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Crazy little thing called love, Life in the UK, Snippets of life, Thoughts

On the Memory of Christmas

I always say that I don’t know if last Christmas was a curse, or a gift. The day I met a stranger, danced with him, and fell in love. Of course, at first it was just a physical attraction, probably with a bit of help from the sangria and wine. Later on, the feeling built on, and before I knew it, I fell. Deep.

Summer was spent in total agony. I can’t remember how I made it through the entire season. I just remember how I relied on my friends to get through the day when it became too much to handle. Combined with dissertation, I could say that summer was everything but merry.

Before I realized, the colors changed and the temperature got colder. Gone was the summer, followed by the dreaded autumn, the time when everyone was leaving.

September came and so did the dissertation deadline, and finally, his departure. The past couple of weeks before that, I’d distanced myself from him, thinking that I could save myself from the pain if I saw him less. Three days before he left, we accidentally met and I was slapped by the reality. That after weeks of limited communication and meeting, I missed him no less than before and still, very much to that day, loved him with all my heart.

The day he left, the mixed up feeling took its toll on me. I was scared, hurt, and helpless, really didn’t know how I would take life without the flickering hope of bumping into him in the library or any other places. But at the same time, my hope was the biggest than it had ever been, that maybe after then I could really start to move on and put everything behind. It’s like I was dead, but very much alive at the same time. Probably like the Schrodinger’s cat before the box is opened.

But after he left, I was like living in a void. Everything looked and felt empty. Once I told my friend that it would be nice if I could switch off my heart when needed. I was so tired and beaten with the pain that I didn’t mind having no feeling at all. I didn’t mind not being able to feel how glee was, or joy, or love, as long as I could get rid of the pain.

Another Christmas is on its way now and as merry as it may sound, it only brings another pain when the memory of Christmas Eve and how we met haunts me again. I’m really afraid that now I won’t be able to see Christmas without a tinge of sadness and emptiness, that the smile I put on my face won’t be because of the excitement and happiness of welcoming the merriest time of the year, but merely a mask to shield what really is inside.

Sometimes I wish I had amnesia.

I hope that Everett’s theory on many-worlds interpretation was true. I don’t know if it was. Probably it is, even if that contradicts the superposition theory by Bohr, and thus, rejects the idea of the Schrodinger’s cat thought experiment. But with all my heart, I want it to be true. That for every action I didn’t take, there’s another output. Probably a better output. More than anything, I want to believe that there is a better version of this story that I’m completely unaware of. It doesn’t have to be a perfect picture of him and me together. No, that’s too much. But I’m thinking of everything that can be less painful than this, or better yet, no pain at all. Like, how could it be if I didn’t go to that Christmas party and we hadn’t met? Or how would it be if I had been there but had never fallen for him?

I really hope that in another universe, the other version of me is living a better life.

But for now, there’s nothing I want but to be okay again. Painless, happy, and free of the smiley mask which I sometimes have to put on to avoid the ‘What’s wrong?’ question.

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