11 posts tagged with "Personal"

Not every question gets to be asked.
Not every question will receive an answer.
Some things remain unfinished because the moment to discuss them passes.

White Nights​

Summer has a way of overstaying its welcome.

That's what happens when you live on an island barely north of the equator. The heat never really leaves, and the humidity makes sure you don't forget it. Occasionally, the skies open up and rain pours down hard enough to make you think the weather might finally change. Give it twenty minutes, though, and the sun returns, the streets begin to dry, and everything carries on as though nothing happened.

I've lived here long enough to stop expecting anything different. There are rainy seasons, of course, but most days, the distinction between February and August is hardly noticeable. You wake up, check the weather, and dress for summer, because that's what you've been doing practically every day of the year.

That afternoon was no different.

I'd finished work earlier than expected and had a few things to buy before leaving for a short trip later that evening. A notebook was one of them, although I already had several at home. Most contained little more than a date, a few abandoned thoughts, and occasionally a shopping list.

There were at least three stationery shops closer to the office, but I had somewhere else in mind.

An old bookstore on Mistral Street.

Shake, Pear & Co.

Yes, that was its actual name.

I used to work there when I was in university. Back then, I spent weekends rearranging shelves, unpacking deliveries, and explaining to customers that no, we didn't have the latest university textbooks, and no, I couldn't order them for tomorrow. Some customers found that difficult to accept, especially the ones who had left their assignments until the last possible moment.

The place belonged to George and Sylvia, an elderly couple who had somehow managed to keep an independent bookstore alive despite rising rents and the fact that fewer people seemed interested in buying actual books.

George was a strange man. He liked old books, classical music, and making sure people treated books properly. I remember watching him demonstrate how to open a paperback without damaging its spine. Sometimes he'd stop customers in the middle of browsing to show them, whether they wanted the demonstration or not. Once, a man tried to explain that he'd already bought the book and could open it however he pleased. George disagreed.

Sylvia was more practical. She handled the money, the suppliers, and, on most days, George.

They made a good team, although I suspected Sylvia did most of the work that actually kept the business running.

I hadn't visited in months, and since I was already nearby, I figured I might as well stop by. Besides, the shop had air-conditioning, which at that particular moment was reason enough.

SHAKE, PEAR & CO.

Books, Stationery & Other Curiosities.

The sign above the entrance had faded slightly. I pushed open the glass door, and the little bell above it rang. I remembered that sound, along with the smell of paper, wood, a little dust, and coffee that seemed to linger in the shop even when nobody was drinking any.

The layout hadn't changed much. There were still shelves of secondhand novels along the left wall, expensive notebooks near the counter, and an entire section devoted to things nobody really needed but somebody would inevitably buy. A digital wall clock hung behind the counter, alongside a few framed photographs.

Among the curiosities were small globes, music boxes, postcards, miniature buildings, and a porcelain cat wearing glasses.

I remembered that cat. It had been there when I worked at the shop, sitting on the same shelf with its ridiculous little spectacles.

Nobody wanted it back then. Judging by the dust, nobody had changed their mind.

Above the stationery section hung several decorative figures, including a cupid carrying a bow. I'd helped George install them years ago. He'd insisted that the decorations would make the shop more welcoming, and I'd asked him whether a naked child carrying a weapon was really the atmosphere he wanted.

He hadn't appreciated the question.

The cupid remained where we'd placed it, though one of its wings still looked slightly crooked. I had pointed that out when we first installed it, and George had promised to adjust it later.

“Still haven't fixed you, huh?” I muttered.

“Sorry?”

I turned and found a young woman behind the counter. She was holding a paperback and wore a dark jacket with a red three-headed dragon embroidered on the chest. Her hair was loosely tied back, with a few strands falling around her face.

“Oh, sorry. I was talking to the decoration.”

She looked toward the cupid, then back at me.

“Right.”

“Old acquaintance,” I explained.

She seemed to consider that for a moment before closing her book around a finger.

“Okay. Can I help you with something?”

“I'm looking for a notebook.”

“Over there.” She pointed toward the shelf behind me.

“Thanks.”

She returned to her book, and I went to examine the notebooks.

There were more choices than I expected, although a surprising number had inspirational quotes printed across their covers. I picked up one with a mountain on it, put it back, and looked at another decorated with a photograph of the ocean.

“Do you have anything without inspirational quotes?” I asked.

She looked up again. “Sorry?”

“Notebooks. Without inspirational quotes.”

“There are plain ones on the bottom shelf.”

“Ah. Good.”

I crouched to look, but one of the notebooks on the upper shelf caught my attention again.

“What's wrong with the quotes?” she asked.

“Nothing, I suppose. I just don't particularly want motivational advice from my stationery.”

“Then don't buy one with a quote.”

I picked up the notebook with the mountain on its cover: The Journey Begins.

Another declared Believe in Yourself, while a third was covered in gold lettering that read You Are Enough.

“That one's nice,” she said, noticing the last one.

“Twelve dollars just to tell me I'm enough?”

She laughed. “It's a notebook. You're supposed to write in it, not just read the cover.”

I eventually chose a dark-blue notebook and brought it to the counter. She set her book aside and scanned the barcode.

“Twelve fifty.”

I looked at the notebook, then at the price on the register.

“When did George start charging this much for notebooks?”

She paused before taking my card.

“Wait, you know George?”

“Unfortunately.”

She looked surprised, so I explained that I'd worked at the bookstore years ago, back when I was still studying.

“Oh, really? Well, that explains why you were talking to the cupid earlier.”

“Yeah. I helped George put those decorations up. He was convinced they'd make the shop more welcoming.”

She finished processing the payment and handed me the receipt. I picked up my notebook. “Thanks.”

“You're welcome, Batman.”

I stopped. “Batman?”

She pointed to the logo on my shirt.

“Oh. Right.”

I'd completely forgotten what I was wearing. I looked at her jacket again.

“Thanks, Daenerys.”

She smiled.

“Mother of Dragons?” I continued.

“Obviously.”

“Breaker of Chains?”

“Of course.”

“Rightful heir to the Iron Throne?”

She looked at me as though she were waiting to see how far I intended to take this. I gave her a small bow.

“Your Grace.”

That finally made her laugh.

“Much better.”

“Oh, by the way, I don't think I've introduced myself. I'm James.”

“Cel.”

“Cel?”

“It's short for Celina.”

“Ah, the woman who turns people to stone when they look into her eyes?”

She frowned slightly. “I think that's Medusa.”

“Wait, really? I thought that was someone else.”

“No, definitely Medusa,” she said. “I took a Greek mythology class, so I'm fairly confident about that one.”

“Well, I'll take your word for it.”

I gave her a small nod and headed toward the reading area at the back of the shop.

The reading area was just as I remembered it, with the same wooden table, three mismatched chairs, and an old globe on a stand near the bookshelves. George had bought the globe long before I started working there, and occasionally he would stop beside it to explain something about the countries whose borders had changed since it was made.

I took a seat by the window and opened the notebook.

I wrote the date. Then I stared at the page.

This was a familiar ritual. I'd buy a notebook, convince myself that I was finally going to organize my life, write the date, and spend the next several minutes trying to think of something worth writing. Sometimes I'd manage a few lines. More often, the notebook would end up in a drawer and remain there until I bought another one.

I was trying to decide whether a to-do list counted as a respectable beginning when somebody pulled out a chair at the opposite end of the table.

It was Celina.

She'd brought her book, a bottle of water, and her phone. Another employee was now behind the register, speaking to a customer about a book order.

Celina placed her things beside her and opened her book.

For a few minutes neither of us said anything. I looked at the date I'd written at the top of the page, trying to think of something to write beneath it. Nothing came to mind.

Eventually, I gave up and started listing the things I still needed to do before my trip. It wasn't what I'd bought the notebook for, but at least I was putting it to use.

While trying to remember what else I needed, I glanced around the reading area and noticed the old globe on its wooden stand near the bookshelves.

“George still has that old thing?”

Celina followed my gaze. “The globe?”

“Yeah. I remember getting a ten-minute lecture from George about that thing. Something about how old things have character.”

“He did something similar last week,” she said. “Some customer asked about the typewriter on display, and George started telling him the history of it.”

“How long did that take?”

“I don't know. Fifteen minutes, maybe? I had to go help somebody else.”

“Did the customer actually buy the typewriter?”

Celina chuckled. “No. I don't think he even wanted to buy it. He was asking how much it cost.”

I remembered the typewriter she meant, but before I could say anything, she'd returned to her book. I went back to my notebook and continued what I was writing. A little later, I put my pen down and checked my watch. That's when I noticed the phone beside her paperback.

“Wait, is that a Motorola?”

She looked at the phone.

“Yeah. Why?”

“I didn't know they still made phones.”

“Of course they do.” She picked it up and checked the screen.

“I haven't seen one in years. Does it still have that Hello Moto ringtone?”

“No, I haven't heard that in ages.”

“Really? I used to hear that everywhere.”

“I know, but that was a long time ago. I've been thinking about getting a new one, actually. The battery isn't as good as it used to be.”

We talked about phones for another minute or two. She wasn't particularly keen on spending money on a new one just because the battery was getting worse. I told her I'd probably keep using it until it stopped working entirely.

“That's probably what I'll end up doing,” she said.

She put her phone aside and returned to her book while I added a few more things to my list. By the time I finished, I'd remembered most of what I needed for the trip. I closed the notebook and looked toward Celina. She had been reading steadily, occasionally stopping to turn back a page.

The cover showed a narrow European street at night, with old buildings rising on either side and a solitary figure standing beneath a streetlamp. The illustration made the place look almost deserted, as though everyone in the city had gone to sleep except for that one person.

Dostoyevsky's name was printed across the top, although I couldn't make out the title.

“Is that Dostoyevsky?” I asked.

She looked up. “Yeah. You've read him?”

“A few of his works. The Idiot, Demons. I don't recognize that cover, though.”

She turned the paperback around so I could see it properly.

I read the title and recognized it immediately. I'd read a different edition years earlier.

“Oh, I've read that one.”

“Really? What did you think?”

“It's been a while. I remember liking it, though. A little sad.”

“I'm not finished yet, so don't tell me anything.”

“Don't worry. It's been years. I barely remember the ending anyway.”

She adjusted the book in her hands, keeping a finger between the pages.

“Do you read much?” she asked.

“Not as much as I used to. Most of my reading these days is documentation at work, or people explaining why something isn't working.”

“That sounds boring.”

“Sometimes. I used to read quite a lot when I was younger. Novels, history, whatever I happened to find interesting.”

“Oh, what happened?”

“Nothing dramatic, really. Mostly it's just work. I got used to spending my free time doing other things.”

“Like what?”

“Different things. Sometimes I start a project, spend a few weeks on it, and then get distracted by another idea.”

She thought about that for a moment.

“I have the same problem with my writing sometimes,” she said. “I start something and really like it, then halfway through I decide it's terrible.”

“What kind of things do you write?”

“Little stories, mostly. Sometimes poems. I guess you could say I'm a frustrated writer.”

“Well, that makes two of us.”

She smiled. “Then we're both writers without books.”

“A writer without books? Isn't that just unemployed?”

She laughed, though she shook her head. “That's not what I meant.”

“I know, I know.”

“Actually, I did have one of my stories published once. There was a literary event, and they put together a collection of stories from different writers. Mine was one of the ones they selected.”

“Oh, that's pretty cool. So you really are a published writer.”

“Well, technically. It was just one short story, and there were plenty of other writers in the book.”

“Still counts. Not everyone gets to see something they've written in print.”

“I suppose you're right.”

I thought about asking what the story was called, but she had already opened her book again, and I wasn't sure whether she wanted to keep talking about it.

