The Crossroad Friendships

Note: this is a scheduled post.



The more I come to think of it, the more I’d like to run off to the windy Wellington and forget everything that has happened here. Maybe he’s right; I will be as sunny and bright as the sun when I’m there (not specifically Wells; it can be some other place, I hope), spreading my infectious laughs to everyone.

But we’ll see whether it holds weight when I’ve permanently departed this place. Nothing’s been confirmed rock solid yet, but after with what I went through with Papa Carrie, I’m unsure if I’d want to inform the world (all of my friends, I mean) of the news as it might not make a difference after all, especially since not all of us are in constant talking terms. It’s not like a farewell meal will be specially organized for me with collages of pictures as memories/remembrances, that I can bet you. I know that if I were to silently slip out, certain parties will come to learn of it and tell me that if I had let them known in advance that I was leaving for good, we could all gather together for that one final meal. Right, as if my presence here matters.

As of now, it feels the same whether I’m in or out.



Now, sometimes I really wonder if I’m still the same person, especially since after I’ve been dealt too many worries and mistakes to deal with as a result of playing with the wrong deck of cards – in life. But it’s rather true; I was more lackadaisical back then, not caring about the future and living each day for what it’s worth. I’m now like a fish, barely staying afloat in the sea as I’ve too much running in my mind, my heart and fighting a battle with no sign of victory in the near distance but I can’t surrender my deck of cards as I’ve failed way too many times in the eyes of my parents.

But, yeah, since he doesn’t remember me, doesn’t remember that we once shared the same neighborhood as youngsters, I’m letting it slide off the surface even though Mama Carrie’s sure that he’s to remember this fact.

All I want him to do is to leave me alone if his memory of me has finally been invoked by something; it could be an aged photograph or even at the mention of our former neighborhood, which is now literally congested with nothing but residential properties. Just treat it as the friends in us have now turned into familiar strangers. I know it carries acidity in it, but there’s a chance that when I’ve left the building that I will never remember him at all, just like that time in Auckland when I had inadvertently forgotten everyone here.