Spring has come, and I have a point where everything plateaus, even expectations of something useful to come. It has been a week after all, and all blends into the same thing. F has been here for a month, and right now he is away at some Punjab restaurant with hopes for a job, whatever pays. This and a potential job in Hamburg, which both of us sort of fantasise about.
People become old news very quickly, and I have somewhat forgotten and normalise to my new surroundings. I just need to be out and breathe the fresh air a bit more, now that spring has come and the days are getting longer and daylight saving time is on. The flowers have fully bloomed, and I have an essay to submit in 12 hours and a German exam to sit this Friday. F and I made plans for Hamburg on Saturday, and maybe a picnic of sorts on Sunday morning. I need to constantly make myself happy.
F told me something yesterday, that it is nice to see sometimes a side of me that I would never show to another, childish (or infantile, I would call it). I tell him I am always jealous that he is always happier when he is with friends. But I choose what I say and how I present to them. Okay, I say. He smokes a cigarette a day these days, when he discovered an ashtray that I have mistaken for a bowl. We imagine ourselves as Frank and Claire, and stare outside the window, sometimes at the sky, sometimes at a neighbour whose window we just noticed, sometimes into the dead branches.
When Anas called me last week, which I saw coming at some point, I couldn’t help but to recall what I did to F before. But of course, we had a happy ending, of course. She left me at the peak of my love to her. I wanted to make myself ready, prepared, you know, before I meet the family. Why couldn’t she hold out a bit longer, at least? We were this close. She had been cold to me for a while. I tried to change, and I did, but it was too late, apparently. There were never any problems. What she saw as misunderstanding, I see as two people stating their opinions. I told him I didn’t know what’s going through her mind, but to leave her figure her own self, and to pick himself up. F glares to me while I say all this, sometimes taking turns typing. Tell him I’m here if he needs someone to talk to.
perkaraperkara 