For a while, we occupied ourselves with our own things. Celina drank some water, read another page, and checked her phone before putting it face down beside the book. At one point, I caught myself reading the same item on my list several times without remembering why I'd written it. I crossed it out, then decided I probably shouldn't have. Eventually, I thought about what she'd said earlier.

“Hey, can I ask you something about your writing?”

She looked up from her book. “Sure.”

“Do you ever reread your old stories and feel like changing things?”

“Sometimes. There are a few things I'd probably change.”

“Even the one that got published?”

“Especially that one,” she said. “There are things I'd probably write differently now.”

“Would you ever make a new version of it?”

“I don't know. Maybe.”

She took a moment before continuing.

“I thought about it once, but then I'd probably end up changing other things too. If I kept going back to fix everything I wasn't happy with, I'd never get around to anything new.”

“That's true.”

“Besides,” she added, “sometimes the things that don't turn out the way you wanted are what make the story interesting.”

I considered that for a moment. I wasn't entirely sure I agreed, particularly when it came to my own abandoned projects, but I understood what she meant.

Before I could respond, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I took it out and saw a notification reminding me that an order I'd placed the other day was ready for collection. I'd completely forgotten about it, and the collection point was closing soon.

“Ah, shit.”

“Everything okay?” Celina asked.

“Yeah, I forgot I needed to pick something up before they close.”

I checked my watch. It was 4:47 in the afternoon, which meant I'd have to hurry if I wanted to make it on time. I stood up and glanced toward the counter. The digital clock behind the counter showed 5:47 AM.

“Hey, Cel, is that clock set to the wrong time?”

She turned to look.

“Oh, that one? It's been like that for as long as I've worked here.”

“It's eleven hours behind. Nobody's thought to change it?”

“I offered to set it properly once, but George said to leave it as it was. I never bothered asking again.”

I looked at the clock once more. George had always been fond of keeping strange things around.

“Anyway, I should get going. It was nice talking to you, Cel.”

“You too, James.”

“And good luck with your writing.”

“Thanks. You too.”

I slipped the notebook into my bag and started toward the entrance.

“Catch you later, Daenerys.”

She shook her head, amused.

“Bye, Batman.”

On my way out, I passed the little cupid above the stationery section. Its crooked wing was still exactly as I'd remembered.

Outside, the afternoon heat hadn't let up. I checked the collection address on my phone and started walking toward the station.

Sunrise​

The evening crowd was beginning to arrive at Jurong East MRT station.

Office workers were making their way through the gantry, some walking briskly toward the escalators while others stopped to check their phones or look at the directional signboards. The station was getting busier as more commuters arrived from the surrounding buildings.

I'd collected my parcel earlier, so there wasn't much left to do except get to the airport. I checked the time on my phone, slipped it into my pocket, and made sure I still had my wallet and passport.

My backpack was heavier than I'd expected. I'd packed more clothes than I needed for a short trip, along with a few things I probably wouldn't use. I should have brought a small suitcase, I thought to myself.

I adjusted the straps and made my way toward the eastbound platform.

The next train was arriving in three minutes. Judging by the number of people waiting, I considered taking the one after it. I wasn't in any particular hurry, and I'd rather avoid a crowded train if I could.

I found a quieter section of the platform and set my bag down.

A little farther along, someone was standing near one of the pillars, looking at her phone. She wore a dark jacket, with a paperback tucked beneath one arm and a small bag hanging from her shoulder.

I recognized the jacket first.

Then the book.

Then the person holding both.

For a moment, I wondered whether she'd noticed me. She seemed occupied with her phone, occasionally looking up at the arrival display before returning her attention to her phone.

I picked up my bag and walked over.

“Excuse me. Is this the platform for Winterfell?”

She looked up. For a second, she seemed confused. Then she recognized me.

“Hey, you!”

She looked from my face to the bag over my shoulder.

“Wait. What are you doing here?”

“I'm taking the train.”

“I mean, what are you doing here? Didn't you leave the bookstore a while ago?”

“Had to collect something. What about you? I thought you'd still be at work.”

“I finished early today. Jenny's handling the rest of the shift and closing the store tonight.” Celina put her phone away and adjusted the paperback beneath her arm.

“Wait, are you stalking me now?” she added with a teasing smile.

“Sorry?”

“First you show up at the bookstore, and now you're suddenly at the same train station as me?”

“I'm pretty sure I was here first. And I didn't even know you worked at the bookstore until you started talking to me.”

“That's exactly what a stalker would say.”

I gave her an incredulous look. “What was I supposed to do, leave the station when I saw you?”

She laughed. “I'm joking, James!”

The arrival display board changed from three minutes to two. A few people nearby moved closer to the platform doors, despite there being nowhere useful to move until the train arrived.

Celina looked toward the tracks. “So, where are you heading?”

“Changi Airport. What about you?”

“Oh, I'm getting off at Tanah Merah.” She looked at my backpack, then back at me. “Are you going on holiday?”

“Yeah, taking some time off for the Mid-Autumn Festival.”

“Oh, nice! How long will you be away?”

“Until next Friday. I figured I'd give myself the weekend to rest before going back to work next Monday.”

“Ah, that makes sense.”

She nodded and returned her attention to the arrival board.

The train arrived shortly afterward. Through the windows, I could see people standing shoulder to shoulder near the doors, although there appeared to be some space farther inside.

When the doors opened, only two or three passengers alighted, while a much larger crowd was waiting to board. Celina moved forward with the others but stopped when she saw how crowded the carriage was.

“Actually, I think I'll wait for the next one. This one's too crowded.”

I was about to board, but after seeing how crowded it was, I decided it wasn't worth squeezing in with my backpack.

“Yeah, I think I'll wait for the next one too. I'm not in a hurry anyway.”

“Hopefully the next one's less crowded.”

She stepped away from the doors, and I followed. We watched as more passengers squeezed into the carriage until the doors finally closed and the train pulled away, leaving several people behind on the platform.

A man nearby complained about the crowd before taking out his phone and watching a video.

“So, what do you actually do for work?” Celina asked.

“I work on software projects, mostly designing and building systems and making sure everything works together.”

“Oh, really? Do you enjoy it?”

“Yeah, I do. I write code, but not as much as I used to. These days, I spend more time reviewing other people's work and trying to prevent problems before they happen.”

“That sounds like a lot of responsibility.”

“Sometimes. Especially when something goes wrong and everyone wants to know what happened. There's a running joke at work that nobody wants to see me at the office because it usually means something serious has happened and I've had to come down to sort it out.”

“That's not a very good sign, is it?”

“Yeah, I'm like the Grim Reaper. Nobody really wants to see me around the office.”

“Well, shit. I was going to say you're more like Sherlock.”

“Sherlock?”

“Yeah! You know, investigating things and figuring out what went wrong.”

“I guess that makes more sense.”

For a while, we watched people moving along the platform. Two children were arguing over who would sit beside the window, while their mother explained that there probably wouldn't be any seats. The younger one didn't seem particularly concerned about this information.

Celina watched them for a moment.

“I used to do that with my sister.”

“Fight over the window?”

“Oh, we fought over everything. The window, where we sat, even who got to press the lift button. Sometimes we'd argue over things neither of us really wanted. My mother used to get so annoyed with us.”

“Did you usually win?”

“Of course. I was a very persuasive kid.”

“I'm sure your sister would tell a different story.”

“Probably. When you're growing up in a house full of girls, there's always somebody to argue with. We get along much better now, though.”

The next train arrived with considerably fewer passengers than the previous one.

We boarded the last carriage and made our way toward the end, where there was enough space to stand without getting in anybody's way. I set my backpack on the floor beside me while Celina stood near the window. As the train pulled away from Jurong East, the buildings outside slowly began moving past us. We could see part of the tracks stretching behind the train before they disappeared around a bend.

“You know, I had a student ask me something the other day, and I didn't really know how to answer,” Celina said.

“Oh? What was it?”

“We were doing a writing exercise, and I asked them to write a short description of themselves. Nothing complicated, just something to get them writing. One of them started complaining about his name because he didn't like it.”

“What was his name?”

“Bartholomew Joseph.”

“That's not so bad. I used to know a guy named Bartholomew, but we all called him Bart.”

“Well, your friend's surname isn't Simpson.”

I almost laughed when I realized. “Wait, as in Bartholomew Joseph Simpson?”

“Exactly!”

“Oh, man, that's unfortunate.”

“I know! And the worst part is that his parents knew exactly what they were doing. He told me his father thought it was hilarious.”

“Seriously? Poor kid. I can imagine what happens whenever somebody calls his name during attendance.”

“That's exactly what he complained about. But then he asked me something I hadn't really thought about before. Why do parents get to choose their children's names when they're the ones who have to live with them?”

“Well, it's a little difficult to ask someone what they'd like to be called before they're born.”

“That's pretty much what I told him! But then another student suggested that parents could just give their children temporary names until they were old enough to choose their own. And suddenly everybody had an opinion about it. Some thought it was a wonderful idea, while others said they'd never agree to the names their parents had chosen.”

“What happened to the writing exercise?”

“Oh, we eventually got back to it. But we spent almost fifteen minutes discussing names.”

“Wait, hold on, I didn't know you were teaching. I thought you were just working at the bookstore.”

“I am. But I also help mentor some secondary-school students with their English and writing. It's something I do through a programme at the university.”

“Oh, you're still studying?”

“Yeah, English Literature. I've still got a while before I graduate.”

“And how's that going? Between school, mentoring, and the bookstore. Doesn't it get pretty busy?”

“Sometimes, but it's manageable. I'm only at the bookstore part-time, and I don't have mentoring sessions every day. I really enjoy working with them, though. Especially when they come up with things I never would've thought of myself.”

“Like the temporary names?”

“Exactly!”

“I'm guessing Bart was particularly enthusiastic about that discussion.”

“Oh, he was! And the funny thing is, I couldn't really blame him. I started thinking about my own name afterward because my parents almost gave me a different one.”

“Really? What was it?”

“Celestina.”

“Celestina? I actually think it sounds nice. Has a certain ring to it, you know.”

“I know! I like it too. My mother liked it because it comes from a Latin word meaning heavenly. She thought it was a beautiful name, but my father wasn't so convinced. They went back and forth about it for a while, but neither wanted to change their mind.”

“And so they finally agreed on Celina?”

“Yes. María Celina. Most people just call me Celina or Cel, though.”

The train slowed as it approached the next station. A few passengers stood up, including a man who'd been reading something on his tablet since we boarded. When the doors opened, several people got off while a few others boarded. A woman carrying two shopping bags came in and stopped near the opposite doors, and we moved slightly to give her more room.

“Actually, my father was the one who suggested Celina in the end. My mother wasn't entirely convinced at first, but she eventually agreed.”

“Does your father usually get his way?”

“Not really. My mother can be pretty stubborn when she wants to be.”

“Well, at least they managed to agree on something eventually.”

“Oh, they disagree about plenty of things. But they're usually good about finding something they can both live with.”

“I guess that's something you learn after raising kids for a while. You can't exactly disagree about everything.”

“You'd think so. Although they can be frustrating sometimes, especially when they're giving advice.”

“How so?”

“Well, it's difficult to explain, you know, because they're actually very supportive. They've always encouraged me to do things I enjoy, things that I love, but sometimes I feel like they already have an idea of what I should be doing with my life.”

I shrugged. “But isn't that just normal for any parent?”

She continued, now talking a little more freely.

“Of course. But, see, that's what makes it annoying. They're not telling me I can't do something. They'll listen to my ideas, they'll tell me they're wonderful, and then start suggesting ways to turn them into something more practical.”

“What do you mean by practical?”

“When I was younger, I told my father I wanted to become a writer. He thought that was great, but then he started talking about being a teacher because at least I'd have a proper career. Another time, I told him I wanted to become a photographer, and suddenly he was suggesting that I should study something related to media or advertising.”

