met in the campus park. I always love to have company when going home; company means that I have someone to talk to, to share food with, or to spend the awkward, boring hours whenever I was stucked in heavily jammed traffic. Her house was only one block away from mine, so it was not a big deal, not really important.

Or so I thought. She was a good listener and a wonderfully talented problem solver: she listened patiently every time I have problem with my girlfriend and solved the problem just in an instant. She got me: my problems, my life, my jokes. She was like an angel to me, my fairy godmother or something. That was when I realized she might be much more important to me that I ever thought. There was an empty space in my daily life only her could fill. By the time my girlfriend and I decided that we could not be together anymore, she was always there, tried to cheer me up with her quirky jokes or baked me some cookies and cakes or just sat beside me as we share an earphones and listened to the music together. We had developed the need for each other in an instance – well, at least I had. That was the time when I realized how big the space in my life she has filled. And that I was pretty sure that I was falling in love with her. Perhaps I have always been, this whole time.

I wished she know how I feel.

I wished she feel the same way.

I wished we could be together.

I really do wished we could be together.


.....


Her
I really did hope we could spend more time together.

Honestly, for me, he has the perfect package: he gets my jokes, loves the same music, kind, witty, cute. Yes, those whole package. I thought I have fallen in love with him since we began to go home together – an unintentionally, unplanned, accidental crush. The end of the day would be my favorite part of all, when we went home together, talked about things. Well, mostly we talked about his problems, which mainly caused by his girlfriend. But I didn’t mind, really. As long as I could hear his voice and laugh with him, listening to things he and his girlfriend have done wasn’t really a problem. Who knows I could be this kind of cheesy person.

When he broke up with his girlfriend, heaven knows how much I wanted to tell him the truth about my feeling. I didn’t really care whether he felt the same way. I just wanted to tell him, because I thought that by telling him it would take some of the burden on me. I just wanted him to know.

I wished I could tell him.

I wished I could always be with him.

But guess whose parents still do arranged married for their children until this day?

Yeah, mine.


.....


A clear, blue sky is decorated with brightly shining sun. The airport terminal is not as crowded as usual, but still there are chatterings here and there, as well as several late passengers hurry to the check-in counter.

10 minutes to check-in time
“You came!” he exclaims happily as she approaches him, both of them smiling.

“Of course I did, I won’t be seeing you until next year,” she drapes her arms on his neck, gives him a fast, casual hug. He sees a glimpse of her left hand when she hugs him: there is a ring on her finger. A silvery ring with small, bright blue sapphire on the middle of it. He sighs as their hug broke.

“Nah, not next year. I’ll come home at the end of semester. You know, for your...,” his voice trails slowly.

“...ah. Wedding, yes,” she completes his sentence with an awkward smile.

“Yes,” he replies with a smile, a sincere one.

Her body is fidgeting awkwardly. She thought he wouldn’t come to her wedding. Well, she has another six months to prepare anyway.

“Well then, good luck for your study. Take a good care, will you?” she smiles, now more sincerely than the last one. 

“Sure, I will. Thank you,” he replies before adds, “now, how will you going back to your place?”

Again, she fidgets a little bit as answering, “Hmmm, he is waiting for me at the cafe. You know, the one over there.” She points her finger to a small cafe, not so far away from them. “He said he wanted us to have our privacy, since we thought you wouldn’t come to our, ah, wedding.”

“Tell him I would not miss it, not my greatest bestfriend wedding. Give him my regards, as well,” he smiles as he takes a glance to his watch, “ah, it’s my check-in time already.”

She smiles reluctantly and hugs him, again. And this time, she gives a whole-hearted hug. This time, he is the one who breaks the hug, but he still hold her hand.

“Send me e-mail when you’re already there,” she says while he answers by nodding his head.

“I’ll see you when I see you.”

With that, he lets go of her hand.


