Pardon the errors. I write to vent. Revisions would only bring me suffering at this point in time.
On Sunday, February 01, 2015, I wrote, “I’ll also say some things about No’C. No’C has been mentioned before in my journals, but a lot has happened between us, a lot that I want to share. In fact, the amount of progress we’ve made is, to my standards, quite surprising. I never thought I’d regard a person in my life like I regard No’C. It’s... really quite strange and I’ll reserve an entry for the kid.”
Funny thing. That entry is long, long overdue.
In fact, I had delayed such a great time that the current circumstances are very, very different.
And perhaps, had I gotten around to finally formally introducing No’C to you readers last month, I would have been able to tell you much, much brighter details.
But oh. Oh noes. I’m not sure where I should start. I want to seem as sincere as possible, but I’m tempted to just skip over the details.
Ahh, shoot me. How can I begin writing again?
How much did I already tell you guys? I want to share my story, but the memories have faded beyond the point of distinction. What do I remember?
Hm… Happiness. It started with happiness. I remember lust and longing, desire and craving. I remember obsession and dependency. I remember, suddenly, realization. Denial. I remember fear and waves of foolery—that is, fooling myself.
2:00AM. I refuse to get a good night’s rest.
I was happy. It pains me to say that I was happy because, at this very moment, I feel so raw that I want to vomit. I won’t, though. I haven’t eaten enough today to eject anything from my esophagus.
Esophagus. Digestive system. Flashback, Bio 20 with Mrs. Roth. No’C = Nine o’ Clock. Happiness.
It was different. What was different? Why was it different? I liked No’C to an extreme degree. He—oh yes. No’C is a male specimen I was fortunate enough to cross paths with. He is a wandering male alien. And, for the briefest time, he was mine.
Mine. Mine own. Shakespeare. ELA 20-1 IB. Different classes, same teacher, same content. Do you remember, No’C, reading together? Remember Oedipus Rex? Remember trying to get the other flustered?
Flustered. The sympathetic nervous system causes the blood vessels in your cheek to dilate and blood rushes to your face and you blush. I was flustered when we were reading together. Were you, No’C?
I went to New York earlier this year. It seems like an eon ago. I have yet to tell you guys about that trip. Was it a life-changing trip? Maybe. It was more of an eye-opener. Other than my whole room minus me getting ill to the point of puke, it was a nice trip. I enjoyed it.
I enjoyed sitting beside No’C every chance I got. I enjoyed holding his hand under the cover of a jacket between us. I enjoyed potato cats (gufufu). Everyone was so supportive of us back then! Oh, the confidence.
Distance makes the heart fonder. I used to say that. It used to be my thing. I realized recently that I have lied in proclaiming that statement. Distance makes the heart fonder? It doesn’t hurt to dream, but waking up is painful.
My new phrase is “distant without distance.” I like that. Well, no, I detest the truth intertwined with its letters. Sometimes, though, knowing something is true is reassuring.
Flashback. Theory of Knowledge at the end of grade eleven with Ms. Izienicki. We sat at the same group, No’C, remember? Who else was there? Hm… Lorenzo, Aziel, Jesse, Jocelyn, Paolo M., Antoine, Pariza? Were there more? Deepest apologies if I’m forgetting someone.
Our group wasn’t the best group. We didn’t stay on task all that well and I’m sure Ms. Izienicki wasn’t especially proud of us, haha. I liked that group, though. I was my kind of style. Awko taco with a bit of… awesome sauce? Mehr (my new sound effect).
After we were done learning about TOK for that month, we began watching movies… in the dark, sorta. No’C and I ended up sitting side by side. We would hold hands, No’C, remember? I liked that. Your hands were always so warm and mine always so cold.
“Opposites attract,” I used to say. It’s different. Now, I say, “Different enough to stay interesting; similar enough to relate to.”
But anyways~! What else can I remember right now? There was a time when my piano teacher left for some faraway trip. My Fridays were free and I’d follow you all the way home. Do you remember the first time my Friday was free? I felt like you doubted I’d stick with you until you got home. To be honest, I didn’t know I had the guts to, either.
…But there we were, at your home, alone. What did we even do that day? (gufufu) I remember stressing out about getting home on time. I remember getting in trouble for staying out late with a dead phone.
Oh, the fateful Friday. It was a terribly rainy day and I had piano lessons. Before we parted ways, I lent you my umbrella, No’C, but I didn’t realize it became handicapped somewhere between then and the last time I opened it. It was enough, I hope, to keep you drier than wet. Meanwhile, I braved the pouring rain thinking that I was cool. I mean, I liked rain and I wasn’t bothered by the weather that day. However, my phone was apparently hypersensitive to water damage and bunny bag didn’t do a great job at protecting its contents. That was when my phone died and never turned back on. That was when my father gave me a replacement phone of his that I believed was temporary. I still “use” that phone. I’m trying to get into the habit of charging it nightly. So far, not great.