“I mean, they're not bad suggestions, are they?”

“No, they're not! And I know he meant well, but that's the thing. I wasn't asking him to help me figure out what to do with my life. Sometimes I just wanted to talk about something I was excited about and have him listen, you know?”

“Have you tried explaining that to him?”

She pointed at me, laughing. “See? You're doing something similar now.”

“What do you mean?”

“You're already trying to figure out what I should do about it, and I wasn't even asking for help!”

“Oh, shit. You're right. I didn't even realize I was doing that.”

“That's what I mean! And I know you're only trying to help. It's the same with my father. I love him, and I know he means well, but sometimes I don't need a plan. Sometimes I just want to say something out loud and see how it sounds.”

“Yeah, I get that. It's like when somebody tells you about a problem, and you immediately start trying to fix it, even though maybe they just wanted to complain for five minutes. Although if somebody comes to me with a problem, I'm probably going to try to fix it.”

“That's different. You're literally being paid to fix things.”

“Well, shit, you are right about that one.”

“I don't want to make them sound unreasonable, though. Sometimes I think I wouldn't have tried half the things I've done if they hadn't encouraged me, you know.”

We continued talking about some of the things she'd wanted to do when she was younger, and I shared a few stories of my own. Eventually, we got onto the subject of adulthood and how differently we'd imagined it when we were children.

“I used to think adults knew what they were doing,” I told her. “You know, that by the time you reached a certain age, you'd have figured most things out.”

“And you don't think that anymore?”

“Not after I started working. I've sat and talked with people who seemed incredibly confident about what we should do. They'd explain everything, we'd all agree, and then two weeks later we'd discover it was a terrible idea.”

“Do they ever admit it was a bad idea?”

“Sometimes. Other times we'd have another meeting to discuss why circumstances had changed.”

She laughed. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It can be. But you get used to it after a while. I mean, you're making decisions with whatever information you have at the time, right? Sometimes you get things wrong, and half the time, you're just hoping somebody remembers why you made the decision in the first place.”

“Does that happen often?”

“Oh, it does, more often than I'd like.”

The train went underground, and the buildings outside disappeared from view. As it grew darker beyond the glass, our reflections became clearer in the window.

Celina turned toward me.

“Anyway, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“How good are you at noticing things?”

I turned away from the window. “What do you mean?”

“You know, little details. Things that most people don't pay attention to.”

“I'd say I'm pretty good at it. Why?”

She surveyed the carriage. “Okay, I want to try something with you.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Ohhh-kay... What are you planning?”

“Nothing! It's just a little experiment I came across a while ago. I want to see if it works on you. I'm going to give you five seconds to look around the carriage and remember a few things.”

“Okay, I'll bite. What am I looking for?”

“I want you to remember as many red things as you can. Five seconds. Go!”

I immediately started looking around the carriage. There was a woman near the doors carrying a red handbag, an advertisement above the seats with red lettering, and a water bottle sticking out of someone's backpack. I spotted a little boy wearing a red shirt, and then my eyes fell on the dragon embroidered on Celina's jacket.

“Does the dragon crest on your jacket count?”

“Yes! Keep looking!”

I turned toward the opposite end of the carriage, trying to find a few more things before she stopped me.

“Time!”

I looked back at her. “Okay, got them.”

She looked rather pleased with herself.

“Good. Now, without looking around again, tell me everything you saw that was green.”

I blinked, trying to figure out whether I'd heard her correctly.

“Green?”

“Yes!” She was already struggling to keep a straight face.

“Wait, what? You told me to look for red!”

“I did.”

“Well, shit, why are you asking me about green things then?”

“I wanted to see if you'd remember any!”

“How? I wasn't even looking for them!”

“That's the point!”

She burst out laughing, loud enough that a passenger nearby briefly looked in our direction.

“Come on, Sherlock. I thought you'd be better at this.”

“Oh, please. You told me to look for red things, so I looked for red things.”

“I know, I know. But that's what I wanted to show you. You were so busy looking for red things that you probably missed half of what was right in front of you.”

“Yeah, but you can't pay attention to everything at once.”

“Of course not! But that's what I find interesting. We were both looking around the same carriage, and somehow we noticed completely different things.”

“Yeah, I get it. But you totally set me up.”

I turned toward the rest of the carriage to see what I'd missed. There was a green shopping bag near the opposite doors, some green lettering on an advertisement, a small cartoon character on the cover of a book someone was reading, and even a green sticker on the train door that I'd been looking straight past. The whole damn carriage was practically covered in green, and I'd somehow missed all of it.

“Well, shit. There's green everywhere. Even my backpack is a shade of green.”

“See? I told you!”

Her eyes went to the bag on the floor beside me.

“How long are you going to be away again? You look like you've packed for a month.”

“Until next Friday. Now that you pointed it out, I think I might've overplanned things a little.”

“Do you always pack this much when you travel?”

“Not really. Depends where I'm going.”

“Have you travelled much?”

“A bit. I've been to different places, some for holidays, others for work.”

“Really? Where have you been?”

I told her that most of my travels had been around Asia. I'd spent quite a bit of time in Japan, visited Malaysia more times than I could remember, and once had a work assignment in Guam that I didn't particularly enjoy. Taiwan was still my favorite, though.

We exchanged a few stories, including one about a trip where I'd tried to squeeze too many things into a single day. I'd planned everything, but I ended up spending more time travelling between places than actually seeing them. By the time I got back to the hotel, I was too tired to do anything except order food and sleep.

“Wait, I thought you said you liked planning everything?”

“Oh, I do, but that's where I went wrong. I planned too much. I had everything worked out, but I didn't think about how tired I'd be after walking around all day.”

“I know what you mean. We've had a few trips that didn't go as planned either.”

She went on to tell me about some of the trips she'd taken with her family. Once, they'd arrived at a place just as it was closing, and her sister had complained about it for the rest of the afternoon. Celina seemed to remember these little mishaps as fondly as the places themselves.

At one point, she mentioned a trip through two countries in South America.

“There was this valley we went to, and I remember the wind being really strong. It was carrying all this dust around, and somehow it kept getting into everything. My clothes, my shoes, even my bag. I don't think we could've kept it out if we'd tried.”

“Was it like a sandstorm?”

“Not really. I mean, it was dusty, but we could still walk around and everything. It was just so dry and windy. And there were these huge rock formations all around us. I remember thinking the whole place looked strange, but in a really nice way.”

“Did you get to see much of it with all that dust blowing around?”

“Oh, yeah! We walked around for quite a while. We went to this one place called San Juan, and it was beautiful, actually. I don't know how to explain it, but something about the place felt like home.”

“Really? Even with all that dust?”

“Yes, even with all the dust!”

By then, the train had been underground for some time. Every few minutes, we stopped at another station, where some passengers got off and others boarded.

Our conversation continued through the stops, and I gradually stopped paying much attention to the station announcements.

Then, somewhere after Lavender station, the train returned above ground.

The darkness beyond the window gave way to the evening sky, and the buildings came back into view. Our reflections faded against the glass as the tracks carried us above the roads and toward the next station.

Celina glanced outside for a moment, then turned back toward me.

“You know, I actually prefer travelling with other people. Even when we end up arguing about where to go.”

“Really? I don't mind travelling alone. Sometimes it's easier when you don't have to agree with anyone about what to do.”

“That's true. But I think it's more fun when you have someone to share the experience with. Especially when something goes wrong.”

“Until that person starts blaming you for everything.”

“Well, that's why you don't travel with people like that, Sherlock!”

A few minutes later, the train began slowing down. I looked outside, expecting another station, but we were still some distance from the next platform.

The train came to a stop.

An announcement came over the speakers, explaining that we were waiting for the train ahead to clear.

Celina glanced toward the doors, then took the paperback from beneath her arm and held it in front of her. I noticed that several pages had been folded at the corners.

“Do you always do that to your books?”

“Do what?”

“Fold the corners.”

She looked at the book, then back at me. “You don't like it?”

“I mean, there are things called bookmarks.”

“And there are corners.”

She opened the paperback to one of the folded pages and showed me a passage she'd underlined. The margins were full of handwritten notes.

“Look, I do much worse things than folding corners.”

“You write in them too?”

“Sometimes. If there's something I like, or something I disagree with. I don't do it to every book, though.”

“Doesn't it bother you when you read it again?”

“Why would it?”

“I don't know. Seeing your old notes everywhere.”

“That's actually what I like about it. Sometimes I'll read something I wrote a few years ago and wonder what I was thinking. Or I'll find a note I completely forgot writing.”

“Have you ever read one and disagreed with yourself?”

“Oh, plenty of times! Sometimes I can't even figure out why I thought a particular sentence was important.”

“I think I'd be embarrassed reading some of the things I wrote a few years ago.”

The train began moving again, slowly at first, before picking up speed. Celina adjusted her footing as we continued toward the next station.

“I think it's normal to look back at something you wrote and cringe a little. I do that all the time.”

“You know, I've been meaning to ask about that story you mentioned at the bookstore. What was it about?”

“Oh, it was part of an anthology.” She paused, trying to decide how to explain it. “It's about a girl and her mother. Well, that's part of it. It's difficult to explain without telling you the whole story.”

“Is it long?”

“Not really. Why?”

“Can I read it?”

She looked at me for a second.

“Right now?”

The Things That Remained​

Naomi almost walked past the station exit because she remembered it being farther away.

As a child, she'd thought the station was enormous. She remembered the wooden benches along the platform, the clock above the ticket windows, and the newspaper stand where her father always stopped before they boarded the train. He insisted on arriving early, then complained about waiting. Whenever Naomi asked why they couldn't leave home later, he told her trains didn't wait for people who preferred sleeping.

The clock was gone, and much of the station had been renovated. Naomi stood with her suitcase, trying to remember which side the newspaper stand had been on. She was fairly sure it was beside the stairs, where a vending machine stood now.

She'd moved to another city nearly eleven years earlier. Her visits home were brief, and she rarely went anywhere beyond her mother's house. This time she'd taken several days off work to help her mother pack for a move to an apartment.

On the walk home, Naomi found that the bakery where she bought sweet bread after school had become a pharmacy. The cinema was closed, its old sign still hanging above the entrance, and several shops in the covered arcade had their metal shutters down. She remembered those shutters rattling every evening. One shopkeeper used to bang his shutter three times before it would stay shut, which always irritated her father.

At the railway crossing, she waited for a train. The warning bell sounded familiar, but the little shop beside the tracks, where her father sometimes bought newspapers, was gone. After the barriers lifted, she took a wrong turn at an intersection she'd crossed almost every day as a child.

Even the hill to her family's neighborhood seemed less steep.

Her mother met her at the gate, immediately complained that she should have taken a taxi, then took the suitcase despite Naomi's protests. The house looked tired. Its tiled roof had darkened, paint peeled around the windows, and the gate still needed lifting to close. Her father had promised to fix it every spring. He died, and nobody had bothered since.

Cardboard boxes occupied the living room, though the cupboards were still full. Her mother had packed dishes and a surprising number of towels.

“Why do you have four rice cookers?” Naomi asked.

“Two don't work.”

“Then why keep them?”

“They might be repaired.”

Naomi put the broken ones beside a box marked for disposal. While she was in the kitchen, her mother returned one to the cupboard.

They spent the afternoon disagreeing about what to keep. Naomi wanted the dining table because it had belonged to her grandparents. Her mother pointed out that neither of them had room for it. They agreed to discuss it later, as they did with most things.

After dinner, Naomi walked through the shuttered arcade to the park where she'd met friends after school. The swings had changed, and the large tree near the entrance was gone. She remembered a boy climbing too high one summer and refusing to come down until his mother arrived. She could still picture him crying while everyone promised not to laugh, but his name escaped her.

