An open letter to my long gone future
When live gives you lemons, do you really have to make lemonade? You know better than anyone else that I’m the kind of guy that will look at the lemons and protest that I did not ask for lemons. It’s like going to a restaurant and getting a filet mignon when you asked for the tuna tartare.
Alas, life is not a restaurant and lemons are but a metaphor for something bigger. A combination of circumstances that drive us towards paths we otherwise would never have taken, to meet people we would never have met, and to give birth to new ideas and relationships.
In this new life - a rebirth of times long gone - I have come across a cast of characters that have filled my days with emotion and that have shaken my dominion in ways I would have never expected.
As I tried my hardest to hold on to my life in Europe and to remember those faces that made life so much fun, I became enticed with this new set of actors that walked into my dominion. As if knowing their lines by heart, they helped develop storylines that were everything but boring.
It seemed that everyone that mattered was doing their best at figuring me out, so for a moment - I gave up the impossible task of figuring myself out. There’s no use in explaining yourself to people who don’t understand depth and well instead — I’ve been doing my best at [pretending] to be superficial. I go tanning, I put gel in my hair every day, I get massages and haircuts frequently and I mix my drinks. I’ve become the epitome of Caribbean banality.
And these mundane tasks have filled me to the point where I’ve grown around things that months ago were at the centre of my life. You see - I’ve expanded around the strain that brought me back here in the first place. I continue to grow around every little scar, because I am the blueprint to my own destiny, and I cannot shrink my growth on account of unchangeable circumstances.
But I do grief.
I grief the life I thought you and I were going to have together;
I grief the life I thought I was going to have as an educator;
I grief the life he offered me when I was in his arms last February;
But most of all - I grief a part of me that died when I left you and closed the door on a future where we could have been happy in that little apartment on Nieuwlandstraat.
Alas, life is not a restaurant and lemons are but a metaphor for something bigger. A combination of circumstances that drive us towards paths we otherwise would never have taken, to meet people we would never have met, and to give birth to new ideas and relationships.
In this new life - a rebirth of times long gone - I have come across a cast of characters that have filled my days with emotion and that have shaken my dominion in ways I would have never expected.
As I tried my hardest to hold on to my life in Europe and to remember those faces that made life so much fun, I became enticed with this new set of actors that walked into my dominion. As if knowing their lines by heart, they helped develop storylines that were everything but boring.
It seemed that everyone that mattered was doing their best at figuring me out, so for a moment - I gave up the impossible task of figuring myself out. There’s no use in explaining yourself to people who don’t understand depth and well instead — I’ve been doing my best at [pretending] to be superficial. I go tanning, I put gel in my hair every day, I get massages and haircuts frequently and I mix my drinks. I’ve become the epitome of Caribbean banality.
And these mundane tasks have filled me to the point where I’ve grown around things that months ago were at the centre of my life. You see - I’ve expanded around the strain that brought me back here in the first place. I continue to grow around every little scar, because I am the blueprint to my own destiny, and I cannot shrink my growth on account of unchangeable circumstances.
But I do grief.
I grief the life I thought you and I were going to have together;
I grief the life I thought I was going to have as an educator;
I grief the life he offered me when I was in his arms last February;
But most of all - I grief a part of me that died when I left you and closed the door on a future where we could have been happy in that little apartment on Nieuwlandstraat.
Really, truly, happy.
What I miss the most of being with you is the comfort of silence. There was no need for fanfare, there was no need for cockiness as a means of keeping myself safe. We could be sitting in silence, watching television and without saying a word we’d know how much we cherished those moments. Or those times you’d go grocery shopping and bring all the right brands. Or the little sigh you let out before falling asleep. Like clockwork.
I miss how you’d explain who I was, without me having to lead you to it. So, tell me - how do I explain my short temper, my sharp tongue, and my impatience to these new set of characters? They’ll never understand - they don’t know you and they never will. They will never know what I gave up to be here making coffee for a living and listening to mundane conversations about their weekends.
Oh and - a guy I thought I dug told me the other day that he stopped overthinking as a teenager. I found that to be one of the most unattractive things I’ve ever heard anyone mutter. I wanted to say so much - but then again - he doesn’t take long drives like me. So, perhaps that’s it. Small mind, small island, big, big distance.
I hope you know I miss you - I hope you know I wish you were here with me. I wish you had agreed to it… But above all - I wish I had stayed with you. We could have been so happy.
Yours always,
J
P.S. I can’t bring myself to text, but read me here instead. I love you.
What I miss the most of being with you is the comfort of silence. There was no need for fanfare, there was no need for cockiness as a means of keeping myself safe. We could be sitting in silence, watching television and without saying a word we’d know how much we cherished those moments. Or those times you’d go grocery shopping and bring all the right brands. Or the little sigh you let out before falling asleep. Like clockwork.
I miss how you’d explain who I was, without me having to lead you to it. So, tell me - how do I explain my short temper, my sharp tongue, and my impatience to these new set of characters? They’ll never understand - they don’t know you and they never will. They will never know what I gave up to be here making coffee for a living and listening to mundane conversations about their weekends.
Oh and - a guy I thought I dug told me the other day that he stopped overthinking as a teenager. I found that to be one of the most unattractive things I’ve ever heard anyone mutter. I wanted to say so much - but then again - he doesn’t take long drives like me. So, perhaps that’s it. Small mind, small island, big, big distance.
I hope you know I miss you - I hope you know I wish you were here with me. I wish you had agreed to it… But above all - I wish I had stayed with you. We could have been so happy.
Yours always,
J
P.S. I can’t bring myself to text, but read me here instead. I love you.
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