The title is a misnomer. I’ve been back in town for a few days now; since Monday. It was an interesting trip, to say the least.
I hate writing blogs that just summarize what happened. I’d like to think I could remember the important stuff (and forget the less important stuff). It just sounds so fake when I try to write down things that happened and account for all the time spent somewhere. I’d much rather write about my feelings or my moods. Kind of funny… I feel more comfortable describing the way things feel or felt compared to how things actually happened. I’m not good at those kinds of stories.
I wrote up a draft for this blog and promptly deleted it. It didn’t sound anything like me. I was suddenly this travel writer, recounting my steps and talking about touristy things I did. Let’s face it, when I look back on this … I’m not going to care. If someone were to compile all these posts into a story, no one would care about the one weekend I spent in Vancouver and Seattle. No one cares about what I saw or what I bought. The biggest draw to the story, would be how being so physically close to R affected me. So, I’ll write that story. I’ll write the final pages to that chapter. Then I will practice writing something else. Practice writing about being happy or meeting someone else. Write another story, but not this one. And not a fucking travel book.
I got to Vancouver in one piece (albeit, stuck in literally – not figuratively – the last row of the plane) and barely survived getting back to our rented suite. We got lucky… S. found this beautiful place off AirBnB that was only being rented out for something like 100$/night. With 3 ppl staying there it was a steal. And holy, was the view gorgeous! Every morning waking up to cherry blossoms and the sun pouring into your room. If they’d let me, I’d move in in an instant!
Anyways, first couple of days weren’t that bad, mostly because I wasn’t in the city at all. First night I was so tired from work and travel that I didn’t think of R. First day, we went down to Seattle and I didn’t think of R, because I didn’t worry about bumping into him at all. But later that evening, just as we were about to head back to Vancouver, I just felt sad. I felt awful. I wandered through Nordstrom like a zombie, trying to distract myself from this grey feeling inside the pit of my soul. I didn’t want to let myself stare at that greyness, but I did. I let it engulf me.
So, there I sat in the men’s shoe department, staring into my hands and fighting with every ounce of my will to not cry. Please don’t cry. Not now. Not here. Not in front of O; I really didn’t want that brat to see. I couldn’t tell you what triggered it. I just felt lonely and sad again. I felt like I looked back on everything that happened in the past 3 years and that all I could pick out were memories of R. Had my life really been just about him over that time? How did it go wrong? What did I do wrong? Maybe there was something I could have done differently… maybe if I had been more forward in the beginning with my feelings? But wasn’t I? I mean, didn’t I call him and tell him how much he meant to me? It may not have been love back then, but it was something and I wasn’t ready to leave Vancouver that first time without telling him that I was sorry I wasn’t ready to meet. I don’t know. I just had all these questions swimming in my head and before I knew it, they started running down my cheeks.
The next few days weren’t much better. I wavered between being pissed off at O. for her selfish and egotistical ways, or being just feeling trampled by my emotions. There were definitely some moments when I didn’t feel so … shitty, but they were few and far in between. I’d walk down Robson street and pray to not see his face, but then also secretly wish that I would. That I would bump into him and we’d.. I don’t know. Have an ending to whatever story life was writing for me. Maybe we’d just smile. Maybe we’d just ignore each other. Maybe he’d say hi. Maybe I’d yell at him. I don’t know what I was expecting.
Sunday rolled around and he didn’t call. He didn’t text. I never saw his face in the crowd. I never caught a glimpse of his car. And I don’t know why, but it was just … enough. I spent Sunday night trying to pull myself together. Trying to piece it all together. I guess this was it then. This was the sign I had asked for. The sign that he didn’t care. That it didn’t mean shit to him. That I wasn’t anything at all special to him. I was just another face in the crowd. Just another person passing through his life. For me, he was always special. Always unique. Always him.
To him, I guess I was just another female friend. Another passing fancy. A flirtatious potential fling that fizzled out early on and meant nothing else to him afterwards. I felt like a toy that was just passed over for something better and shinier. I felt horrible, because to me he was the world. To him I was just.. a speck of dust.
I spent all of Sunday drowning in a pool of my feelings. I went through the day with a fake smile. I walked through the streets not seeing. I ate my dinner not tasting anything. And I collapsed at the end of the day ready to just… cry myself to sleep.
I know I didn’t intend to let R. affect my trip. I went there with optimism and looking forward to getting to know my friends better. To exploring the city. To taking it back as my own. And I failed, miserably. I let it get to me. I let my heart get in the way again. I let R. in again, whether or not he knew it. I let him come back into my life and dictate my heart.
Sometimes I wish that I never met him. Sometimes I wish that I had never sent out that text and that we never started talking. I know that means that I would have maybe stayed depressed for a lot longer. I know that it also means that I wouldn’t have grown as much as I have, but I’m not sure if this giant hole in my being is worth it. If it was worth whatever ‘growth’ I’ve had. I know I’ve changed in the time I’ve known him, some for the better and some for the worse. I wonder if it was a necessary change; I think it may have been. Maybe I needed a crash course on love and heartbreak because I missed out on all those lessons everyone else seemed to have over their childhood/teenage years.
I can’t pretend I know what plan the future has for us. I can’t pretend to even believe there’s a plan anymore, especially not after this. I always thought that you meet people for a reason. That they either teach you something about the world or yourself. I don’t know if that’s the case. I don’t know what I was supposed to learn from R. That I am stronger? No… That it’s okay to be weak? No… It doesn’t feel okay. That it’s okay to let someone in? No, because now I feel like I can’t let anyone else in.
I just hope that when all this dust settles, that I’ll know whatever lesson I was supposed to take away from this. If the dust settles. God, I hope it does.