On despair and recovery.

It was April 19, 2016.

Almost summer in Russia, yet still a bit chilly. I imagined myself being so stress with my thesis, my supervisor, but mostly with my Russian that had not improved in two and a half year. I was so frustrated, I felt so dumb, yet I had not felt numb yet. I still felt I had hope, future is something I was so excited about - though uncertain but at least I could cope. It was probably the beginning of my self destruction in years followed, something I had no idea what it was until 2019.

I am sitting at the airport in West Sumatra right now, waiting for the gate to be opened. It was meant to be four days vacation but I decided on my third day to check my revision and finished it right away. I feel somehow fulfilled when I finish a task, silly me, I let my job defines who I am. On my way to the airport I was trying to find the letter you wrote me about hope, about having a hope. I felt the urge to read it as recently I found my purpose again in life, and by finding ones purpose means finding new hope, and finding new hope means to feel alive again. As I scrolled, I found an email with the subject 'on despair and recovery', it's our correspondence on April 2016. I sent you a picture of me with my ex-boyfriend's cat, and of course, you didn't know it was his nor do I think you would care. What surprised me was before the photo of me with the cat, there was one hidden email that I really couldn't recall reading. Given the missing context, I completely lose the emotion you tried to share with me during that hard time. But I remember we talked almost all the time, and when I was in Moscow we had this probably 5 hours of skype call? Right after I woke up til I had lunch, and I sent you a goodbye Russia email on my last night in Moscow, after watching Me Before You for a million of times.

What happened with you back then? To remember myself three years ago, even through skype call, I don't think I could give any appropriate respond to your email - which left me wonder why in the world would you stay, I was no help. You were in such great despair, and all I could think about probably at that moment was how to finish my thesis soon enough so I could be free. You've always been with me, never once you left, but it had never been the other way around.

Reading your email today makes me wish to be, at least, three years older when we first met. I thought I was so mature for my age, but look I much I relied on you throughout the year. There was no reply from me for that email, even after you poured your heart out, still, I didn't see the necessity of asking 'What is it about your past that you haven't told me? What happened last summer that I don't know? Are you okay? Do you want to share it with me? Do you think my next plan should be the States? Why don't we talk about the chance of me going and staying in the States?' I always told him I wanted to go back to Europe, he nodded, he thought I was meant for staying in Europe. You've always been in me, but after losing you, only did I know that I had never once showed you that you were.

I've always been so selfish, and I still am. I just don't know why should I know? I rarely ask question, maybe because I get so comfortable with myself that myself becomes the only thing that matters. Oh what a bitch! I learn so much from your departure. If people ask me about what I learned the most about 2019, that would be learning to relearn about myself all over again. It's true when my friends told me I'm being a bitch; it's also true when my best friend told me the reason fuckboys linger around me is simply because I am one of them, I am one of those fuckgirls like it or not; I'm selfish as fuck that maybe I really need to start asking question. Fake it til you make it, though my consciousness tells me not to care, but maybe I could rely on my subconscious self, which hopefully better than my true self. Does that make sense?

I don't know how you did it, but even after your passing, you continue to shed light upon my path. On each and every second I spent thinking, about life, and myself, I tried to trace back your words to help me go through the day and how fucking blessed I am to have them! I never thought that our exchange words could play such a really huge role in my adult life.

Have I recovered? I don't know. Maybe not entirely, but I'm on my way to get there. At least, like you said, I have hope - and I know, in the face of great despair, I should ask more question.

And maybe someday, we will dance together again

with that velvety sky and Kid Cudi playing on the background.