The thing is: it wasn’t hurt. Well, it did at first, when all those anger to her parents, hate to the community who shaped the culture, and jealousy towards him mixed up in my mind. It hurt really bad back then. But as time passed, it seems like letting go is the right decision. After you let go,the ache would vanish, then you would see the world differently. It was like the colours are more vivid, the sun shone brighter, the sound is much clearer, and the scents are, in some sense, sharper. One last thing I learned from her: letting go is somehow liberating. You finally could accept the fact that the thing you wished to happen wouldn’t ever happen and you were fine with it, thus you could continue to the next phase of your life. It liberates you so you could focus on your next wish, your next journey. That was what life do anyway : it goes on.

The Box of Lavender

 Source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/lobsterandswan/6997233329/in/faves-sarahloven/

There was a box under my bed that I never open since highschool. It was a wooden box with pale green paint and a faint scent of lavender. The scent came from potpourri I put in the box, which I use to bury some cardboxes and brown envelopes. I don't really like opening that box, but today is an exception. I would see him at dinner anyway. And I really have to pack all my things since my family would move out of this town in two or three days.

.....

It was a sunny day when I decided to take a rest for a while in PE class. I knew if I kept running, I would pass out. Not a good way to spend your first day as a freshmen, passed out in the clinic.

"Hey, want some water?" I turned around and saw a senior with a pair of glasses, sat alone on wooden seat in the hall. He brought a book and a bottle of water with him.

I hestitated a little bit before finally said, "yea, sure".  He gave me a wide smile as he walked down the stairs and hand the water bottle.

I took some small gulps, and eventually the bell rang. My first reflect is to give back the water bottle to him.

"Nah, you keep it for today. I could take it later at your home." I must looked confused and rather suprised, because then he chuckled and said, "You don't realize that we are neighbor, do you?"

I shook my head as his chuckle changes into a laugh. In my defense, we just moved to this town due to my father's job deployment, so I hadn't really know all of our neighbors yet.

"Never mind. Take that bottle, you need it more than I do."

And he left.

...

He was there, stood beside his parked car. I waved my hand and approached him, who smiled to me.

"Your brother can't pick you up, so your mom asked me instead," he told me when I finally reached him.

"Sooo typical him, hmpf! It's Saturday night, you don't go on a date or something?" I asked him casually as I enter his car. There was a scent of peppermint, as he always smell like, as well as a scent of lavender, which is a pretty common flower in the town so they sprung pretty much everywhere. I would not be surprised if there was some of them sprung at the meadow beside the parking lot.

"It's ok, I've asked her to wait a little bit so I could pick you up, drive you back to your house, and pick her up afterwards," he replied coolly as he drove the car out from the parking lot.

I felt a slight lurch in my stomach hearing that, but I played it cool as I said, "thank you for picking me up, you're even nicer to me than my own brother."

He laughed and messed my hair.

....

"Sweetie, you know our neighbor's son, right? He went to same school with you. He is going to leave for his college today, perhaps you want to say good bye or something," my mom said on a bright, sunny Saturday morning. The maple pancake I tried to swallow suddenly felt stucked in my throat. How could he not telling me himself? I knew we weren't really close, but really it was a common fact everyone would know eventually. Why didn't he tell me by himself?

I gazed vacantly to the window, seeing the breeze  blew some reddish-brown leaves from their trees.

“You can say good bye now, if you want to,” added my mom, after she saw my troubled expression.

I decided not to say good bye to him. If he wanted me to come, he would tell me himself.

.....

And here I am now. Opening the box of photographs, random doodles, and letters we exchanged back then when he was in college at another town. Most of them consist of lavender, as we both like the scent and it reminds him of his hometown.  I smile slightly as I pick and see some of them, smile at the memories, at the strange fact that we were closer when we were apart. After some thinking last night, I decide I will keep this box. I wrap it with a bubble wrap, since the box is quite old and I don’t want to see it dented by the movers. I put the box on top of other boxes and lift them downstairs, where the boxes and other things are gathered to be picked up by the movers.

“Need a hand?” I heard someone greet me when I almost reach last step in the stairs. Him. He don’t wait for my answer and take the boxes. I took the bubble wrapped wooden box on the top of the pile, just to make sure it is safe.

