The Hope That Keeps on Giving

How I may have managed to zap through the past week beats even me. I outdid myself. Took some extra hours at the office that even the HR officer made a joke out of me, asking me to go check my blood stream for steroids or opium, since the picture of me being so enthusiastic about work wasn’t all too familiar. I do very much have an interest in what I do; might not be up to the measure to define me as passion-driven, but I’m not also at the spot that would have me resort to the baseline of getting it done all for the sole purpose of survival. Before now, I had zero awareness that ineffectual hobbies are actually the real deal if you truly wanted to accelerate the way time moves. I had placed so much emphasis on stuff like my workout plan, visiting the museum, ordering coffee at the café, and studying at the nearby library; for winding up time and to make sure my days were less miserable than my life. Apparently, each activity seemed to have helped me cope but I still couldn’t boast of so much self-satisfaction. It felt like I was stashed up in a box, restricted to my confined space if I wanted to be normal or feel relaxed. My broad-way to freedom as it would appear.

The decision to start something came when I had not gotten a response three days after I sent the postcard. There was this surge of anxiety that prompted me to do so. The mailing company set an estimated time of arrival for the postcard to be within 48 hours, which was the average considering all factors, so it made sense that by the third day, she must have received it. The “delivery successful” message I received from the company which I sieved to the starred section of my e-mail was further proof of that. On the second day after I had sent it, there was a gush of contemplation surrounding my thinking, it was a bit of everything; how (or if) she would react, respond, and reply. So, by the third day, it felt like there was this harrowing silence from her, maybe too early to tell and she would also need time to process and come up with something to do, even if she was going to rid my words and foil my attempt at trying to kindle a not-so-convincing platonic situation between us, it would still require time. At that moment of realization, there was the need for me to uncuff my attachment to the matter. I started by taking notes of recipes from a vlog, enhancing what was a silly decision to cook meat in roughly the same way but with numerous ingredients — Asian seasoning being the most recurring of those. The more to it was that I joined a community outreach group and even offered to be their content creator, there was emphasis though, that I didn’t really fare well in working with teams and if they’d just owe me the courtesy of getting things done on my own. And to my very surprise, they liked my first few blog write-ups for them and offered to raise my status within the group, shouldn’t take long till they might begin to reason that as a terrible choice on their path when they notice how much I avoid human interactions, but as for me, all good, as far as I’m not getting hangovers of a looming rejection from someone I’ve never met; which of course was the most sensible outcome my blindfolded heart didn’t want to see just yet.

It was expected of the weekend to wind down with a tired evening, even the sun’s pale yellow was smitten by exhaustion. Eight complete days and nights, and still no response. That’s what mattered to me, but to the outside world, everyone would be preparing for a new weekday. The shower absorbed me completely, and I was grateful for that. I leaned in gently and listened to every droplet that made contact with my flesh, every single ounce of it. I felt like I was floating on the surface of a warm spring, gliding to a site of nature’s imperium. Nothing was going to take the pleasantness away from me. Not even the beep sound that was fading into my ears. It was on DND mode anyway, whoever was trying to reach me would have to wait till I was done even if they didn’t want to.

I was half-naked when I reached out to the center table to pick up my phone. There was no doubt my mind flashed across the odds of it being her, even those probabilities were never in my favor. The words I saw the other night about a week ago blitzed across my mind in a blip. “For All the Love That Has Been Lost, There’s A Lot More to Come.” This was never a love I had found anyway, so there would be nothing to lose if she still hadn’t reached out or didn’t want to. It felt almost inconsequential whatever the outcome at this point, I was going to start the week anew. Refreshed.

In my honest opinion, it should be illegal when someone hypes others for something they do even better. We should call it “false-appraisal-pretense” and state a jail term for offenders.

9:15 PM.

I have no idea what you’re talking about ma’am, but I do have a response to this: if this offense attracts a penalty that’ll imprison me in your heart, then I plead guilty.

10:49 PM.

You just picked the worst possible place to be held captive. To determine if you’re guilty, I’ve got a couple of questions. What did Poseidon regret? What’s in a sailor’s dying will? And I don’t think I’ve made you any promise before, have I?

11:56 PM.

Well. Step by step. Poseidon regretted having to give up on love. A sailor’s dying will have wishes of the sailor not wanting to fade away, so the sea takes that as a promise. And I never said you made me a promise, your words did.

11:59 PM.

You sure are smooth, aren’t you? Thank you for sending that in. And sorry I replied late. I was dealing with a whole lot. I found those words helpful. And yes, they’re beautiful.

00:01 AM.

Thank you. So, am I guilty as charged? I’m itching to receive my sentence.

00:02 AM.

LOL. You must definitely have a long day ahead. Go get some sleep, goodnight. Sweet dreams.

00:03 AM.

Yes ma’am. Be good.

00:04 AM.

{series continues in my next post}