I performed a lot of experiments at your house, huh, No’C? And once upon a time, I thought that maybe we’d live there together. If not there, it would be at my current home. There or here, there was no other possibility in my mind.
Oh, the Whistler trip of grade ten! I hadn’t settled on you at that time. April 23-28? It was something like that. I remember my umbrella. I remember I would open it to give shade from the sun. Did it ever rain that trip? It must’ve. I can’t remember, though. I remember a bench. No’C, Wilfred, and I were on that bench. Hm… Well, No’C and Wilfred were and I was leaning on the metal (was it?) arm rest. I remember asking what rank you were in League of Legends. What were you, then? I’m surprised I don’t remember. You definitely weren’t Platinum yet.
Pink! I don’t like pink, but you bought a pink hoodie (of aaaaaaall the colours). I identify that hoodie with you. I identify a lot of things with you.
So much so that it hurts seeing you everywhere I look. Everywhere tells a story. How much of our story do you remember?
I just looked over and saw an empty Pocky box. Flashback to Religious Studies 35 during July after grade ten. Skittles died July 4. A part of me died with him. Did you comfort me? I cried a lot. More than I cried tonight. Don’t you worry, No’C, I am a very lucky human. Don’t you worry.
Heaven might have a plan for you. Why did it come to this? Why does it hurt so much? Why you? Why us? Because whatever governs us, be it God or otherwise, is sure that we can handle it. There will never be something you can’t handle. You might face something that someone else can’t handle, but your life is yours to live.
But, no, not yet. I want to dwell in the past a bit more. I know it’s pathetic. The past is the past. It haunts us, maybe, but it’s gone, Lucia, just like hashtag.
Oh goudaness (goodness with a cheese pun). Do you remember hashtag? What a silly name to use in reference to what we shared, haha! The name didn’t last long (which might not have been a bad thing) but it existed for at least a little while.
A little while. Reflexes. The high-fives game thing! Oh, I really did like that. It seemed silly, but I really, honestly liked that. I felt like we were kids playing with each other. I could only ever dream of sharing more than a fraction of our high school careers together.
Reflexes. The reflex arc. RSIME: Receptor, Sensory neuron, Interneuron, Motor neuron, Effecter. Bio 30 the past summer with Mrs. Majczak. You didn’t visit as often this time around. Your number of visits is nowhere close to the summer after grade ten. You know what? It hardly matters because seeing you at all makes me happier.
Or so I thought. “His happiness is my happiness.” “Her happiness is my happiness.” Have you ever felt otherwise? Flashback. I remember seeing you happy and realizing that I was sad to not be a direct cause of your merriment. Selfish, I know. I’m a selfish being, I’ve come to realize. So selfish. I only want you because you make me happy beyond compare.
And that’s the theme of my life: the pursuit of happiness. With you, I thought my life was complete because I could rely on you for happiness.
But then I grew a dependency. It’s kinda funny (but not really) because I wanted to warn you not to depend on me for happiness. Yes, I wanted to be able to make you happy, but I didn’t want to be your only source of happiness. Suddenly, however, I became dependent on you for happiness.
Enter third depression in 17 years. (First before and at the start of junior high, second during the first semester of grade eleven)
Flashback. Grade eleven. French 20. Depression. I cried every day, sometimes twice, sometimes thrice. If I died at my own hand, what would you think of me? If I died at all, how would you feel? I couldn’t. There was a time when the mere thought of you was enough to keep me going.
“Et… qu’est-ce que c’est?” And you whisper to me in French, “It’s the opposite of war.” “une guerre” is a war. “Et… qu’est-ce que c’est?” as I point at another word. You’d tell me another hint. Mme Wilson, though she instigated my collapse back into depression, supported us, No’C, didn’t she?
Oh, and that stranger on the train platform! “I hope you guys get married. It’s just that you two are really cute together. Sorry for being creepy.” What a lovely lady she was. I wish I remember her face or somehow attained her contact information.
But what does it matter? It’s not like I can invite her to our wedding ceremony. Wake up, Lucia.
What shall I say now? Our notes are now ghosts. Until yesterday, I’d read and reread our notes over and over again. Like I mentioned before, I’ve been dwelling in the past. Those notes will only haunt me now. Of course I can’t delete them. They are a part of what we once were. How can I even dare to dream of deleting those notes? They’re precious to me, like you are, like we were.
