Rainy days brought back lots of memories. The monsoon days when I was a little kid running around in the rain. Dad always said beware of the “moist breath of the ground” in rainy days. It will make us sick. Yet I was drawn to its embracing coolness and couldn’t help to get in as much deep breath as possible. Rain found ways to sneak in everywhere. We had pots and pans all around the house to try keeping the floor dry hopelessly. It was fun for us the kids though. We were the seasoned sailors of the ocean the sky brought us, oblivious of the wet clothes, the imminent power outage, or the failing rusty metal roof. And when we were tired, we curled into Mom’s arms, floating straight into dreams land while listening to Rain ‘s soft rhythms.

I remember the rainy days with you. Sharing a tiny umbrella was more fun than functional. Nothing could beat that warmth inside while the outside was freezing. I remember in those wet days to have hurried home. Tadaima. Seeing you there. I felt whole. Simply whole. We would cook borsh, add as much pepper as possible, and enjoyed our creation, our simple togetherness.

I could never recreate a borsh that tasty ever since.

Almost ten years since we met. Maybe tens of years more till we meet again. If ever. Funny how things are measured in years now and soon in tens of years. Sounds long or boring or impressive. It doesn’t mean anything though. Time doesn’t change facts, only our interpretations of them.

And the fact is I am bad at letting go.


Sometimes I pinched myself and wonder where have all my feelings gone? Have my mind gone to the mindless land? I wonder how I have changed or stayed the same.

The camellia bloomed again, after 3 years. Only one plant out of ten did. Some others bud but didn’t bloom. And some chose death. I took the same picture I took a few years ago. Of a pink camellia. Perfect symmetry.

How have you changed or stayed the same? Pretty sure the beard would still be there. I could barely recall your face. Hahaha I lied.

I ran into an old friend the other day. He said I haven’t changed a bit. He was too kind. He has gray hair now. Who doesn’t after 2 kids? Would there be some day that I run into you? I for sure wouldn’t even know it. I don’t really look at passerbys’ faces. You probably wouldn’t know either. Your brain doesn’t process images. Fascinating fact but unpleasant to me. I read Jeff Bezos has the same condition.

We can be friends now. Enough time has past and I finally come to peace with one of my favorite quotes from you: “as long as I know you’re some where in this world…”.

You were there and now you are there. That’s enough.


Do I miss rains or being with you in them?

Do I miss bus rides or you leaning on me the entire trip?

Do I miss autumn leaves or kissing you behind them?

Do I miss Christmas lights or chasing them with you?

Do I miss the views from tops of mountains or holding your hand conquering them?

Do I miss the miserable marathons or the moments finding you at the end?

Do I miss us or the me I was with you?

One of those days

Rain forgot us and love from Sun burns us alive. I wish I was somewhere else but then I would probably have some other complaints and also wish I would be somewhere else as well.

Living is tiring. Responsibilities are boring. Too many days I spent wondering. How to feel better? How to be better? How to love this pitiful self? Only to feel more cornered at the end of the day, more guilty of another day wasted.

But there is no way out. Tomorrow I’ll continue the pretense. I am strong.

One doesn’t get to choose being born.

Nor one gets to choose leaving life…

To lublu

When time is tough I think of you. You are always a safe place, an escape, at least in my mind. Then the challenge past and the next one comes. I’m running around in circle with a safe zone in the center. I could never reach the center but the thought of having a center keeps me running. I am not really sure what would happen if I stop running. Of course I will not reach the center if I stop, but it doesn’t get closer even if I don’t.

If the burden gets too much the body lets go. It seems I am very strong. I just keep going. I’m not sure if you are a burden or a needed dream. At times you brought the feeling of loss and then other times of loved. The completion of a part of life. At least I would die one day having tasted it all, love and loss.

In a parallel universe with different choices my life would have been very different. I’m sure I would also be happy with those choices as I am content now in this space. Probably would still curse at circumstances sometimes but in general accepting, choices and consequences circling around a beautiful dream.

I have always taught M everything I am not. Be courageous, be strong, be kind, be smart and be honest. I pretend to be all this all the time and it is getting harder and harder. But I cannot let go of this front. It protects me as much as it is killing me slowly. Every single day is a day to pretend.

I made a mistake of looking at old memories. I knew I shouldn’t but I did. You are the obsession that I can’t let go, even when I learn to accept and to move on. The truth is you have always been and still are my escape. Life is too hard. Your past love warms me and gives me comfort though it had been almost a lifetime away.

When time is rough I thought of you a whole lot more than the everyday dose. The me who needs comforts needs you. The me who needs an escape needs you. The yearning is unbearable but I must bear it.

Maybe I’ll send you an email. Maybe you’ve won a lottery and have a fabulous life and family and two hundred kids. But then I can’t. I just can’t, throw a rock at a peaceful water. I can’t uncover my own tsunami underneath.

Oh gosh I’ve awaken the kraken inside…

Have you left me, love? Are you gone?

Is this cold ember something used to be strong?

In this corpse where life once existed,

The last breath drained recounting when things went so wrong

Part of you, I want

All of me, I kept

Hidden away until

Both of us, I hurt

This blog slowly fall into the forgotten land. My feeling has gone cold and you have entirely left. Remnants of your face got buried in the pile of unfulfilled dreams, under some too-hard-to-achieve work stuff, compacted into a bullet point on … “maybe someday…” list.

As long as I didn’t pause long enough to think of you.

Rising from the deadest of the dead, hiding in all corners of the living you would always follow me… or maybe me you. A sight a smell a poke and … I’ll be engulfed.

If not 5 years maybe 10 maybe 20 can do the trick.

What can I write about then?