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I remember quite vividly how hard I bawled that one night when I put away all these little keepsakes; how, at this very same spot, back when it was nothing but an empty basement with an old couch, I fell asleep crying, lingering on the sweet memories of the past that at the time brought me endless pain; I remember how at that time, I promised myself not to open the small box that contained all the remnants of the past two years, at least all that remained, all that I managed not to throw away. 

I told myself I would keep it hidden, away from my prying eyes and eager hands; away from that part of myself who wanted to relive those happy moments–even just in my mind, in my memory; away from myself who did not want to let go. It would be locked away until that day comes when I would no longer crave for the experience of anything–pain, or joy, or hurt, or gladness–anything that reminds me or connects me to that same person. 

For the longest time, I found myself unable to stop the tears that flowed at the thought of seeing all that remained from my failed relationship, and the irony at how the smallest and littlest of things enclosed inside that box were representative of the biggest turning point in my life, how those little keepsakes that, practically speaking, are insignificant and of no realistic value, became the most valued reminder of my reality, did not escape me. 

Those were all true until tonight, when for the first time in what seemed like forever, I found myself smiling at the thought of all the cute little moments those items carried with them; I found myself not bitter, or regretful, or resentful; instead, I felt quite fond of the memory, as if I was looking at a photo album that contained images of my past, recollecting what the stories are behind the pictures, with a kind of ease and peace of mind that was not present before.

Looking back, I wish I kept more things–photos, receipts, movie tickets, and what not–just to have something to look back on and remember the fun stories, the good old memories, those fleeting moments that were a huge part of my life at that time. From tonight on forward , (at this very same spot, which is no longer just a barren basement but my very own room fully equipped and furnished allowing maximum functionality LOL), I will remember how liberalizing it felt to be able to reread those letters and to see those sentimental items without any trace of hurt or regret. I learned that after some time, (and gosh, it took quite a long time!) you will reach a certain level of emotional and mental freedom to the point wherein there remains no room for any heartache or pain, anymore–all that you’re left with are a bunch of fond memories and ancient history.

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Moving On and Getting Over

John Mayer: The Search for Everything. April 17, 2017. Rogers Place.

I went to see John Mayer’s concert in Edmonton with my friends, and I remember how weeks before, one of my best friends urged me to write a post on my blog after the concert, hoping for me to reveal some of my innermost feelings and concerns she knows all too well that I’m burying deep inside. At first I laughed her off. But after finding out last night that John Mayer’s new album is entitled, “The Search for Everything,” I decided to give it a try. So here goes nothing.

By alone, I mean when I’m driving and then John Mayer’s Gravity starts playing on the radio…[and I remember] how that song is one of your favourites.

I thought the hardest part of moving on is forgetting about the person, letting them go and all the memories you shared–both the good and bad. I didn’t know, up until recently, that its actually letting yourself go, and eventually allowing yourself to love again, that is the most difficult part of it all.

It’s not to say that letting the other person go is easier. Rather, the difficulty is different in comparison: on one hand, letting go of the other person, means you no longer have to be connected with them–you severe that connection the moment you let go (or at least you try to); on the other hand, when you let go of yourself, you never lose that connection; rather, you become even more in touch with yourself, with your truest feelings.

And most of the time, it’s a great thing to know just what exactly it is that you want, and think, and feel. Knowing that it is time to say goodbye helps you prepare yourself for the future ahead; being aware that you want nothing but to get back together sets you up for what you should do next in order to get just that. But there are times when it sucks knowing, when all you can do is just that–to know. You cannot alleviate  the uneasiness because how are you supposed to not know something once you’ve known it? Even harder, how can you forget when its something that is directly about you, that directly concerns no one but just yourself?

And that is what I know. That I am afraid to love again. Or maybe that I cannot seem to allow myself to fall in love again. Or at least with the same depth, or same vulnerability–I do not want to let go of myself in the same manner as I did before. Because I was reserved and in control of my emotions, making sure my feelings were all in check. But I let myself go, and allowed myself to be free spirited, and it burnt me. And I cannot forget, because how can I forget something that is a part of me–that is me? How can I not know the extent at which I am willing to be broken once I have been there? How do I ignore what I have become as a result of what has transpired?

It’s not like I always think about these things all the time. It’s only on those rare occasions when I am confronted of certain things that do remind me of it, when a memory or an event triggers something inside this brain of mine. I am doing fine, great even. I spend more time with my friends, with family, going on road trips, concerts, and what not. I honestly am having what could possibly be the most thrilling, most adventurous, and most exciting year, yet. But just like what one of John Mayer’s songs say, “moving on and getting over are not the same, it seems to me.” And it’s only recently that I learned that’s how it is for me, too. The mind has forgotten, it’s gotten over the person; but the heart hasn’t moved on, and isn’t ready to let go, not necessarily of the person, but of the fears it had developed. I am genuinely happy, but I am not ready; I am not just whole yet.

The hardest, it seems to me, about this phase, is letting myself go.