“His uncertainty becomes my uncertainty.” Flashback to the start of the end.
Bio 30 ends with flying colours. I anxiously await word from you. I was always checking my iPod for messages from you or a facebook call from you. Sound effects were always on max setting.
Flashback to before you left on your trip. “Were you crying last night?” my sister asked me. I was. I was scared for some reason. I couldn’t adequately prepare myself for your departure. A month of separation was a torturous idea. I had every right to cry, I think, because my worst nightmare ventured into the realms of reality.
A typical day while you were out of the country starts with a late morning. I’d get something to eat, binge a few videos on deh yootoobs, and then study until I slept, all the while keeping my iPod within an arm’s reach. I cried quite a lot.
In your cardigan, into the rough fabrics that I’m too afraid to wash, into your scent which has faded away but I still sense it.
I missed you. I still miss you. You left the day after summer school classes ended and to this day, you have yet to return to me.
My dearest, my baka, my cootie-kun. Where did you go?
Reintroduce new motto. “Distant without distance.” I don’t know what I was expecting. Time together, maybe. Was that all I wanted? I thought it was. At first, I was a little disappointed that you were so eager to meet with your friends while I was just a background character.
Our calls at night became habitual instead of engaging.
You don’t like the Learning Commons. You don’t like the atmosphere there. Opposites attract?
You like the choir room. You would prefer that atmosphere. You would chill with your old yet still current schoolmates. I went to a different junior high. I don’t… belong with that crowd.
I thought I belonged with you and wherever you were was where I belonged.
But I fooled myself! Over and over. “Oh, we hardly saw each other today,” I'd think.
Ever since you switched out of full IB, we had no reason to see each other. Different courses, different classes, different teachers, different classrooms.
The one thing we “shared” this year was that period three quarter spare of yours.
The one you spent in the choir room nine times out of ten.
I didn’t mind. I felt like you enjoyed yourself there more than you would have in the Learning Commons. I tried going in there, but it’s… intimidating? Since when did my feeling of belonging unlink itself from you?
But it was frustrating because I did not have enough humility to accept that unwelcoming mindset and spend time with you in the choir room. It was frustrating because while I felt like we were running out of time, I felt like we weren’t with each other long enough. It was frustrating because while I was thinking myself into oblivion, you were completely fine.
It was an act, though? You were depressed? I’ll believe it. I want to believe it because I trust your words, but I know at least a portion of me wants to believe you were depressed so that at least we’d share something again.
I hate how selfish I can be.
I was your shadow. I’d follow you when I could and be gone when I couldn’t. I came to realize that without you, I am a terribly lonely person, so I tried to change. I tried to be more outgoing. I tried to make new friends and I kind of did. They’re not close yet, but they’re better than nothing.
“Distant without distance.” I couldn’t eliminate that disconnected feeling when I stood by you. I missed you dearly.
That’s it. You left for your trip for the latter half of this past summer. I missed you then and have only missed you more upon your return.
Sometimes, I feel like, “Oh, there you are!” But that’s just a phase. I’ve been stuck in this cycle of dreaming (fooling myself) and waking up. I don’t realize I’m dreaming until I wake up.
I’d think, “Oh, he was right here near me the whole time.” I’d think, “Oh, what was I worrying about earlier? Silly me.” I’d think, “Oh, look! Things are like it used to be. Perfect.”
But I’d wake up and realize, “Oh, nothing has changed. Is this worse than yesterday? I’m thinking too much. I should sleep more. I’m dehydrated. I’m not eating enough. I’m dying in all senses.”
And when I’m dreaming, I’m completely convinced that all is well with the world. Then I wake up and I’m completely convinced that I am a gullible, selfish little child who is too young, too immature to differentiate between appearance and reality.
No more dreaming. I’m certain that you’ve been abandoned, Lucia. No’C will stay by you without being with you. Please be happy, Lucia. Please, I’m begging you, please.
But don’t dream. Don’t fool yourself. Accept it. You were wrong. You couldn’t go against the current. That vision about wanting another chance?
Oh. So I saw a scenario. I was begging No’C to give me another chance. He told me he had already given me a chance. I snapped to reality with the mindset that, ah, that was a sign that I must take my chance before it’s gone.
But no. It was long gone, Lucia. Fooled once again. Please stop dreaming like that, Lucia.
And No’C? I’m desperate.
Today’s lyrics were probably used before (please refer to an older entry for the usual spiel):
I'm gonna miss you,
I'm gonna miss you when you're gone
She says, "I love you
I'm gonna miss hearing your songs"
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