For my entire childhood, I carried an umbrella with me everywhere, and now carrying this one item seems to either slow me down or weigh me down. It annoyed me that I could feel the rain soak through to my socks. I battled the oncoming crowd, weaving through puddles. The faster I walked, the faster it rained. My hair will be a mess, I thought to myself, even though the person I’m meeting wouldn’t care.
I leave my drenched coat at the front and follow the slender hostess to my table. She’s untouched by the elements outside. I’m suddenly jealous of her sleek bun. I sink into my seat and begin fixing the parts of me that were disturbed by the rain. I’m early, I needed to be. I needed time to gather my thoughts, but an uneasiness began blanketing my skin.
Other than the weather here, it seems things have changed. Not so much the place itself, or the people, but something has changed. I painstakingly avoid the fact that perhaps it could be me. I changed. We all walk into our past at some point. Going back to a time when you once thrived. It doesn’t matter so much why, when, and how you moved on, but you did. It was a younger version of yourself, one that had no idea you would move on. That version made different choices, led a different lifestyle, and had different dreams.
I gained so much from the different places I’ve been in my lifetime. I became worldly for lack of better terms. I didn’t forget what I left behind, but I did always wonder about the people that I left; why staying where they were was enough for them. Moving away was adventurous to say the least, but the spontaneity slowly began to create a daunting episode, too. Opportunity knocks not for everyone, and comfort plays a major role in one’s life. Familiar surroundings and loved ones make it hard to separate from. They sometimes become the reasons that prevent us from walking through the open door.
I gaze up at the familiar face. The smile reveals how life has aged us. We walked a path together for some time, and then life had different plans for us. I’ve seen ones whose looks have changed, but the inside is the same, and others who look the same, but I no longer recognize the soul. She takes a call as I sit back and listen to her conversation. It’s been a while, and yet I know nothing much has really changed.
Some of us left our countries to build a new life, or to make the most of an even better one. We risked our home and left our family. Others left because opportunities were presented. We bargained with fate. And then there was me, I left because there was no other option in my favor. I have no desire to be back here, to be a part of the team, or even to be a team player. It was justifiable when I once called this my home, but that was another life. She asked me over again to reconsider my future, and I told her no one’s future is written in stone, not even ours.
Our drinks arrive, and I gaze out of the window. Passersby run for shelter from the rain. I worried about the people I left behind. The ones who stay become comfortable until they, too, feel imprisoned. No one has it easy, not them, not us. Every person leaves a piece of their heart behind somewhere, and every person who stays sends a piece of theirs away. At times, I found solace listening to the voice on the other end, and other times I found peace in being detached.
I glance up at the mature face that hasn’t stopped chatting. Stories of people, past events, and our children are narrated. They have also left. My children, to begin new beginnings and to choose a life they see fit for themselves. There is a difference between our generations. We were sandwiched, and making choices became hard and hurtful. My children never thought as much as I. I gave them reasons to leave and put on a front that made them believe I’d be ok if they left. I was successful at being that mother, and now that very success is hard to swallow. The truth is, we are never ok. In years to come, as we mature, life plays games with us, and we suddenly wish things hadn’t changed.
The rain subsides a little as we hold on to each other in an embrace that leaves me heavy. We had the best times, but as with everything in life, time moved on. I crack a joke to disturb the emotions, and we laugh. As we go our separate ways, I wish I had held on a little longer, to her, to my children, to my parents, to my childhood. I lift my umbrella and walk the other way. Suddenly, it doesn’t feel so bothersome anymore, carrying this weight above me. No one will live my life for me; I carried my weight, all on my own. I remember the words of my father as I watch the raindrops fall from the edge of my umbrella. “Enjoy the moments where you are, you will never get the same time back”. Just like the raindrops, they never fall twice.
