On June 24.
Exactly one month ago, at about this point of time, I was intently looking at myself in the mirror in my long green skirt and cream corset top, wondering if he'd like it. I tied my sweater 17 different times, and debated whether or not I should wear my tiger-print cowboy hat. "I'm wearing pigtails and a cowboy hat," I'd say, "I'm practically invincible." However, I decided to go hat-less which left a good part of me vulnerable and shaking at the ever so steady march towards 11:30 PM. I practiced my twirl in case I should ever have to twirl in the airport for any reason at all. It might as well be the best twirl in the history of all twirls, and by God, I didn't pick out this skirt for no ordinary reason.
As I found myself in the airport, I wish I had finished knitting my Gryffindor scarf because I so needed Harry Potter more than ever before. "This is it," echoed the unshakable voice in my head. But he was different, and I was braver, but mostly he was different and unforgettable and I decided long, long ago (an hour after we met in an entry that no longer exists), and that I , in fact, love him... and his possible (unthinkable, unbearable) disdain towards me will not put a dent in that rock-hard truth.
Seconds closed the distance as I paced around the waiting room like a lunatic, periodically collapsing against the walls and kicking luggage carts for instant boosts of stamina and confidence. The wise advise of my taekwondo master repeated in my head. Scream. Scream loud with all your might while attacking and you forget what you're doing, and suddenly you're nothing more than a massive... mass.. of unstoppable force hurling yourself into the heart/solar plexus of your own fear/opponent/situation-in-need-of-conquering. But I was breathless and weak, and I was in my very own recurring dream where I'm attacking a punching bag but my arms are jello, and my bones are Twizzlers. I was losing against my own pessimism and counted all the ways I could disappoint him as my pigtails bounced uselessly to the beat of my step as I paced towards the monitor which confirmed the arrival of his flight.
The waiting room was full of people who sat calmly at their chairs like this is the most un-scariest thing in the world, and they turned to me for entertainment. This is so unlike me, I thought. This is so unlike me to do really scary things. The world kept spinning, and I should stop it, I thought. I should stop time, and be scared later. I should stop time, and be scared later. And so it stopped as he walked through the doors and walked towards my direction like he planned it all along. My legs regained their blood flow as they walked themselves towards this boy who smelled like airplanes and skies and stars. My arms threw themselves around him like they knew what to do all along. And I was in the air, literally, in full, magnificent, well-practiced twirling action. The audience wanted to clap, but they were frozen in awe and jealousy.
"Let's make June 24th: Winnipeg Airport our official the-day-we-met anniversary," Zach once suggested, but we decided to stick with January 19th: Aerish's Journal. However, if we decided on June 24th, tonight would have marked 1 month. Or technically, 6 months, 4 days, and 11 hours.
So you see... I'm not saying the moral of the story is good things happen if only you allow yourself the courage to take it on because mostly, they don't. However, if a good thing is meant to happen, you will be drawn to it despite pointless girly fears. Time will stop, and you will fall apart and each part of your dismantled being will do something on its own and amaze you with its ability to know exactly what it was meant to do all along. Time will eventually move on in terms of ages and expiry dates, but secretly, it doesn't, and that's how you know you're in this "forever" thing you keep promising all the time.
As I found myself in the airport, I wish I had finished knitting my Gryffindor scarf because I so needed Harry Potter more than ever before. "This is it," echoed the unshakable voice in my head. But he was different, and I was braver, but mostly he was different and unforgettable and I decided long, long ago (an hour after we met in an entry that no longer exists), and that I , in fact, love him... and his possible (unthinkable, unbearable) disdain towards me will not put a dent in that rock-hard truth.
Seconds closed the distance as I paced around the waiting room like a lunatic, periodically collapsing against the walls and kicking luggage carts for instant boosts of stamina and confidence. The wise advise of my taekwondo master repeated in my head. Scream. Scream loud with all your might while attacking and you forget what you're doing, and suddenly you're nothing more than a massive... mass.. of unstoppable force hurling yourself into the heart/solar plexus of your own fear/opponent/situation-in-need-of-conquering. But I was breathless and weak, and I was in my very own recurring dream where I'm attacking a punching bag but my arms are jello, and my bones are Twizzlers. I was losing against my own pessimism and counted all the ways I could disappoint him as my pigtails bounced uselessly to the beat of my step as I paced towards the monitor which confirmed the arrival of his flight.
The waiting room was full of people who sat calmly at their chairs like this is the most un-scariest thing in the world, and they turned to me for entertainment. This is so unlike me, I thought. This is so unlike me to do really scary things. The world kept spinning, and I should stop it, I thought. I should stop time, and be scared later. I should stop time, and be scared later. And so it stopped as he walked through the doors and walked towards my direction like he planned it all along. My legs regained their blood flow as they walked themselves towards this boy who smelled like airplanes and skies and stars. My arms threw themselves around him like they knew what to do all along. And I was in the air, literally, in full, magnificent, well-practiced twirling action. The audience wanted to clap, but they were frozen in awe and jealousy.
"Let's make June 24th: Winnipeg Airport our official the-day-we-met anniversary," Zach once suggested, but we decided to stick with January 19th: Aerish's Journal. However, if we decided on June 24th, tonight would have marked 1 month. Or technically, 6 months, 4 days, and 11 hours.
So you see... I'm not saying the moral of the story is good things happen if only you allow yourself the courage to take it on because mostly, they don't. However, if a good thing is meant to happen, you will be drawn to it despite pointless girly fears. Time will stop, and you will fall apart and each part of your dismantled being will do something on its own and amaze you with its ability to know exactly what it was meant to do all along. Time will eventually move on in terms of ages and expiry dates, but secretly, it doesn't, and that's how you know you're in this "forever" thing you keep promising all the time.