A man walked past with a dog that inspected every tree. Somewhere beyond the houses, Naomi heard a train. She stayed until the cold sent her home.

Her mother had prepared bedding in Naomi's old bedroom. Through the window she could see the blank wall of a building that hadn't existed when she was young. She lay awake listening to her mother moving about downstairs.

Then the earthquake struck before dawn.

Naomi woke to a noise like something enormous hitting the house from below. The floor lurched sideways before she could sit up. Her wardrobe slammed against the wall, books fell, and a ceiling fixture shattered near her feet. She tried to reach the door, but another violent movement threw her back onto the bedding. Beneath the breaking glass and cracking wood came a roar that seemed to rise through the floorboards.

Her mother was shouting her name. Naomi covered her head and tried to stay still until the shaking stopped.

In the darkness, she found her slippers among scattered books and reached the hallway. Her mother stood near the stairs with a flashlight, its beam wandering over cracked plaster and fallen picture frames.

“Get your coat,” her mother said.

“Wait. I can't find it. Where is it?”

“I don't know. Just get something.”

Outside, roof tiles and masonry covered the street. Neighbors stood in their nightclothes, calling into houses that hadn't emptied. Part of the house next door had collapsed, and a man was pulling timber away from its entrance. Naomi knew his face but couldn't remember his name. She joined him while her mother searched for their other neighbors.

They could hear a woman answering from inside. More people arrived with flashlights and tools, and they worked at an opening between fallen beams. An aftershock sent everyone stumbling back. For a moment they stood looking at the wreckage, unwilling to approach it. Then the woman called again, and the man picked up his metal bar.

By daylight they had brought her out. She could barely stand, and her husband remained trapped. Someone went looking for rescuers while the others continued working.

Smoke rose beyond the railway tracks. Naomi heard sirens, although debris made the streets difficult to pass. She had known earthquakes before, but never one that left an entire neighborhood looking as though it had been pulled apart.

Reports spread slowly. Railway lines and roads were damaged, telephones barely worked, and fires were moving through neighborhoods of wooden houses. With water pipes broken, even fighting the fires was difficult. Naomi's mother wanted to retrieve their documents, but neither of them dared enter the cracked house.

They walked to a nearby school, where teachers were recording the names of families arriving with blankets, bags, or nothing at all. The classrooms were crowded, and people gathered around a battery-powered radio. An elderly man at the entrance asked whether trains would run the next morning. Nobody answered. A little later, he asked again.

That evening, Naomi helped distribute water. There wasn't enough for all the people inside, and a woman protested when told to take only one container because she had three children. Someone accused the volunteers of keeping supplies for themselves. Naomi had no answer; she didn't know when another delivery would come.

Her mother helped prepare food, and Naomi carried bowls to the classrooms. They worked until the pot was almost empty, then shared what was left. At night, every aftershock woke someone, and the cold crept in beneath the classroom doors.

Over the following days, Naomi hauled water, cleaned rooms, and listened to people worrying aloud. A shopkeeper who'd lost the business his father opened complained about the lack of help, then volunteered to accompany an injured neighbor to a clinic. Students carried supplies to people unable to leave their shelters, while others helped repair damaged homes.

Naomi recognized a few of the volunteers from years ago, although she couldn't remember ever speaking to them. They talked about neighbors she no longer knew and shops that had changed owners several times since she'd left. Sometimes she recognized a name, only to discover that the person had moved away or died. She found herself listening more than talking, occasionally asking what had happened to someone she remembered.

Naomi's sister arrived several days later after a difficult journey along damaged roads. Their mother cried when she saw her and then scolded her for coming without a warmer coat.

Together they returned to their street. The cinema had partially collapsed, and the pharmacy in the old bakery had lost its windows. In the arcade, bent shutters hung above broken glass. Naomi recognized the shop whose owner had struggled with his shutter every evening. Debris blocked the entrance, and she couldn't tell what had happened to him.

The railway crossing was silent. Its barriers were down despite the absence of trains, and the tracks were visibly damaged. Naomi remembered waiting there beside her father, wishing the bell would stop so they could get home for dinner.

Their own house stood, though the gate hung from its hinges and the stone lantern lay broken in the garden. A crack ran down the kitchen wall. Her mother touched the splintered gate and stayed there until Naomi's sister reminded her they weren't allowed inside.

On the way back, Naomi stopped at the park. Volunteers had put up tables for water and food, and she helped unload bags of rice. A girl sitting beside the tables was writing names on pieces of cardboard. When she made a mistake, she rubbed at it with an eraser until the surface began to tear.

“You can use another piece,” Naomi said.

The girl flipped it over, inspected the blank side, and shook her head.

“This one's still good.”

She began writing again, pressing the pencil hard against the cardboard.

Before Naomi left, one of the volunteers asked her to collect a bag of rice for the school kitchen. She agreed, though she still had a few things to do.

Later, Naomi found her mother and sister at the school discussing whether the house could be repaired and what the insurance might cover. She'd already extended her leave from work. Her return ticket was useless, and there were still documents to recover, people to contact, and decisions none of them wanted to make.

Her mother interrupted to ask whether she'd eaten.

“Not since breakfast.”

“There's some rice left. Come on.”

They gathered their things and walked toward the room where food was being prepared. Her sister complained about the cold, and their mother reminded her yet again that she'd warned her to bring a warmer coat.

They were nearly there when Naomi stopped.

“Oh, I forgot the rice.”

Her sister stared at her. “The rice we're going to eat?”

“No, the bag they asked me to collect for tomorrow.”

She sighed and handed Naomi the blanket she'd been carrying. They walked back toward the distribution point.

Hyōgo, Japan, January 1995

Another Day​

“So, what do you think?”

“Well, shit. I don't know how you do it.”

“Do what?”

“You just left me speechless.”

“Really?” Celina was still watching me.

“Yeah. Although I have to admit, I wasn't expecting an earthquake when I started reading. You told me it was about a girl and her mother.”

“It is about a girl and her mother!”

“Yeah, but you left out the part where half the neighborhood falls apart.”

She laughed. “I told you it was difficult to explain without giving away the whole story!”

“You could've at least hinted that something big was going to happen.”

“What's the fun in that? Would you still have read it if I'd told you everything?”

“Yes, I would've read it anyway. I was already curious when you told me you'd been published.”

“Oh, so you just wanted to see if I could actually write?”

“I mean, for all I knew, you could've made the whole thing up.”

“James!”

“I'm kidding! You did a good job. Seriously.”

She smiled a little wider while holding her phone.

................

WIP

Elsewhere​

WIP

Letters​

WIP

Sunset​

WIP

UNTITLED-YET​

WIP

Midnight​

WIP

Otra vez estaba mirando el techo.

No tenía nada particularmente interesante.

Pintura blanca. Una sombra tenue de la luz que entraba por la ventana. Una pequeña grieta cerca de una esquina que había notado meses atrás y con la que no pensaba hacer absolutamente nada.

Aun así, algunas noches podía pasarme veinte minutos mirándolo. Quizá una hora.

El hombre sentado en el otro extremo del sillón se acomodó un poco.

Llevaba tanto tiempo sentado ahí que el vaso que tenía en la mano ya estaba casi vacío. Tenía una pierna cruzada sobre la otra, con aire despreocupado, y la cabeza apoyada contra el respaldo. Durante los últimos minutos, él también había estado mirando el techo.

Tal vez estaba intentando entender qué era lo que yo veía ahí arriba.

“Estás pensando en ella otra vez.”

“No.”

“Claro.”

“Estoy pensando en el techo.”

Giró la cabeza hacia mí.

Lo miré.

“Dejame de joder.”

Volví a mirar hacia arriba.

Durante un rato, ninguno de los dos dijo nada.

Entonces preguntó:

“¿Qué tiene de especial?”

Suspiré.

“Siempre empezás con las preguntas fáciles.”

“¿Es linda?”

Levantó una ceja.

“¿Y?”

Me quedé pensando.

“Tiene una forma de responder las cosas.”

Esperó.

“Eso no significa absolutamente nada.”

“Ya sé.”

“Entonces explicámelo.”

“Ewan ko.”

“¿Qué?”

“Quiero decir que no sé muy bien cómo explicarte cómo es ella.”

“Intentá.”

Me incorporé un poco.

“A veces digo alguna estupidez solo para molestarla. Y antes de que me conteste siquiera, ya sé lo que está haciendo.”

“Nunca viste lo que está haciendo.”

“Ya sé.”

“Estás mirando palabras en una pantalla.”

“Ya sé.”

“No podés ver cómo reacciona alguien a través de un mensaje.”

Me quedé callado un momento.

“A veces sí puedo. A veces puedo ver su sonrisa a través de la pantalla.”

Se rió. Yo no.

“¿En serio le dijiste eso?”

“Sí.”

“¿Y todavía te habla?”

“De vez en cuando.”

Levantó las cejas.

“Me parece que hay una historia detrás de eso.”

“Una larga.”

Se acomodó más profundamente en el sofá.

“Tenemos tiempo.”

Sin señales de alerta​

Conocí a una chica en un juego.

No en la oficina.

No en la cafetería donde siempre pido comida.

No en una librería.

No en una estación de tren.

No porque algún amigo en común pensara que nos llevaríamos bien.

Ninguna de las formas normales.

Un juego de celular. Un puto juego de celular.

“Qué romántico.”

“Callate.”

“Seguí.”

Su nombre no era realmente Panterina, y el mío tampoco era Francisco.

Esa era una de las cosas extrañas de aquel lugar. Todos llegaban usando nombres que no eran los suyos. Pequeñas islas. Alianzas. Personas repartidas por todo el planeta, fingiendo durante unas horas al día que recolectar recursos y mandar diminutas tropas por un mapa congelado eran asuntos de importancia internacional.

Y en medio de todo eso estaba ella.

Al principio, era un nombre más en el chat. Hasta que dejó de serlo.

“¿Cómo?”

“Ewan ko.”

“¿Otra vez?”

“Ya te dije. Ese es el problema.”

Las cosas rara vez avisan mientras están pasando. No apareció ningún mensaje en mi pantalla que dijera:

ADVERTENCIA: ESTA PERSONA ESTÁ A PUNTO DE CONVERTIRSE EN UN PROBLEMA. PROCEDA CON PRECAUCIÓN.

Y si hubiera aparecido, probablemente igual habría apretado Aceptar.

“Por lo menos sos consciente de lo que hacés.”

“Apenas.”

Empezamos a hablar. O, mejor dicho, creo que yo empecé a hablarle.

A veces durante unos minutos. A veces durante horas.

A veces empezábamos hablando de absolutamente nada y, de alguna manera, terminábamos en algún lugar al que ninguno de los dos había planeado llegar.

Comida.

Sueño.

Países.

Estudios.

Trabajo.

Pelo.

Chistes estúpidos.

Cosas que habíamos hecho ese día.

Palabras en distintos idiomas.

Por qué Ciao aparentemente significaba lo que a ella se le daba la gana.

“Ciao significa adiós.”

“Ya sé.”

“Y hola.”

“Aparentemente.”

Se rio.

“Ella te corrigió, ¿no?”

“Varias veces.”

“¿Tenía razón?”

“Eso no viene al caso.”

Había otras cosas.

Una referencia a algo de lo que habíamos hablado semanas atrás.

Un chiste estúpido que, de alguna manera, había sobrevivido lo suficiente como para volver a aparecer.

Palabras capaces de traer una conversación entera del pasado de vuelta al presente.

Pequeñas referencias.

Cosas que probablemente parecían completamente normales para cualquier otra persona.

Y después estaba su inglés. Sonreí.

El hombre a mi lado se dio cuenta.

“¿Qué?”

