9.09 a.m.

It's not often that I'm up and about this early.

9.09 a.m. and I've already ran the errants I had woken up this early to do. i.e. picked up my journal from my lecturer. I rocked up early because I wanted to catch him alone, so I could express how freaked out I am about the open-ended essay question. I really hate them. They make me feel so insecure.

My lecturer, he's a nice guy. An extremely nice one. Perhaps he could see how freaked out I am, despite me trying to preserve a calm composure. He reassured me to just go ahead with whatever I had in mind, and I will be fine. *Breathe* Ok, I'll take his word for it. It was more of a therapeutic session than an academic one. Kind of hilarious, in hindsight.

9.09 a.m. I didn't want to head home and be stuck in the rut that I've been living in for the past 2 days. The thought of inhaling the same stale air stresses me out. And living in nest of scrap papers is depressing. I decided to do what I don't usually do. Sit in the park.

I knew I did the right thing to have layered up more than I usually need. The winter chills was nice under all the warmth. The sun, oh, how long have I not seen you. It's so nice to just sit and enjoy these simple pleasures of nature.

I sat and prayed a little, thought a little, and breathe. Breathing is what I lack most of the time. Hence, the anxiety attacks. Breathe, and the world seems like a better place. Breathe, and suddenly I feel thankful for my lecturer's assurance. Now I feel like I can do it. Rather than crumbling in self-pity.

I watch as the 401 buses drive pass, one after another. I really miss taking that bus. I use to rave about how it's the best thing when it comes to public transport, cause it really helped me save time when I traveled thrice a week for dance training in the north side of Melbourne. Then I frown at the thought of dance.

I can't say I don't have a life here. Most of the last 6 years of my adult life is here. Even the bus from across the street marks my commitment, my passion and my grief. It's funny how watching the bus drive by can suddenly make me feel like I do have roots in this place. I have history here.

Airport nostalgia

When I got off of the plane and made my way through Sydney Airport, a sense of familiarity dawned on me. I've been to Sydney multiple times, but this familiarity wasn't one of prehistorical recollection. It felt recent.

Then it hit me.

It was last month.

Exactly one month ago, we rushed from the international terminal to the virgin blue counter only to be told that we have missed our flight. We, were still fresh then. We, didn't realize the trials and tribulations reality could put us through. We, probably never thought 'we' will end so soon.

Hidden away

When the city began to appear dull again, it reminded me why I liked it in the first place.

Little Latrobe

Just friends

I've moved through the grieving process surprisingly quick. By day three I was ready to get back to reality to 'be friends'. I thought I should make an exception this time. I thought I should get to know him better at a platonic level.

But of course, it never is that simple. We launch into conversation quite comfortably. It's as though nothing ever happened. It's as though we're still dating. I have to admit I enjoy the comfort in it. But simultaneously, I am deluding myself of a reality I can only wish was true. I am feeding myself a comfort that is merely a state of my mind.

It's not real. We're no longer together, and never will be. Keep telling yourself that.

I was talking to Christine. She prompted me, are you sure? Are you sure you can be friends?

I reckon...
I secretly hope that this will develop into something more but with a steadier foundation in our friendship.
I secretly hope that he will eventually love me for my personality and not the superficial facade that he currently admires.
I secretly hope that 'being friends' is the way to erase our mistake of leaping into dating so quickly.
I secretly hope that this could be a fresh start for something magical, something more than friends.

Each morning, I wake up to the harsh reality, awakened from my dream. My mind runs through the reality checklist and I remind myself that it's over. It could very well be over, forever.

Can we really be... just friends?

The day we met...

Before our tour, our professor told us how this tour has historically seen many couples hooked up. That wasn't hard to imagine. Such things are bound to happen when a group of people are stuck together for 3 whole weeks. I just never imagined it happening to me.

It was our first day. With just a shower to recover from our 30-hour worth of flights and transits, we commenced our itinerary. Boston Common and a brief walking tour around the city. JFK Museum and subway tripping.

In the evening, we had some free time. Somehow the both of us ended up together. With a shared ambition to look for the bench dedicated to the 'dog man' (as we called him, probably not a very respectful term), we took a walk along Commonwealth Avenue. The reason 'dog man' had any significance to us was because this article was included in our course reader. He symbolized the urban poverty and homelessness that is masked by Boston's prosperous facade.

Our first attempt down was an absolute failure. It was only towards the end of the avenue that we noticed the little piece of metal plate at the corner of each bench, most of them buried under dirt. On our second trip down the avenue, I noticed how every bench is dedicated to somebody. It gives a lot of depth to the community I merely shared a brief contact with during my time in Boston.

In the end, we found the bench we were looking for.

Simple

I miss that day
that day at Soho
when you caught me staring into a chocolatier
you asked if I wanted some ice cream
I said it's ok
you somehow knew I wanted some

I didn't tell you this
but I was secretly beaming on the inside

that was the day I decided I kinda liked you

A month later
I'm home alone
missing that beautiful day at Soho

when we were still only friends

when things between us
were so uncomplicated