Is not a secret that traveling and living abroad is so enriching because you are always meeting people and learning things. Buuuut, you’re also making room for new experiences and letting go of stuff you no longer have space for. And then, experiences of your past travels, and some friends will eventually disappear off your life. People that you met before don’t mean the same to you, you barely raise an eyebrow when someone mentions you their name. You feel nothing.
As easily as you lose something, you lose someone. Like that time you were looking for that earring you bought ages ago, and you just thought about it now, when you probably lost it already.
Yesterday, while I was out with my parents, I was wearing a ring that had two pearls. Without even touching it, one of the pearls fell to the floor, and although we looked for it for more than ten minutes, we couldn’t find it. I was devastated, and I knew it wasn’t because of the pearls.
At the risk of sounding repetitive, the pearl made me realize that as quickly as we loose things we loose experiences and we loose people. And as much as we want to, we can’t go back in time, we can’t go back to experiences, as we can’t go back to the things we don’t remember anymore.
Because of physics and metaphysics, we can’t go and knock on the door of that person you want to see so bad. You can’t undo things, as well as you can’t say those things you wished you wouldn’t have said. In summary, our hands are tied to the place we are right now, not to the place we were before. For better or for worse, that’s gone.
And what then? What about the memories? Your apartment? The coffee shop you left behind? Because some things you can bring, like pictures. But some others you have to leave there, just where they were. Like, you know, people.
In my year and a half of living abroad in England, I made friends; I learned things, I had a room and even a plant. Most of those things are now gone, and some of them are with me, inhabiting another space. A big part of those friends have relocated to other places, and we have lost touch. Another part of those friends, I speak to almost daily. My plant is safe. But I can’t help but wonder about the love I felt there. About all the emotions that overwhelmed me and made me happy and sad, almost as if they were taking turns. What about the tears? And the laughs?
Where do those emotions live?
I’m afraid we lose love too, that it changes and it makes itself smaller. Less significant. I’m afraid we lose it as quickly as I lost that pearl, without notice. But a friend here, in Colombia, what is my home (at least for now) told me that if love is real and if it meant something, it only gets bigger.
And I loved my time in England. And I
loved Love people in England. That must count for something, at least hopefully it means enough to preserve my feelings at least. And although I understand that things can’t be the same, they can be different, stronger. Like things usually are when they pass the test of time, physics, metaphysics, and God knows what else.
Love that is still there even when you don’t think about it, even when you think about it years later. Love, that whatever happens made you stronger.
This post comes after a very emotional period in my life, with lots of transitions that not always make me happy. But we’re always learning, right?
Do you have any similar stories? any similar experiences? Please share!