palm sunday
today, i woke up with the sun. it's the first day of holy week. palm sunday. it's the last week of lent. weekends are for laundry. i didn't go on saturday. i put off laundry until today since it's typically full no matter where i go on saturdays. i'd have a better chance on a sunday morning, since many will be at church.
on the way to the laundromat, i drove by the church where i was baptized. i thought about stopping by, but my church clothes weren't clean.
yesterday, i almost lost my apartment. around sundown, the building next door caught fire. a small, metal warehouse. chemical fire, most were saying. others were saying it was electrical. i wasn't home most of the afternoon. my roommate and i were running errands. when we got back, the transformer was being cooked alive; i've never seen popcorn that lit up until that moment.
the driveway was blocked off. the fire was contained to the building next door. the building is less than a meter apart from mine. i'm not sure if it would have been a relief if it were any further away. i do know that the windows were left open to the east--the back of the unit--and smoke occupied all rooms until the fire trucks left, their unspoken gesture that it was alright to return.
the air didn't smell natural. by this time, it was nearly midnight. the power was going to be out for another eight hours at a minimum, we (tenants) were told. no air conditioning, and my roommate and i didn't have anywhere to stay on short notice. the apartment wasn't technically uninhabitable. my roommate and i slept in the rooms closer to the east--the front of the unit. smoke lingered as an uninvited guest. at least the night was cool.
noon, sunday. i'm getting pad thai as my first meal of the day. i finally felt hungry after a morning of feeling stuffy and a night of tossing and turning. i knew that i felt ill from the residual fallout of burnt chemicals and painted sheet metal.
chicken pad thai, lunch special. the table next to me asked the server if any dish can be made vegetarian. i usually get tofu, but opted for chicken. chicken has zinc and zinc helps me feel better when i'm under the weather.
the pad thai was delicious but congestion affected my appetite enough. i ate what i could. i left a nice tip.
the pressure from one of the fire hoses cracked, not broke, my kitchen window--about an inch of water sits in the casement. i have a flattened snowglobe i can't access now.
i'm showering with soot and soap. the fire roared enough to melt one of my shampoo bottles. i couldn't smell much of my clean skin. i still carry the milky aftertaste of chemical congestion. as i rinse my hair, blackened flakes drip into the drain. this is the only evidence i have of standing as close to the fire as the fire fighters let me. the rest hides in my lungs.
i arrived to the café early. i was supposed to catch up with an old friend here yesterday, but my day started off late then, and we rescheduled to sunday afternoon.
on saturday, the sun woke me up and i stayed up. it was about seven in the morning. a stark contrast from the day after. i slept through the morning soon after thinking i would stay up for good. i wasn't sad or particularly spent. the usual suspects weren't as loud lately--an anticipatory anxiety about something, or the placeholder anxiety that is being anxious because there's nothing to be anxious about. it was one of those days where i had a considerable sleep debt and it caught up to me, and lassitude watched me at the foot of my bed.
i woke up on sunday still in this self-imposed limbo of an uncertain uncertainty. it carried over from the prior morning to the next--a weekend of doubt. i didn't know where my life was headed. i wasn't sure if my friends will stay my friends today, tomorrow. i didn't know what a career looked like for me. i felt like i didn't have enough time. i thought of these things in the café with a clarity that can only be ushered in by the proximity to an almost-tragedy.
i ordered a masala chai latte with oat milk. i wasn't phased by the barista not being particularly warm but not rude either. i get it. service work is what it is. and it's a sunday. i wasn't bothered by the barista bringing my drink to me without much of a word. i peered at my cup upon arrival: cinnamon dust over the top of the spiced meniscus, with some powdering the ceramic rim and saucer--my favorite genre of a drink ordered "for here" and not "to-go."
i'm sitting in the parking lot of the laundromat. i tell my beloved about the laundry i'm waiting to finish washing. he tells me about his day. he sends photos and video clips of a day well-spent with his friends. my phone is plugged in, and i'm playing music while reading his messages, some in real time. it's around midnight for him. it's still morning for me.
in between messages, when i see his typing indicators stay put, i think of the state of things, of the state itself imposing travel restrictions. it's harder for people to leave. it's harder for people to come in. it's harder for people who came in to leave. the other day, he expressed hesitation on visiting me this year, a hesitation i both understood and resented--not a resentment towards him, no. it was a resentment redirected towards the source. it's outside of our control.
today, he tells me about his day as my car speakers hum, "when you're feeling safe in your skin, maybe we'll meet again."
my friend arrived at the café. he hasn't seen me since my hair was shoulder length. it's approaching the small of my back now. that was quite some time ago. that meant that we had quite a lot to catch up on. i tell him i'm terrible at following up, and i need reminders. i have been meaning to message him for well over a few years. i'm glad he had the same number. i only messaged him because i wrote it out on a sticky note the night before: "text him!" i brought this up with the intention to be a better friend by staying in touch, whatever that shall look like for us. it looks different for every friend, after all.
he talked about his partner and cross-country moves and life events. i talked about my own life events, where i've been, where i've yet to be, even if i don't know where that could be just yet. i caught myself talking about my aching heart, a bit embarrassed, but he's engaged and insists with his undivided attention that i can vent after i ask. i say i don't know if it's venting, but i tell him how it's frustrating that i'm at a point with this person i love where being together isn't such an amorphous concept, and then it's harder to see him all of a sudden, and i have no idea who to talk to about this.
he empathizes with his own experiences that shed light on patience and barriers that, albeit with a shorter distance, tested him and his partner. they just celebrated their ten-year anniversary. i tell him, "you ever just know you want to do mundane shit with someone for a very long time? like you just know?" he nods. he knows what i mean. he knew, too, with his partner, the moment that told him that what they had was real. i pause, in my mind, thinking, "is forever a better word? it is." i resume, speaking,
"there's no other way to put it than you just know. i don't need extravagant getaways with itineraries--though i don't mind those, but, you know what i mean. it's not a deal breaker if we don't go to such-and-such for vacation every year. i just know i want to wake up next to him every day."
i'm surprised at saying that last sentence out loud. my friend is smiling. he's smiling the same smile i've seen in those i've confided in about this person. it's the kind of smile that says, "you have a shine to you, and this person is bringing this out. it looks good on you. you're happy in a way i've never seen from you but knew you were capable of feeling."
and just like that, the café is closing for the day. before i get in my car, i tell him to nudge me if i don't reply. sometimes i forget. sometimes he might forget. we're adults. it happens. he says he's glad we reconnected. i tell him the same. i think of all the friends i have now and how i'm happy to be connected after all these years.
when i woke, i thought of things that happened before, during, and after the fire. i pored over them some more at the café. i felt my thoughts on such things shifting throughout the day. at the time of writing them, halfway through my masala chai, i wrote them as i remember thinking them without clarity, and responded to them with clarity:
where do i go from here? what do i do with a diploma that sits unframed in storage?
you don't need to have it figured out right now. start by getting it framed.
i don't feel like there's enough time.
the time will pass, anyways. keep going.
i feel like i communicate weird. i come off as cold and withholding. i'm just afraid of saying the wrong thing.
being warm takes effort. just ask if you're unsure. social cues are hard but they don't have to be.
i feel sniffly, still. my country is the only industrialized nation without universal healthcare.
allergy pill. play it by ear.
this same country is making it near impossible to see the one i love.
you've seen "the gorge." take it one day at a time. you're already doing this, both of you are, and very well. you're closer to him than you think.
it's the first day of holy week.
i don't pray often, but i have been praying more than ever.