Whenever I see that former classmate’s picture with his girlfriend, I am reminded of how my long term relationship ended the way it did. Sometimes I can’t help but wonder WHY.
I also had a dream at least once in that long time of being with him. I also thought he will somehow father my future kids and that 3 story apartment will be our home. I admit i did not dream and anticipate it as much as other women might have anticipated their future with their lovers, but the point is I had a dream as well. It was fragile by nature because I had a hard time getting my mind into it. It was brittle as a light bulb. She broke it. It was a bubble. She burst it.
Whenever I see that former classmate’s picture with his girlfriend, I ask the universe, “Did I not have rights to longevity?” “Was I that bad a lover?” “Whatever happened to respect for each other?” “Who got lost and never found his way back?”
I knew that my “home” had been that provincial place, but I always came back to that three-story apartment.It contained a huge part of me. It gave the comfort that I needed most when I felt the end was coming. Its bare walls had been keen listeners to my silent tears. Its cold floors had been funnels of my vacant stares. Its noisy stairs had been speechless recipients of my reluctant final steps. And the door which once opened wide as if to embrace was suffocatingly tight.
Whenever I see that former classmate’s picture with his girlfriend I remember how the wind was cold that night and my baggage (both metaphorical and literal) had been too heavy for me to carry alone. But the strong arms that promised to bear everything difficult that will come along were the same arms that made the load even heavier…
And when the load has gotten too hefty, there is no other choice but to be strong, to learn that dreaming is not enough, believing in something and more importantly, in someone is crossing the highway without looking on either side. You can end up dead or alive, but never the same.
