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to be cursed to remember .

...

"A beautiful girl can turn your world to dust .."

— Radiohead

She got hurt. Like everybody else. And the intensity of her pain — like everybody else — has brought her down. She looked at herself and saw how unreal she was. There was nothing that she could use to define herself. She had no career to speak of — no, that once in a while tutoring English was not a career yet and nobody has bought her book — she had no interests in politics, and she quietly envied her friends with their exciting lives and exciting careers, no matter how much they complained to her how boring their daily lives were. Seeing them working things out with their adult lives got her thinking about her own life. What she’d been doing? Sure, she’s way much better than she used to be, but had she looked at her options and thought them all through? She hadn’t managed to settle into a steady life, never searched for a job or a living situation that would define who she is years from now. She stumbled upon one impulse year to another, with no sense of direction.

She wanted to cross the road, to live the life she's been imagining, but something held her back. And it seemed like the chance never knocked at her door. She got hurt. Like everybody else. She was way too young to get trapped in that kind of situation. But although she had every right to break down, she didn't. Sadly, that didn't mean that she was alright.

She was still. She kept staying in one place, barely moving, barely breathing, as if she wished it'd make the pain went away.

But it didn't.

"It took me nearly a year to get here," she told me. "It wasn't so hard to cross that street after all, it all depends on who's waiting for you on the other side."

~

When I told my friend years ago that I am a hopeless romantic, my friend furrowed and asked me to elaborate more. At that moment, I could not find the right words to describe what it is meant to be a hopeless romantic.

But if only my friend was here now, he would see perfectly what a hopeless romantic I am.

"We should go all the way last night," he says with that stupid grin I love so much.

I cannot hold back my smile. He is all set to go back to a certain activity that I refuse to say out loud because I know that it will only break the intimate moment we just shared.

"You reckon?"

He nods and racks his hair. He looks like a lost kid with that messy hair. No wonder girls are falling head over heels around him. "My hands are still killing me. Really, the pain will be worthy if we decided to go all the way last night," he says, caressing his right hand with his left hand as if to exaggeratedly emphasize the pain.

I shudder with giddiness, thinking about the feel of his hands in my skin last night. He looks at me funny, and suddenly rushes over to land a sweet kiss on my nose. Without giving me a time to say anything, he closes the door quietly and I immediately lose sight of him.

We just spent twelve hours huddling together, talking and cuddling, and talked about this and that. It's always like that whenever we get together. We're in sync, and the world around us melts. We hear nothing other than our own voices. We feel nothing other than each other's lips. Clammy air and aching muscles are what we're left with afterwards.

My phone chimes, signaling that I have a new text. I smile, thinking that it's probably another sweet nothing words from him. But a guilty feeling immediately washes over me when I see the sender.

"I miss you. Can't wait to see you in the airport tomorrow. Take care, x."

And just like that, I am back again to the bittersweet reality that reminds me why I am madly in love with him. Maybe it's because of the fact that I realize from the beginning that nothing could ever work between us. Some says that this forbidden love thingy is the thing that keeps the spark alive. Something about a frantic combination about being stuck in this room with no air and wanting to get out. Between dying and gasping for life.

I should have told him to go home. To his lovely girlfriend. I should have told him about him. I should never have forgotten to wear my engagement ring before flying here. I should have told him that the only reason we met is nothing more that a big cosmic joke.

But I can't.

Too many lovers in one lifetime ain't good for you, Feist sings slowly in the background. I take a look around the Zen-like room and exhale with a heavy heart.

It's time to pack up. It's time to say goodbye.

From the corner of my eyes, I see the record that I have made wholeheartedly for him before flying here. It reminded me about the initial reason I was willing to go through all the troubles and flew thirteen hours straight just so I could hand this record to him.

The night before I came down here, I had a dream about him. I saw him standing there in the spot where I was supposed to see the guy I am engaged to. His smile was broad as he took the sight of me wearing my beautiful wedding gown.

Then I woke up. I woke up with a song newly made in my head. And I knew. I just knew. The next day, I was flying first class for the first time — just because the economy class was full — coast to coast only to see him with another woman. Oh well, what could I expect? Ten years have gone by. And really, we should have stopped there.

But no. Like a hopeless idiot, we indulge ourselves lighting our old sparks.

"Another day as a fool," I say with a smile. Somehow, although there is this sadness lingering in my heart that I cannot brush off, I know that I am grateful to see how far this sentimental, hopeless romantic fool can go.

I close my suitcase and drag it into the lift. Once I finish with the check-out process, I pretend as though I am forgetting some important stuffs. I take out the carefully wrapped CD from my handbag and hand it over to the receptionist, along with his cell number.

"My friend left it, but I have to catch my flight. Can you please call him and have him pick it up? It's important."

The receptionist smiles. "Of course."

I thank her and begin walking to the cab that awaits me outside, all the while thinking about what's going to happen to me. And to him. Again, I feel sentimental.

I pick up my cell and quickly dial his number. He has no idea that I am leaving, and I have no intention to tell him. But there is something that he needs to know.

He picks up immediately and as usual he greets me happily. It takes all my courage to find my voice and it takes all my strength not to break down. I hold the anchor in my heart with all my might.

"I love you," I say. "And I know how tragic, how sorry, how happy we are. But... I am glad to experience us with a little left sanity. So I'm not sorry."

"Well, you know that I love you, too," he says. "But... are you okay? Pardon me, but you sound a little nervous."

"I'm okay," I reply. Okay, that's it. We have to wave goodbye. Now. "I have to go now. Bye."

And without giving him a chance to say something, I turn off my phone.

"Being all alone is like the feeling you get when you stand at the mouth of a large river on a rainy evening and watch the water flow into the sea." — Haruki Murakami