“Solía molestarla por su inglés.”

Se rio, “¿Tan malo es?”

“Una vez le dije que su inglés era malo.”

“Un encanto lo tuyo.”

“Creo que en un momento estuve a punto de hacerle un comentario todavía peor sobre su inglés, pero por suerte me contuve.”

Se quedó mirándome, “Ella es argentina.”

“Ya sé.”

“En Argentina.”

“Sí.”

“Y el inglés ni siquiera es su lengua materna.”

“Soy consciente.”

“¿O sea que estabas a punto de criticarle el inglés mientras ella hablaba tu idioma?”

“Cuando lo explicás así, quedo como un pelotudo.”

“Y el inglés tampoco es tu lengua materna.”

“Ya sé.”

“Qué caradura.”

“¿Terminaste de hacerme quedar como un pelotudo?”

“Lo dijiste vos, no yo.”

“Bueno, capaz se ríe cuando lea esto.”

Se detuvo. Lentamente, giró la cabeza hacia mí.

“¿Cuando lea esto?”

Me quedé mirando el techo. “¿Hmm?”

“Dijiste ‘cuando lea esto’.”

“¿Eso dije?”

“Sí.”

Siguió mirándome.

Sonreí.

“Tal vez por eso toda esta página está escrita en español, sin traducción al inglés.”

Hubo un breve silencio.

“Pará. ¿Qué?”

“Nada.”

“¿Estás escribiendo todo esto?”

“No.”

“¿Entonces de qué página estás hablando?”

“Para futuras conversaciones.”

Se quedó mirándome un segundo más y después negó con la cabeza.

“Sos un puto raro.”

De dos a cinco​

Había cosas de ella que empecé a recordar sin proponérmelo.

San Juan. La siesta. De dos a cinco.

Una ciudad entera aparentemente capaz de decidir, de común acuerdo, que la tarde podía esperar.

También fui conociendo cosas sobre sus estudios. El profesorado.

Lo que le molestaba.

Lo que la hacía reír.

La forma en que podía decir algo completamente normal y, de alguna manera, yo seguía recordándolo días después.

Nada extraordinario. Esa era la parte difícil de explicar.

La gente espera que las razones estén a la altura de los sentimientos.

Si alguien se vuelve importante para vos, la gente espera que haya pasado algo extraordinario. Algo como:

Haber navegado a bordo del Trinidad a través de un océano entero.

O haber cruzado toda una cordillera, desde Cuyo hasta Chile.

Algo tan enorme que cualquiera que escuchara la historia pudiera asentir y decir: Por supuesto.

Pero a veces alguien se vuelve importante mientras te cuenta a qué hora duerme la siesta.

A veces es la forma en que responde una pregunta estúpida.

La forma en que dice hola.

El hecho de que quieras saber qué va a decir después.

“O sea que es graciosa.”

“Mucho.”

“¿Inteligente?”

“Sí.”

“¿Interesante?”

“Si no lo fuera, no seguiría mirando este puto techo.”

Sonrió. “Te olvidaste de hermosa.”

“No me olvidé.”

Técnicamente, mentí​

Una vez le dije que le quedarían bien los rulos.

“¿Ah, sí?”

“Sí.” Me reí un poco.

“¿Entonces qué es lo gracioso?”

“En realidad, le mentí.”

“¿Le mentiste sobre su pelo?”

“No. La mentira fue hacer que pareciera que el peinado importaba. Creo que se vería bien con casi cualquier cosa.”

Me acordé de otra ocasión.

Había cambiado su foto de perfil en el juego. Le dije que la foto estaba linda. Que había sido una buena elección.

“Eso también fue mentira.”

“¿La foto no estaba linda?”

“No. Me pareció hermosa. Pero decir que la foto estaba linda me pareció más seguro.”

Me miró un segundo.

“O sea que básicamente te la pasás mintiéndole a esta chica.”

“Solo cuando parece que decir la verdad me va a meter en problemas.”

Sin necesidad de magia​

En algún momento, dejé de abrir el juego porque me interesara el juego. Lo abría para ver si ella estaba ahí.

Probablemente debería haberme preocupado antes por esa diferencia.

“¿Qué sabías realmente de ella?”

“Mucho.”

“No. Me refiero a qué sabías de ella de verdad.”

“No tanto como me hubiera gustado. Pero aprovechaba cada oportunidad que tenía para conocerla un poco más.”

Esa era la parte extraña. Nunca antes había tenido que pensar tanto en lo que realmente significaba conocer a alguien.

Ya había estado cerca de otras personas.

Había visto cómo la atracción se convertía en apego, cómo ese apego se transformaba en algo más grande y cómo, al final, ese algo también terminaba.

Y también había pasado por esas horribles etapas intermedias en las que sabías que algo se estaba muriendo mucho antes de que cualquiera de los dos tuviera el valor de decirlo.

Con el tiempo, había visto cómo personas que alguna vez ocuparon la mitad de mis pensamientos se convertían en simples nombres que podía recordar sin sentir nada que doliera.

No era la primera vez que pasaba por algo así.

Sin embargo, normalmente había algo concreto que podía señalar. Algo que realmente había visto o vivido.

Pequeñas cosas que aprendés de alguien simplemente por estar cerca.

Recuerdos que existían fuera de una pantalla.

Sabías cómo se veía alguien corriendo para alcanzar el colectivo después de haberse despertado tarde, con apenas una galletita para desayunar camino a la universidad.

Qué tan rápido caminaba.

Qué hacía con las manos cuando estaba nervioso.

Si estar sentado en silencio a su lado se sentía tranquilo o incómodo.

“¿Y con ella?”

“Casi nada.”

“¿Nunca estuviste sentado frente a ella?”

“No. Las probabilidades de que eso pase son astronómicamente bajas.”

“¿Nunca caminaron por la misma calle?”

“No.”

“¿Nunca estuviste parado a su lado esperando que cambiara el semáforo para cruzar la calle?”

“No.”

“No sabés qué tan rápido camina.”

“No.”

“¿Nunca le tocaste la mano?”

“No.”

“No sabés cómo son los espacios entre sus dedos.”

“No.”

“No sabés cómo suena su risa a un metro de distancia, en lugar de escucharla a través de un teléfono.”

“Bueno, una vez sí la escuché reír. En un mensaje de voz.”

Levantó la cabeza.

“Entonces explicámelo.”

“¿Qué?”

“¿Por qué ella?”

Ahí estaba. Esa pregunta. Ya la había escuchado antes.

Una vez, o quizá dos.

¿Por qué alguien a quien nunca había conocido en persona?

¿Por qué alguien que nunca había estado en el mismo lugar que yo?

¿Cómo podía alguien que nunca había caminado a mi lado por la misma calle tener semejante efecto en mí?

“Ewan ko.”

“Otra vez esas palabras molestas.”

“Estoy tratando de responder esa pregunta.”

“¿Y?”

“Y todas las respuestas suenan estúpidas.”

“A ver, probá conmigo.”

Me quedé pensando.

Tal vez la respuesta más sencilla era que no me había encariñado con alguien que estuviera a un metro de distancia.

Me había encariñado con una presencia.

Una forma de pensar. Una forma de responder.

Una persona que se había vuelto reconocible por su manera de usar los signos de puntuación y por el momento en que respondía.

Aprendí a reconocer cómo se veía su diversión sin verle la boca.

A veces podía darme cuenta de cuándo estaba molesta sin verle los ojos, lo cual, sinceramente, es una estupidez.

A veces leía algo que había escrito y podía imaginar exactamente cómo lo habría dicho.

Tal vez eso era lo que quería decir cada vez que le decía que podía ver su sonrisa a través de la pantalla.

No literalmente.

Era simplemente que había empezado a reconocer dónde vivían las sonrisas entre las palabras.

“Creo que esa es la parte que no puedo explicar”, dije.

“¿Cuál?”

“Hay tantas cosas de ella que no sé.”

“Un montón, por lo visto.”

“Exacto. Y, de alguna manera, las cosas que sí sé fueron suficientes.”

No respondió. Continué.

“No sé cómo sería caminar a su lado. Si hablaría todo el tiempo o se quedaría callada. No sé esas cosas. Pero, de alguna manera, empecé a imaginar pequeños momentos así.”

“¿Como cuáles?”

“Nada impresionante.”

“¿Por ejemplo?”

“Un café.”

“¿Eso es todo?”

“Estar sentados en algún lugar. Ella quejándose de algo. Yo molestándola a propósito. O quizá ella molestándome a mí. Verle la cara justo antes de que diga algo sarcástico. Escucharla reír sin una pantalla entre nosotros.”

“O sea, básicamente, cosas cotidianas.”

“Sí. Y, de alguna manera, esas son peores.”

“¿Por qué?”

“Porque las fantasías ridículas son fáciles de descartar. Todo lo que requiere magia pertenece a Hogwarts. Sabés que nunca va a pasar, así que es fácil reírte de eso y seguir adelante.”

“¿Y las cosas cotidianas?”

“No necesitan magia.”

Volví a mirar el techo.

“Y la puta madre, parecen posibles.”

Todavía hay un océano​

Claro que algo fuera posible no significaba que fuera realista.

Lo sabía. Creeme.

Sabía perfectamente cómo eran las cosas.

Países. Distancia. Husos horarios. El momento. Las circunstancias.

Un océano de por medio, tan grande que tiene hasta su propio puto nombre.

Y el océano ni siquiera era todo el problema.

Había otras cosas. Cosas que no encajaban tan fácilmente en una lista. Cosas que no desaparecerían simplemente porque el océano dejara de estar ahí.

Después de todo, eran dos historias diferentes. Dos personas completamente distintas, cada una con su propia vida mucho antes de que siquiera empezaran a mandarse mensajes.

Y algunas cosas no eran tan simples como comprar un pasaje de avión o, qué sé yo, conseguir una visa.

Hay verdades que no se vuelven más ciertas solo porque las digas en voz alta.

Ausencia​

Había distancia, y después estaba la distancia.

“¿Entonces dejaste de hablarle por un tiempo?”

“Ella me lo pidió.”

“Eso no fue lo que te pregunté.”

“No le mandé mensajes.”

Pero eso no significaba que hubiera dejado de buscarla.

Borré el juego. Después, con el tiempo, volví a instalarlo.

Después intenté no entrar a mirar. Y terminé mirando.

Me decía que mañana pensaría menos en ella.

Pero el mañana se negaba a cooperar, una y otra vez.

Lo extraño de extrañar a alguien es que, por lo general, no parece algo dramático.

Seguís trabajando.

Seguís comiendo.

Salís.

Hablás con gente.

Corrés.

Andás en bicicleta.

Te reís.

Seguís funcionando.

Hasta podés pasarte un viernes entero andando en bicicleta sin ningún motivo en particular y después enfermarte también.

Entonces pasa algo gracioso y tenés una historia buenísima para contar.

Me pregunto si a ella le—

No.

El mundo sigue funcionando perfectamente bien.

Esas semanas sin ella no fueron catastróficas.

Fueron simplemente malas. Tres semanas malas.

Lo suficientemente largas como para empezar a acostumbrarme a la posibilidad de que quizá nunca volviera a hablar realmente con ella.

Finalmente, volví al juego en serio.

Y la puta madre, un simple “Hey you” borró por completo esas tres semanas malas.

“Estás sonriendo.”

“No estaba sonriendo.”

“Ahora sí.”

“Callate.”

“Tres semanas intentando olvidarla, ¿eh?”

“Sí.”

“¿Y solo hicieron falta dos palabras?”

Dudé un instante.

“Por un momento, me olvidé de que siquiera lo estaba intentando.”

Una palabra tan pequeña​

Cuando empezamos a hablar de nuevo, aprendí las reglas.

O al menos lo intenté.

