Fucking Nostalgia

I often find myself looking back on my life through old pictures. There is something comforting about losing yourself in what used to be your life. Old places, old friends, old partners. It is impossible to block those old feelings from flooding your brain. I don’t necessarily miss those times in my daily life. Yes, a lot of things were great back then, but I am very pleased with where I am at today. However, it is weird to see things from my past perspective. Specially when it comes to my feelings back then. I can clearly see how confused I was and how lost I felt, yet I admire my own bravery navigating those situations. How did I manage to not be scared at all? I guess that being clueless was a good thing in those circumstances. I really didn’t realise where I was or what I was going through. Not everything was bad, obviously, we laughed plenty and loved even more. I don’t necessarily think we did it right, none of us, but we tried our best. That’s all you can ask from 17-year-olds, right? I am not sure. We were bold, loud, lost, oblivious… honest. We were honest. There was this special intensity to the way we communicated and acted. Everything was life or death. We had this sense of urgency. Time is ticking. Tick. Tack. Tick, Tack. The white rabbit wouldn’t have stood a chance against our rush against time. I see things differently now. There is no storm in my sea, tsunamis are long gone. I am sitting in the sand, just painting a different sunset (as always). My mind is not creating waves anymore, there is no wind. And I can finally see you clearly again. We were great. We wanted the best for each other, we just didn’t realise we weren’t it on time. Tick. I am sorry. I didn’t understand anything myself; it would have been impossible to explain it back then. Do I miss you? No, I wouldn’t say so. I miss the way we connected naturally; I miss our trust. But I know we destroyed that a long time ago. I will cherish our positives as treasures stolen from a pirate boat forever, we were there for each other. Thank you. Tack. You asked me not to forget you. How could I? If I had had a map, I would have died looking for the X, you bet. Nevertheless, I didn’t obsess over this. I am ok with our memories; I learned a lot from you and us. I wouldn’t want to forget that, ever. They say that if we forget history, we are bound to repeat it endlessly. I think they are right. I have seen myself acting like we did. It wasn’t pretty. The sea is too big for all of it to be pretty, but it is ideal to explore and learn. To lose yourself navigating and making allies. Nevertheless, there is a part of you that will always be with me, almost like a shadow that I can only catch a glance from out of the corner of my eye. I don’t miss you, but I love you just as much as always. You are not forgotten; I am just flooded with this fucking nostalgia and the truth I have constructed: that you are not part of my present anymore. What happened to you? Which sea are you exploring now? You should know I still keep the cowries. You should know I did it for us, both. Irene Ojeda Pérez