“I know what that is,” he smirk as he see the box, “You still keep all of them?”

“Yes, problem?” I reply defensively and raise my eyebrows. The box is a part of me. Actually, it is a part of us, but I don’t know whether he realize it. I would not tell him that fact, though. Not ever.

He just laugh. That laugh, that exact laugh I always hear in my dreams.

“Your boyfriend’s not coming?” he ask as he put down the boxes near the fireplace, where the other boxes are gathered.

“Not now, no, he got family stuffs as well. But he would come later, for dinner,” I answer as leaning to the door frame.

“Great, so both of you would come to my house tonight?”

“Yeah, it’s your engagement dinner. Wouldn’t miss it for the whole world!”

.....

The truth is not always pretty, I have to admit. I guess there are people who meant to be with you, but you would never know what would they be until it is  the time. Some people are meant to be your friends, while others only meant to be your acquaintances. There are also several others who meant to be your best friends and others who meant to be your enemy. But there will be, there will always be some people, or more likely someone, who meant to be the object of your longing. Never been close enough, but never too far away.

Her Petrichor

I always love the smell you catch after the rain. You know, the smell of wet earth, which was better when it met freshly mowed grass. Best if you have a book to sniff afterwards. I read somewhere on the Internet that it was called petrichor.

There she was. Walked down the paved path, effortlessly gracious like she was floating instead. I guessed that would always be her secret weapon: be effortlessly gracious. That, and her ability to charm everyone who get too close to her.  I knew that too well.

She noticed me sitting on the park bench and waved her hand to catch my attention. As if she need to do that. I looked up from my note book, nodded, and smiled to her. She approached me with a bright smile, as if she just walked out from a picture of toothpaste advertisement.  As she came closer, I closed my book and made some room on the bench for her.

Then she started to tell me the story of how he called her last night, that big college basketball star. How he asked, no, begged for her forgiveness, like million times before. How he came to her house right at midnight, flew balloons to her bedroom window, and tied some roses to the last balloon. I just smiled and listened to her story patiently.

Just like last Saturday.

I picked her up from a coffee shop, a puffy-eyed girl with shaky voice. It was in a mall, she went there with him of course, but then they met one of his, ah, girlfriends. I said one because I was sure there are others. Who she didn’t know yet. I knew them, after all he was one of my highschool friends. I knew his notorious reputation. The girlfriend went mad at them, shouted and made a scene in the lobby. Humiliated, she ran to the coffee shop, called me, and stayed there while tried to calm herself with a cup of chamomile tea as she waited for me. He didn’t run after her.

.... or like the first day of our sophomore year.

Her highschool sweetheart turned out to cheat on her while he told her he was busy with his college in other city. She caught him holding hand with a girl in a restaurant at the other city, when she was having family dinner at the exact same restaurant after visiting her relatives who live at that city. She didn’t go mad at that time, only greeted him and his other girlfriend to make sure he knew she was there. She had dinner with her family afterwards, laughed and talked like nothing wrong happened, but she immediately texted me to meet her at her house the next day after she came home. She told me the story and cried for hours, until her voice became hoarse. I wanted to hug her, but I surpressed the thought since I didn’t want her to realize my real feeling. Thank God I didn’t hug her, since her highschool sweetheart came to her house at that exact moment, brought flowers, chocolate, and everything to ask for her forgiveness. She didn’t forgive him, although she began to attract every boy’s attention as soon as they found out she was single. Well, who can blame those who caught her charm. She was irresistable.

It was always like that. She was disappointed, called me, cried, and then she healed. She stayed with me some time when she was healing, then she met someone. She began to date him, or him, or him. Well, he could be anyone. But not me, he would never be me.

Remember that delightful smell after the rain? That was what I will always be. Her petrichor. The one who made rain bearable, because she knew she would have me later on. The one who lingered after the rain, to make sure she is alright. The one who stayed for some time, but after the sun came back will be forgotten. After all, the petrichor would never be able to replace the sun. Ever.