Hablar con normalidad.

No convertir cada conversación en algo serio.

No buscarle un significado especial a cada chiste.

No confundir las cosas.

Si ella dice amigo, creerle.

Me miró de reojo.

“¿Amigo?”

“Sí.”

“Odiás esa palabra.”

“No la odio.”

“Acabás de poner la misma cara que pone alguien cuando muerde un limón.”

“Entiendo lo que significa esa palabra.”

“Eso no fue lo que te pregunté.”

En fin, aprendí a mantenerme de mi lado.

“¿Y realmente lo hiciste?”

“Sí. Estoy aprendiendo a hacerlo.”

“¿Y si la amistad es lo único que vas a tener con ella?”

“Entonces voy a ser su amigo. Voy a escuchar todas las historias que tenga para contarme, semana tras semana.”

Bajé la mirada hacia mis manos y solté el aire.

“Y si ser su amigo es lo más cerca que vamos a estar el uno del otro, voy a llevar ese título con orgullo.”

La habitación quedó en silencio. No era un silencio incómodo, simplemente silencio.

“¿Pero?”

“No hay ningún pero.”

“Siempre hay un pero.”

Apoyé la cabeza contra el respaldo del sillón y volví a mirar el techo.

“Pero alguna noche tranquila, cuando ella esté dormida y yo siga despierto al otro lado del mundo, probablemente todavía me pregunte cómo se supone que algo que se siente tan grande puede caber dentro de una palabra que suena tan pequeña.”

Ah, y otra cosa​

Las cosas eran diferentes la segunda vez. Más seguras.

Supongo que los dos sabíamos dónde estaban los límites. Ewan ko.

Así que hablábamos. A veces durante unos minutos. A veces durante horas.

En algún momento, alguno de los dos decía buenas noches.

Y diez minutos después, seguíamos hablando.

Buenas noches otra vez.

Ah, y otra cosa.

Otro tema.

Otro chiste.

En algún momento, buenas noches dejó de funcionar como una despedida y pasó a ser más bien una sugerencia.

Creo que hubo noches en las que ella intentó despedirse tres veces, pero de alguna manera seguíamos hablando después de cada intento.

Me gustaban esas noches más de lo que admitía.

En otra parte​

Me fui de viaje por unos días. Ya había estado ahí muchas veces antes.

Otras calles. Otros edificios. Otra comida.

Otra compañía también.

Había faroles colgados sobre las calles, pasteles de luna en las vidrieras y familias y amigos reuniéndose. Recorrimos la ciudad, comimos rico, nos reímos y charlamos.

La pasé bien. De verdad. Y, durante la mayor parte del viaje, estaba disfrutando de estar justo donde estaba.

Pero hubo momentos.

“Entonces, ¿disfrutaste el viaje?”

“Sí.”

“¿Y cuál es el problema?”

“No había ninguno.”

Esperó.

“¿Pero?”

Solté el aire suavemente antes de responder.

“A veces estaba en algún lugar, disfrutando del momento, y de alguna manera terminábamos hablando.”

“¿Con ella?”

“Sí.”

“¿Y?”

“Y durante unos minutos, lo que pasaba en esa pequeña pantalla se convertía en lo más interesante de todo lo que me rodeaba.”

Me miró un momento.

“¿Incluso ahí?”

“Por lo visto.”

No había nada malo con el viaje. Ni con la compañía. Probablemente esa era la parte frustrante.

Había pensado que estar en otro lugar quizá haría alguna diferencia. Otros paisajes, otras conversaciones y algo nuevo en qué ocupar la cabeza. Y, en gran parte, así fue.

Solo que no exactamente como había esperado.

Podía cambiar de país, de calles, de paisaje al otro lado de la ventana.

Pero, aparentemente, mis pensamientos no siempre me acompañaban.

“¿Entonces ya estás bien?”

“¿Escuchaste algo de lo que acabo de decir?”

Todos los putos días​

“Tengo otra pregunta.”

“No.”

“Ni siquiera sabés qué te voy a preguntar.”

“La respuesta sigue siendo no.”

“¿Y si la hubieras conocido en un mejor momento?”

Mi pulgar dejó de moverse por la pantalla. No respondí.

“Ya pensaste en eso.”

“Por supuesto que lo pensé.”

“¿Qué habrías cambiado?”

“Quizá la distancia. Quizá el momento en que nos conocimos.”

“¿Y las circunstancias?”

“Sí.”

Asintió.

“Entonces deseás que las cosas hubieran sido diferentes.”

Bajé la mirada por un momento.

“Odio no haberla conocido en un mejor momento.”

La frase quedó flotando en el aire. Lo había pensado muchas veces. Pero decirlo en voz alta se sentía diferente.

No porque me arrepintiera de haberla conocido.

Todo lo contrario.

Odiaba el momento en que nos habíamos conocido porque conocerla me había dado lo suficiente como para preguntarme cómo podría haber sido todo lo demás.

“¿Y qué significa siquiera un ‘mejor momento’?”, dije.

“¿Me lo estás preguntando a mí?”

“No.”

Tal vez un mejor momento significaba no necesitar reglas.

No tener que medir cuánta calidez podía caber sin peligro dentro de un mensaje.

No tener que tomar algo enorme y buscar una palabra más pequeña para describirlo.

Tal vez existía otra versión de la realidad en la que un océano entero no separaba dos tardes comunes y corrientes.

Tal vez podría haber descubierto todas esas cosas que no sabía.

Tal vez podría haber sabido cómo se sentían los espacios entre sus dedos, en lugar de quedarme imaginándolo.

“¿Acabás de mirarte las manos?”

“No.”

“¿Y si ella estuviera con vos?”

Me quedé pensando un momento.

“Intentaría hacerla feliz.”

“¿Intentarías?”

“No soy tan arrogante como para prometerle felicidad a otra persona.”

“Pero lo intentarías.”

“Todos los putos días.”

Se quedó callado.

“¿Se lo dirías?”

“No.”

“¿Por qué?”

“Porque no vivimos en esa realidad.”

Para futuras conversaciones​

Inclinó un poco la cabeza hacia mí.

“Entonces aceptás las reglas.”

“Estoy aprendiendo a aceptarlas.”

“¿Y qué pasa con las cosas que siempre vuelven a surgir?”

“Esas necesitan una categoría.”

“¿Una categoría?”

“Para este tema en particular.”

Se rio.

“¿Qué, como un acta de reunión?”

“Exactamente.”

“¿Tareas pendientes?”

“Asuntos sin resolver.”

“¿Confidencial?”

“O para futuras conversaciones.”

Golpeé suavemente el celular contra el apoyabrazos del sillón.

“Para futuras conversaciones.”

Entrecerró los ojos.

“Eso suena como algo que vas a poner en la historia.”

Me quedé mirando al frente.

“¿Qué historia?”

“La que aparentemente se está traduciendo al español para alguien muy específico.”

“No sé de qué estás hablando.”

“¿Ella ya sabe que está leyendo sobre sí misma?”

Eso me tomó por sorpresa.

“Probablemente.”

“¿Probablemente?”

“Es inteligente.”

“¿Y si todavía no se dio cuenta?”

Sonreí.

“Ahora ya lo sabe.”

Febrero​

La habitación volvió a quedar en silencio. Entonces preguntó:

“Si pudieras decirle algo sin que hubiera absolutamente ninguna consecuencia, ¿qué le dirías?”

“Esa es una pregunta terrible.”

“¿Por qué?”

“Porque las consecuencias son parte de la realidad.”

“Simplemente decíselo.”

Bueno, había demasiadas respuestas.

Le diría que aprendí las reglas porque quería seguir hablando con ella más de lo que quería seguir discutiendo con la realidad.

Le diría que aceptaría ser su amigo si esa era la palabra con la que ella se sentía cómoda.

Le diría que me gustaban sus chistes, por más malos que fueran.

Le diría que me gustaba conocer pequeños detalles completamente innecesarios de su día, porque los detalles no eran lo importante.

Ella sí.

Le diría que ella es febrero.

Y quizá le diría lo único de lo que estaba seguro.

“Me alegra que ella exista.”

“Esa es una frase extraña.”

“Ya sé.”

“Todo el mundo existe.”

“No me refiero a eso.”

Me costaba encontrar las palabras adecuadas.

“Quiero decir…”

Hay miles de millones de personas en el mundo.

La mayoría pasa por el mundo sin llegar a convertirse en alguien real para nosotros, de manera individual.

Nombres. Rostros. Desconocidos entre la multitud.

Personas que viven vidas enteras, llenas de complicaciones, en algún otro lugar, de las que nunca llegaremos a saber nada.

Y entonces, muy de vez en cuando, una de esas personas cruza esa frontera invisible que separa a alguien que existe en el mundo de alguien que forma parte de tu mundo.

Panterina​

Mi teléfono se iluminó.

Ninguno de los dos se movió por un segundo.

“¿Ella?”

Su nombre apareció en la notificación.

“¿Qué vas a decir?”

“Ewan ko.”

“Parece que esa es tu respuesta para todo.”

Toqué el campo de texto.

Escribí:

Hello.

Lo miré. Lo borré.

Escribí:

¡Hola!

También lo borré.

Volví a escribir:

¿Todo bien?

Se rió.

“Gastaste una cantidad increíble de energía emocional en un saludo.”

“No lo entenderías.”

“Nadie entiende esta historia excepto vos.”

“Y quizá una persona más.”

Pensé en lo que realmente quería escribir.

Podía decir:

Me alegra que estés acá.

Lo bastante seguro.

También podía preguntarle cómo había estado su día.

Normal.

Podía decirle alguna estupidez.

Probablemente lo mejor.

O podía volcar en la pantalla todo lo que acababa de contar.

El hecho de que no solo me alegraba haberla conocido.

Me alegraba que existiera.

“Podrías escribir eso.”

“No.”

“¿Por qué?”

“Porque esto es un chat de un juego, no una puta autobiografía.”

“Dramático.”

“Además, el filtro del juego censuraría la mitad de lo que escribiera. Hasta censura palabras completamente normales.”

“Tal vez sea más seguro así.”

Me quedé mirando el campo de texto vacío.

Se inclinó un poco hacia mí.

“¿Qué dirías si no hubiera reglas?”

Escribí algo. Lo leí. Lo borré.

Volví a intentarlo. También lo borré.

Finalmente:

¿Cómo estuvo tu día?

“¿Eso es todo?”

“Eso es todo.”

“¿Después de todo eso?”

Apreté enviar.

Pasaron unos minutos. Entonces apareció su respuesta.

“¿Algo gracioso en su respuesta?”

“No.”

“¿Algo tierno?”

“No.”

“¿Entonces por qué estás sonriendo?”

“No lo entenderías.”

Mis dedos volvieron a quedar suspendidos sobre la pantalla. Escribí unas palabras y después las borré.

“¿Otra vez?”

“Hay cosas que probablemente sea mejor dejar sin escribir.”

“Literalmente te pasaste toda la noche hablándome de ella.”

Bajé la mirada hacia su nombre una última vez.

“Bueno. Voy a escribirlo todo. Solo por esta vez.”

“¿Y después lo vas a mandar, no?”

No respondí.

Volví al campo de texto vacío y empecé a escribir.

Una p***e de mí desearía poder v****r a***s y evitar que tuviéramos esa c**********n, y simplemente mantener todo n****l entre nosotros. Pero ya es demasiado tarde para eso. Ya te dije la v****d.

Sentía c***s por vos, y t*****a las s****o.

Me seguís preguntando por qué me g****s, o por qué tenías que ser v*s. Pero podrías preguntármelo mañana, la semana que viene o el año que viene, y probablemente seguiría sin tener una r*******a.

En algún momento, entre nuestra primera c**********n y todos esos pequeños m******s que vinieron después, te c*********e en uno de mis p**********s f*******s.

