“Of course, you never really forget anyone, but you certainly release them. You stop allowing their history to have any meaning for you today. You let them change their haircut, let them move, let them fall in love again. And when you see this person you have let go, you realize that there is no reason to be sad. The person you knew exists somewhere, but you are separated by too much time to reach them again.”
— Chelsea Fagan, How We Let People Go
***
I've been back in town for more than a week. I'm leaving again tomorrow morning.
Our new place is HUGE. It's exactly the kind of place I dreamt of living in when I was little. It's like a dream come true.
En is still reluctant to move because this house that we are currently living in, albeit small and messy, is our home. After all, this is where the three of us shared common memories before we had to leave home and chase after our dreams pursue studies.
There's this corner near the piano where Qian fell and lacerated his chin because he used a towel as jumping rope; and there's a glass cabinet that I accidentally broke when we were secretly playing dodgeball in the house - it still has cellophane tape that we put over the crack in attempt to fix/cover it up because we were so afraid of getting spanked; then there's this room that is pitch black when all the lights are off and we always play our advanced version of 'hide-and-seek' with all sorts of weird rules and obstacles; the kitchen countertop where 3 of us would sit on it and wait patiently while mum baked our favorite tuna and sausage buns; that wall that En marked his height progress with a pencil every few months since he was 12 years old...
I love every single bit of that, but this place also has too much of you.
Driving in this neighborhood now not only reminds me of those blissful moments you pulled me to your chest and kissed me on my forehead when you were driving, it also reminds me of the boiling tears and heartaches I've gone through during that 6 weeks. I remembered how I couldn't go home after work because I was crying nonstop like a banshee and I didn't want my mum to see me in that state so I had to drive round and round the area until I could finally pull myself together.
I was so broken on the exact same street that you once made me feel happy, safe and secured.
I don't cry so frequently anymore now but I still remember, because those are the kind of heartaches you can feel in your bones.
I don't want to "bump into you on the street" anymore but my eyes still scan through every white Honda Civic I passed by.
That's when I realized no matter how I refrain myself, I am thinking of you, and I began to wonder how long you'd been on my mind.
But at some point you will realize that you have done too much for someone, that the only next possible step to do is to stop. Leave them alone. Walk away. It’s not like you’re giving up and it's not like you shouldn’t try. It’s just that you have to draw the line of determination from desperation.
So with that said, I'd love to think that this (and by this I mean moving) is a blessing that is perfectly timed. I don't know if it's possible to un-love a person but I hope it helps me to stop thinking about you.
As cliche as it sounds, but here's to a better future.
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