one and only

wanderlust. it only took a few messages from filmmaker and encouraging words from my mother and it’s back. I keep thinking of last year’s trip to europe and how this time it would be more about the other side. south east asia is covered in pollution and grayness. it is tiring. slow, lazy weekend. watching television shows back to back and cooking instant korean noodles. the boy would scoff if he knew, but he’s only mocking me. the british boy is back in town, which is a little funny because I never thought I’d see him back down here. I tried to look him up on these pages but I never wrote about him. last time we saw each other was during those hot august nights back in prague. some things I would change, but for others I am glad.

friday night; filmmaker came over for dinner after eight months. my signature pasta pomodoro. bottles of wine and adele’s one and only on crappy speakers. it almost felt as if the time stopped for a little bit. we took the train downtown, peel street. our regular drinking hole but things have been changing around that area. last summer was completely different but at least we have claire now. places down the hill were either too crowded or too loud and long ice tea just knocked me out. the boy waited for me as always but this time a little suspicious. where did you go? with filmmaker, you know. I am here now. then the pathos, the same old song, always. I got him down on my side shortly after four. we stood at the bottom of the hill, a couple of a musicians playing acoustic guitar. I thought it was a strange that a street corner can be so alive at four in the morning, yet go entirely unnoticed twelve hours later. our hips joined together, I let him lead. oasis’ wonderwall but it was alright by me.

the bus ride back home made me feel all kinds of things. it is strange how everything worked out in the end. instead of being heartbroken, I am less scared now to follow my heart. the light changed above us, but we hardly noticed. that short moment when you both stop and smile. I am not yet aware of how much I should be grateful but it is slowly coming to me. and it was only a year ago.

avant qu’elle parte, sept

1. the noble house in blue; 2. peeking moon; 3. reflections; 4. at the bottom of ifc red bar; 5. sunset; 6. red, pink and blue

previous parts

hong kong has returned to its blues and mine have left me. the above images are what remains from one of my favorite days with the boy. our original plan to spend the afternoon at the beach failed, but we didn’t mind. we still basked in the sun on the rooftop of ifc and drank summer cocktails; listened our own playlists and let the moon follow us. we laughed until our bodies shook and held hands like it was the most important thing in the world. in a way it was, because I never want to let him go again. when I let him go three months ago, I couldn’t even image the price I would pay later. I have learnt my lesson. he’s still here, he’s still with me despite everything. I am grateful more than words can convey. why don’t we always have days like this? he asked me. and I didn’t know what to say.

in the last few months my words have failed me more often than they have helped me and I’m trying to work on that. I still can’t get a good night’s sleep because I keep waking up from strange dreams, sometimes nightmares, but it’s getting easier. the boy is there for me. he is a night owl, more than I am, and I know that I can just talk to him at three in the morning, when things seem to be the worst. sometimes I feel guilty, sometimes I am just angry, frustrated and disappointed. hurt. the last one is the worst. I keep trying to push it away, but sometimes it doesn’t work that way.

the other night we watched les bien-aimes together. it fitted us. paris and prague; french and bits of czech. the little hidden stories; sometimes the characters spoke what we’d been wanting to say to each other all along. he held my hand and I put my head on his shoulder; the cinema house was almost empty. we fought over the popcorn, laughed and kept silent when it wasn’t funny anymore. every once in a while I felt him lower his head a little and kiss the top of my head, softly brushing my hair neat with his fingers. after the film finished, we walked around three blocks back to my apartment building. he doesn’t try to come up anymore, so I stick around with him for a little longer. it all felt like such a cliche but then I realized it wasn’t. and last night he said to me, what we have is rare, you know. it saddens me that I had to lose him first in order to realize that.