Cuando me d*******o. En las c*******s que escucho. En los a*********s que desearía que pudieras ver. Y en esos momentos tranquilos antes de quedarme d*****o.

No sé exactamente cuándo p**ó.

Solo sé que, de alguna manera, p****r en v*s se convirtió en una de esas pequeñas cosas que hacen que la v**a se sienta un poco más h*****a.

Y, sinceramente, una p***e de mí espera que nunca d*********a del todo.

"There are many rooms in my Father's house. I am going to prepare a place for you." - Jesus

July 2025.

I was in Thailand with my wife. We had been occupied most of that day and hadn't really checked our phones.

Around 11 PM, we managed to get some free time and finally looked at our phones.

There were dozens of missed calls from my brother in Canada, from my family in the Philippines, and from my brother-in-law in Singapore. Different people, different places, but all of them were saying the same thing.

Karen might not have long.

I don't really remember the rest of that night properly. There are pieces of it that I can still recall, but everything else feels blurred together.

I remember arguing with my wife over something. Some disagreements over something, or maybe a lot, I don't know. I remember her telling me she was searching for flights back to Singapore, only to find out that the earliest one we could get was around 5 AM the next morning.

So I told my family.

Five in the morning. That's the earliest flight we could get.

Then I tried to at least do some work.

I opened my laptop and stared at whatever was on the screen. I probably answered something or joined a meeting. I think I typed a few emails, maybe I replied to someone.

Honestly, I don't remember.

My body was in Thailand, my laptop was in front of me, but my mind kept circling back to the same thought, like it was trying to find a way to tell me, like, I shouldn't be here.

Not tonight. Not now.

Twinful​

I have a twin sister.

Karen and I were born together. I was technically older, by around 40 minutes maybe, which I sometimes used as enough justification to pretend I had some sort of older-brother authority over her.

But in reality, I didn't.

Growing up, though, we had this strange connection. I don't know if I'd actually call it telepathy because that sounds ridiculous when you say it out loud, but there were moments when it felt like our minds somehow knew what the other was thinking without either of us having to say anything.

Back in college, there was this one night when she went drinking with her friends. All girls.

And yes, one of them was my ex. Let's just call her the Joyful Mystery. She was actually one of my sister's best friends. It's complicated, really. Don't ask.

Anyway, I tried to call them since it was already late and our mother will be coming home soon, but I couldn't reach them.

I'm not exactly the greatest brother in the world. I'm far from being a role model, I've made plenty of stupid decisions myself, and again, I was only 40 minutes older than Karen.

But I was protective of her.

I just wasn't very good at showing it.

So I went looking for them.

Fortunately, I also drank a lot back in college, which meant I had some useful knowledge about where drunk college kids usually went before heading home.

There were these places where we'd eat something hot and sober up enough that our parents wouldn't immediately know what we'd been doing all night. Usually lugawans (places serving lugaw, arroz caldo, rice porridge, things like that.)

I checked one. Nothing.

Then I went to another. And there they were.

My sister, her friends, the Joyful Mystery (we weren't really dating yet at that time).

All alive, all drunk.

Of course, I didn't walk in like some amazing brother who had checked multiple streets and hangouts looking for a missing sister.

I just approached them, waited for them to finish eating, and then Karen and I went back to our condo.

We barely spoke on the way home. I could tell she was mad, or maybe embarrassed, or maybe worried that I was going to tell our mother.

When we reached the condo, we separated and went to our own beds.

We never talked about that night again.

We talked about a lot of things, but somehow there were still plenty of things we never really needed to talk about.

Back when we were living in Antipolo, (around 2007 or so?), I had my own room. Her room was beside mine, but sometimes she'd use mine whenever I was in Manila.

One afternoon, I came home and immediately got scolded by our tita.

She had found an ashtray inside my room. Cigarette butts, ashes. and everything.

What followed was probably an hour or two of being lectured about smoking at a young age, bad influences, bad decisions, destroying my future, and whatever other terrible life choices apparently started with that ashtray.

I was pissed the whole time.

I didn't own an ashtray. I didn't even fucking smoke.

After that day, I never saw another cigarette butt in my room. I never smelled smoke there again either.

I didn't really talked about it with my sister.

Maybe there just wasn't a natural way to bring it up, or maybe neither of us knew how.

So I let it go. or maybe I simply forgot about it.

There were a lot of things like that between us, no discussions on some things, just silent understanding.

That also included the Joyful Mystery, which was one of her best friends.

She had become a mother at a young age and already had a son, and honestly, I don't think Karen ever fully liked the idea of us being together.

She never directly told me not to date her friend. She never really said anything at all.

Maybe she didn't want me dating her friend. Maybe she didn't want her friend dating me. Or maybe she knew both of us well enough to realize that putting the two together was probably a stupid fucking idea.

I think it was 2013, when Joyful Mystery and I went to our place.

We weren't doing anything. We were literally just sitting at the dining table when Karen opened the door, and she saw the two of us.

Then she immediately closed the door again and walked away so fast that my brain went into full panic mode.

I left the Joyful Mystery sitting there and chased after my sister, and weirdly enough, I didn't know why I was panicking.

Was Karen angry? Also no idea.

Maybe she wasn't even angry. Maybe I just assumed she was.

Well, that was the incident. The first and the last.

And naturally, because apparently this was how Karen and I handled half of our problems, we never really talked about it afterward.

It's funny.

You can grow up beside someone, share a birthday, share parents, childhood memories, friends, secrets, and the same fucking womb.

And still somehow be terrible at communicating.

Maybe we always assumed there would be more time to talk about things later.

One hour​

Past 9 AM, Changi Airport.

Our plane had just landed back in Singapore.

I was asleep when the tires hit the runway. The screech of rubber against concrete woke me up, and for a few seconds, my brain hadn't fully caught up with where I was yet.

I opened my eyes and looked at my wife sitting beside me at the window seat.

She was staring at her phone.

There was something wrong with her face. Not physically, just the expression. I think she was still upset about the fight, or maybe she was still processing. I couldn't read it.

Then she looked at me.

"Karen is gone."

My brain didn't register it. Not immediately.

She kept talking about my brother calling, my mother, my tita, people trying to reach us.

But I wasn't really hearing any of the the words.

It felt like somebody had suddenly lowered the volume on the entire plane.

I took out my phone and called my brother-in-law.

He answered, struggling to speak. Then somehow he got the words out.

Karen had stopped breathing.

And suddenly my brain caught up.

It felt like being hit by something massive.

A truck, a wall, a bird, an airplane. I don't know.

We got off the plane, collected our small luggage, and booked a ride straight to Singapore General Hospital.

When we arrived, we rushed inside.

Outside Karen's ward, my mother and tita were sitting on the metal seats. Their eyes were swollen and their faces looked exhausted. My wife and I went inside.

Karen's bed was at the far end of the ward, hidden behind a thick green curtain. My brother-in-law saw us, walked over, and the three of us stepped through it together.

And there she was. Karen.

The first thought that came into my head was incredibly stupid.

This is the first dead body I've ever seen.

I've seen dead bodies in movies, TV shows, documentaries. You see them enough times that the image itself becomes familiar, somehow.

A person lying still. Eyes closed. No movement.

I think I've seen it before in real life too, but I don't remember it.

But this was different, because this wasn't some person or some stranger.

Our mother used to tell us that we shared the same "bed" inside her womb.

Nine months together before either of us even saw the world.

Born on the same day, in the same place, forty minutes apart.

Technically, we entered this world together. I had never really thought about what that meant.

Maybe somewhere in some stupid corner of my mind, I assumed we'd also leave it around the same time.

Not exactly together, but close enough.

Both of us arguing about whose memory was worse.. Something like that.

Instead, there she was. She was my better half, literally my other half. Prenatally.

Everyone was crying. My wife. My mother. My tita. My brother-in-law.

He told us Karen had tried to stay awake despite struggling to breathe. They probably already knew where everything was heading. They probably knew they were watching the finish line approaching.

And we were late, by around one hour.

We crossed countries and flew back as fast as we could, and still missed her by sixty minutes.

Really fucking great, Jesus.

I don't know who I was angry at.

Myself? The airline? Thailand? Cancer? God? Myself? Time? Myself?

Probably all of them. Maybe none of them. I don't know.

The empty space​

Eventually, the nurses took Karen's body away.

My brother-in-law went with them, while the rest of us went back to our places.

Because apparently when someone dies, the world cannot stop, which is really one of the strangest parts.

There are still stuff to do, calls to make, schedules to arrange, funeral preparations, people asking questions, and people waiting for answers.

Life continues doing all these completely ordinary things while yours feels like it just got split in half.

The funeral would be held at the void deck, which is what they call the open ground-floor area beneath their apartment block.

I've walked past countless funerals at void decks around Singapore.

You see the tables, plastic chairs, curtains, people sitting quietly, a casket somewhere inside. Sometimes there's music. Sometimes prayers.

And most of the time, when you pass by one, you just keep walking, Because it isn't your funeral.

It isn't your family. You're just somebody passing by. An outsider looking in.

This time, I have to walk inside. And not just for somebody I knew.

Really fuckin great, Jesus.

On the first day of the funeral, I still had work. My family tried to understand.

I hadn't told my team at work what was happening before that. That day, I finally told them I wouldn't be able to attend toward the end of the week because that would be my sister's burial.

I think they were supportive and understanding. I really can't recall. Maybe I didn't care to remember.

On the other hand, my wife was upset with me. Maybe angry. I think we fought because I was still working while my sister's body was at the hospital being prepared for the funeral. I honestly don't remember exactly what we said, or what I said.

I barely remember that entire week.

Those days feel like someone recorded everything, deleted random parts, then stitched whatever was left back together.

That night, I went downstairs to the void deck.

Nobody was there yet, but everything had already been prepared.

Tables and chairs were arranged neatly. At the front was a cross with Jesus looking down from it, and beneath it was a space where Karen's casket would go. body would be brought here the next day, and the funeral would begin.

But that night, it was just an empty space. I sat at one of the tables facing it.

Just me. And that empty space.

I don't know how long I sat there.

Maybe I was waiting for something.

Maybe I wanted someone to walk in and tell me I was at the wrong place. Maybe I wanted to wake up, but I wasn't even fucking asleep. Maybe I fucking hate this empty space.

Eventually, I stopped looking. I closed my eyes and put both hands over my face, and just stayed like that.

There are moments when your body seems to understand something before your mind does.

Your brain keeps trying to negotiate.

Maybe this. Maybe that. Maybe somehow.

But your body has already surrendered to the truth.

Twinless​

The last day came.

We were at the church, with Karen's casket brought to the front. A priest came in and started the Mass.

I appreciated my brother-in-law's family being there. I don't think some of them were Catholic. Maybe none of them were.

It didn't matter.

They came. They sat with us, stood when everyone stood, and stayed.

After Mass, we followed the casket outside as it was brought toward the vehicle that would take her to the crematorium.

Our family and my brother-in-law's family boarded a bus they had rented.

After an hour or so on the road, we arrived at the crematorium.

We entered the observation room, where a large glass window overlooked the floor below.

Then Karen appeared. Or rather, her casket did.

It slowly moved across the floor while music played in the background.

I watched it travel toward another room, where the furnace was.

The room where the wood, fabric, flowers, and the body would disappear into heat.

That's when something finally clicked.

Not at the hospital.

Not when my wife told me on the plane.

Not when I saw her at the ward.

Not when I saw her inside the casket.

Not even during Mass.

There.

Watching that casket slowly move away from us.

There was no negotiating with that image anymore.

No maybe.

No later.

No more unfinished conversations.

No more silently understanding each other.

No more getting annoyed and deciding we'd deal with it some other day.

