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I made it to the northern lands. This is my hero's welcome.
On top of that, there was popcorn, and chocolate chip cookies, and tea, and granola bars. It's a shame they didn't last long enough to be photographed. The city is beautiful. It smells of fresh earth. Foliage is everywhere. Ducks run through the park by the lake. The horizon is littered with cranes and construction sites. The market downtown thrives with art and life. The streets are wide and everything is oversized. It's a good place to call home.
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I departed at 4 PM, in a flurry of last-minute packings.

My ride to the airport was a very comfortable van just for myself. My driver, codenamed 28, kept requesting to speak with his buddy (or pal, or mistress) 32. After several calls, he found out that 32 wasn't going to be online that day, and settled for 12 instead. I found the whole affair rather cute.

Once at the airport, I met my dad for the last time. I was pleased to see that he hadn't betrayed me and brought my mom. Good man.

We had nothing to talk about, since everything had already been discussed; yet, we talked anyway, until time ran out.

I came on the plane to find that my seat had been taken. Luckily, the lady therein kindly conceded my ownership of the seat and moved to the adjacent one.

As the plane began to move, I began singing inspirational songs from musicals in my head. I have a dream / A song to sing... The swirling paths formed by the airport lights eventually coalesced into that one bright and hopeful landing strip. This is my quest / To follow the star / No matter how hopeless / No matter how far... Tremors shook the plane, intensifying second by second, until suddenly, they stopped all at once, and we were weightless. I'm flying high, defying gravity...

I will never forget the sight of my city from a bird's eye view. The city lights were spread out below me like a bright orange flower bed. Big and small. I am on my way.

Boxes

Aug. 27th, 2014 12:00 pm
farawaytimes: (Default)
It's packing day. I'm sitting before two cardboard boxes: one for the things I want to bring along with me; one for the things I want to leave behind, but still keep for old time's sake.

In the first go my drawing supplies, office supplies, electronics, cat pictures, good books and miscellaneous adapter cables. In the second go my power cables (they're not going to work up north), trading card games, unused notebooks and books I don't like that much but that would be a crime to get rid of.

Everything else - bad sketches, expired medicine, scratched DVDs - goes into the trash, to be forever lost.

I'm holding a tarp bag just large enough to hold all the little trinkets and letters Julia sent me. Which box should I put it in?

Which box should I put Julia in?



Not in the trash, for sure. I don't have the heart.

I will happily throw away everything I have no use for, except beautiful things. I don't have the heart to let go of beautiful things, even after their beauty has become just a memory. I keep pictures of cats long past; I keep my dad's little gifts even though he doesn't remember giving me most of them; I keep a marbled stone from every trip to the beach; I keep the best of my childhood toys, comic books, pencils; everything I ever felt strongly for.

I don't have the heart to let go of Julia. She was my fairytale come true. Believing in fairytales is naive, they all said, but we were going to prove them all wrong.

I still want to believe in us, even if just for the sake of believing in something impossible. Martyr complex, maybe? Or maybe I just think we should all try to believe in the impossible. After all, taking action towards impossible things sometimes makes them a little less impossible.

Either way, if I'm going to believe, I'd rather believe from afar, just in a corner of my head. Actually interacting with Julia only makes everything worse and changes me into a more bitter person because it reminds me of all the affection and trust we've lost and may never get back. I need to cut my losses. I won't let idealism drive me to the point of self-destruction. That was my dad's mistake; it won't be mine.



One of Julia's gifts was a teddy bear. He came with a soulmate; a patch of velcro in their paws allowed them to hold hands, and magnets in their snouts allowed them to kiss. They were fated to reunite one day. They would run to each other in slow motion, romantic music would play from out of nowhere, and they would join in an emotive embrace. That bear represented Julia's commitment to me.

He's going in the first box. I'm bringing him along. But not necessarily to be reunited with his bride. I know he can survive without her, he can see the world without her. He stands for independence now.

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