Strange, probably coincidental, that two people would ask me to watch the same movie because, they said, one of the characters reminded them of me.  Good thing I was able to download a copy of it online; it saved me from going to the cinemas.  (That meant getting myself out of the bed during the long weekend, which I had no intention of doing.) 

The story unfolded non-linearly jumping between days and events like a jumbled recollection of someone trying to make sense of what had happened.  A hazy, summery dream of some kind of love affair that was never quite defined and never went anywhere. 

After watching the movie, I went on to watch a TV series, a sitcom that required very little brain activity.  Then I read a few pages of a fantasy novel, a cosmic absurdity.  And then I slept.

The next day I went out for a walk, went to church, sat and prayed in a chapel.  I lighted a candle when I got back.  Three years and eight months.  I remember something from that time.  I was in the airport with my parents.  Just before we boarded the flight, my mom took my hand and told me to put up a brave front.  Funny how I had carried it through the years, never having learned to unlearn it.

Thinking about it, that's all it was: a front.  Some shield or armor that--while it has protected me from some things--has kept a lot of things at bay.  I've maintained distance to objectify experiences, try things out of curiosity, but never really gotten involve in anything that I couldn't let go of.  

This, I guess, was the side effect of being forcibly torn from whatever attachments I've had: I can't get myself to hold on to anything.  Not when I've seen how fast things can change; how transient things really are.  I never exerted any effort to make anyone stay.  Especially if I couldn't be certain of anything.

I lighted another candle, placed it under a molded container and put a few drops of potpourri oil.  I picked up the fantasy novel and started reading where I left off.  I wanted not to think about heavy things.  But the weekend--what it meant, what it tried to commemorate--made it hard for me not to unearth things I have never forgotten.  In the background, a song was playing.

You go to war for love like a soldier, I wanna run away.  You're never scared to walk through the fire, I wish I had your faith.  I'm so afraid to lay down my armor.  I'm not brave.  

At the back of my head, echoes from the movie I had seen the night before ran.

I just woke up one day and I knew.

Knew what?

What I was never sure of with you.

I continued reading.  I haven't reached that point yet.