No more other day.

For almost my entire life, the word twin meant there were two of us.

It wasn't something I thought about.

You don't think about having two hands until one of them is gone.

Some things are simply there.

Permanent.

Built into the structure of your world. She was like that.

I had never existed in a world without a twin.

It felt like a stupid thing to think about at the time, but the truth was, I had never really imagined a world where there was only one of us.

Even before I had memories, she was already there.

Before we had names.

Before either of us had seen our mother.

Before light.

Before sound.

Before the first breath.

There were two of us.

We were twinful.

Then that casket disappeared into the room.

And suddenly there's just one.

Twinless.

I don't know if there's supposed to be some grand lesson at the end of something like this.

Maybe an older version of me would have tried to find one.

Build character.

Become stronger.

Change your perspective.

Some poetic bullshit like that.

But cancer doesn't always leave you with wisdom.

Sometimes it just takes someone.

Sometimes it leaves an empty chair, an unused pair of glasses, a birthday that now belongs to only one living person, and photographs that suddenly become more valuable because there will never be another new one.

Sometimes it leaves a twin staring at the word twin and wondering whether he still gets to use it.

Am I still a twin if the other one is gone? I don't know.

A fucking stupid, fucking selfish thought.

People say someone lives on through memories.

Maybe that's true. I have plenty.

Arguments we never started.

Arguments we never finished.

Things we understood without saying anything.

Forty minutes.

And one hour too late.

I still don't know what I'm supposed to do with all that information.

Maybe nothing.

Maybe you don't "move on" from some people. Maybe you just keep moving while carrying the space they used to occupy.

And every now and then, you look at that empty chair at living room, expecting them to still be there.

For more than three decades, somewhere on Earth, I knew there was another person carrying the same birthday, the same childhood, the same parents, and pieces of the same story.

Then cancer decided there should only be one of us.

So yeah.

Fuck you, Cancer.

This was a draft I've written sometime ago, probably around December 2021.

Whenever I have a bad day, or something shitty happens and everything just refuses to go the way I planned, I usually resort to one of two things.

I either go outside and run until I completely lose myself in the moment, or I sit down and write whatever's going through my head.

Unfortunately, there's a storm expected to make landfall in our area, and I didn't exactly want to end up stranded somewhere once the heavy rain started pouring.

I did manage to do some rope skipping in the pool area in my building earlier.

And while I was balancing myself between steps, my mind somehow decided to play a continuous slideshow of everything that happened during the past six months.

As with every start of a new year, we tend to be optimistic that the next 365 days will bring something better.

At least, that's how I imagined 2021 would be.

I wasn't expecting everything to suddenly return to normal, of course. We were still in the middle of a pandemic, and going outside without masks was still pretty far from reality.

Countries had started opening up and easing some restrictions as vaccines were being rolled out, although there were still plenty of limitations everywhere.

People were getting vaccinated here too, just at a much slower pace, with priority being given to those who needed it most.

No complaints from me there.

We were able to register for vaccination through our local government, so all we really had to do was wait until our turn came.

Anyway.

Going back.

I finished my first #100DaysOfCode Challenge on February 14.

Feeling victorious, I decided to immediately start another round.

The next day became Day 1 again.

Then Day 2.

Day 3.

There were some bumps along the way, but I kept going. Then someone reached out to me about an opportunity for a new role at their company. I wasn't really serious about moving at the time, but I figured there was no harm in entertaining it.

A recruiter called me and we went through a short screening.

I wasn't really prepared, so I probably missed a few important points that I should've mentioned.

They never called back after that.

And honestly, I was still fine with it because two more companies reached out shortly afterward.

I didn't admit it at the time, but those calls definitely fed my ego a little.

I knew they were probably looking for someone with a lot more experience, and I still saw myself as somewhere around the middle of the talent spectrum.

I've learned a lot from working across different industries during the past five years, but I also know I'm still a long way from being an expert.

Still, I decided to take my chances.

I went through the phone screenings, revamped my profile, updated everything, and started submitting applications.

Then I got hooked on all the after-work meetings and interviews with different prospects.

Eventually, I stopped my #100DaysChallenge and focused on those meetings instead.

The Two Almosts​

I got pretty far in the process with two different companies.

One role focused on infrastructure automation using AWS.

The other was a Docker and Kubernetes support role.

Both looked promising.

Both showed interest.

I carefully weighed my chances with each one, and after several conversations with my wife, I decided I was ready to step out and move on to something new.

At that point, there was really only one thing left to do. Wait.

So I waited.

Then a week passed.

The support role finally sent an offer.

Unfortunately, the offer was lower than what I expected, and I didn't want to leave the opportunity I already had in my current job just to move somewhere else for almost the same deal.

I had good conversations with three different team leads, and they gave me the impression that they genuinely wanted me to join.

Unfortunately, the recruiter eventually came back and told me that they would no longer be proceeding with my application.

That one hurt a little.

Of course, I understand that a company has every right to reconsider if they no longer think the move makes sense for them.

I raised my concern with the person I'd been coordinating with for more than a month, but I already had a feeling that it was the end of the line.

So I thanked her for all the help she'd given me and moved on.

Besides, I still had one more opportunity waiting.

Or at least, I thought I did.

The second one dragged on for almost two months and involved a lot of follow-ups.

Every time I checked, I was told that management was still reviewing everything.

So I waited. And waited.

By this point, I had already stopped entertaining other potential employers because I had pretty much locked myself onto this one opportunity.

I knew I shouldn't make plans around a decision that could still change.

But I felt good about how the technical panel interview went.

Three weeks became five.

Five became seven.

On the eighth week, I reached out to my friend who worked there and had referred me for the role.

I asked if he had heard anything from the recruiter.

He got the exact same response I'd been getting.

Then the following week, he messaged me.

The recruiter had decided to put my profile on hold for now.

That one really felt devastating.

With both opportunities gone, I was back at square one.

I've experienced a lot of rejections before.

And when I say a lot, I mean a lot.

I've probably spent hundreds, maybe even thousands, of hours going through applications and interviews since graduating from college.

But these two?

Damn.

They felt different.

Stand up five​

I tried going back to my normal day-to-day routine.

I'll admit that it wasn't easy getting those two could-have-beens out of my system.

Then I got sick.

Twice.

I was losing a lot of fluids and became so weak that I could barely function for almost a week each time.

I didn't want to think too much about it because I eventually recovered after taking medication, but during those two periods, I spent most of my time lying in bed.

No running.

No workouts.

Nothing.

My body was basically on downtime.

I eventually recovered physically.

The anxiety bubbling underneath everything, though?

That didn't disappear quite as easily.

Stand up six​

Eventually, another call came in.

And this time, I took home the gold.

There was still a lot of back-and-forth thinking before I finally told my teams at my current job that I'd be stepping out and heading in a different direction.

Everyone was incredibly kind about it.

My teammates and team leads were warm, generous, and supportive.

Honestly, if it were possible, I probably would've brought some of my teammates with me.

Change is hard.

Change is uncomfortable.

But sometimes, change is necessary if you want to grow.

Stand up seven​

A few days before my final week at work, I got sick again.

This time, it was my eyes.

I won't go too much into the details, but it took a pretty serious toll on my productivity.

Around the same time, I tried restarting my #100DaysOfCode Challenge again.

And once again, I had to abandon it because I was simply too disoriented with everything happening around me.

Then, as if life hadn't already thrown enough at us, my wife was diagnosed with nodules in two different parts of her body.

Naturally, we were worried.

We were hoping the doctor would simply advise us to monitor them for now or prescribe some medication.

Instead, we were told that the lumps needed to be removed.

What followed was an entire afternoon of rushing from one place to another to get laboratory tests done and submit all the necessary documents.

The following day, we found ourselves inside a hospital room.

Fortunately, our health card covered the expenses.

At that point, the only thing we really had to worry about was how the surgery would go.

Stand up eight​

It's been almost four days since we left the hospital and came back home.

My wife is much stronger now, although her stitches are still healing.

My eyes are recovering too.

If the weather cooperates, I might finally try running again tomorrow morning.

And somewhere in the middle of everything that happened, I also managed to pass the AWS SysOps Associate certification exam.

I'm now on Day 3 at my new job.

Six months ago, I probably wouldn't have believed anyone who told me this was how my first week at a new company would look.

Starting a new job while being completely occupied with things happening at home.

I've always told myself that whenever I enter a new environment, I want to give it my full and undivided attention.

Well.

So much for that plan.

As much as it sucked to have the previous months throw one blow after another, I can't really say they were the worst days of our lives.

We've been through worse.

We definitely took a beating, though.

But we got through it, didn't we?

Man, those speed bumps forced me to slow down more times than I wanted.

Sometimes you don't really get a choice.

You slow down.

You regroup.

You refuel.

You catch your breath.

Whatever verb you want to use.

And strangely enough, sometimes the universe does seem to lend a hand when everything starts feeling too difficult to carry.

I don't expect things to suddenly become smooth sailing from here.

They probably won't.

What I do know is that I'll try to solve whatever can be solved.

Take the losses when needed.

Take the hits.

And then stand up.

At eight.

At nine.

Or at a hundred.

As many times as it takes.

If you've read up to this point, I'd like to give my utmost thanks.

I know this is usually an avenue for all things technical, but I just thought I'd share a side of myself that isn't only about work, studying, certifications, or programming.

Sometimes, there's also everything happening in between.

Draft from November 2021.

"And that, I think, is the real shift in thinking: When you shift from being a learner to a problem-solver.*

I realized that once you've finished a course, learned the basics, and started working on actual projects, you rarely go back and re-watch an entire section of the course just because it happens to be related to whatever issue you're troubleshooting.

Instead, you usually do one of two things.

You either:

a. Go through your own notes or documentation to see if you've encountered the problem before, assuming you trust your documentation enough, or

b. Take the much easier and quicker route and Google it, search Stack Overflow, or look for a similar use case on YouTube.

So I think structured courses are really useful during the discovery stage.

They introduce you to the technology, explain the terminology, show you how things are connected, and give you some idea of what you're actually dealing with.

But once you're trying to use that technology to solve your own problems, things become different.

At that point, instinct usually kicks in.

You Google the error and hope somebody has already asked the exact same question on Stack Overflow.

Or maybe someone uploaded a 12-minute YouTube video three years ago that somehow solves your exact problem.

Another thing I've noticed is that courses can become outdated pretty quickly, especially when technologies move at a really, really fast pace.

AWS Cloud computing examples come to mind (you can skip the list below if you don't care about the details):

1. One day, EC2 limits are described in terms of a fixed number of instances per region.
2. Later, the limits are based on the number of vCPUs you're allowed to run.
3. One day, ZooKeeper is an important piece of the architecture you're studying.
4. Later, newer versions of the technology start moving away from it entirely.

Sometimes the change is significant.

Sometimes it's just a button that moved somewhere else in the UI.

But when you add all those small changes together with everything else you're already trying to learn, they start becoming pretty significant.

One day, you might have several weeks to play around with this fascinating new technology you've just discovered.

Then tomorrow, someone tells you that you have two weeks to understand it and come up with a bare-minimum usable solution.

So yeah.

Things change pretty quickly.

I guess my point is that it took me almost four years, and honestly I'm still working on it, to shift away from the structured, college-style way of learning and adapt more to how knowledge is acquired in the actual industry.

When I say college-style learning, I mean the kind where you have a clear outline of what you're supposed to follow.

You start with the baby steps.

Maybe you fire up your first terminal.

Then you learn the commands.

Then the concepts get progressively harder.

Eventually, you reach the more complicated parts.

You usually know what you're trying to learn, what the problem is, and what you're expected to accomplish before moving on to the next lesson.

The actual industry doesn't always work like that.

Sometimes you're simply given a list of requirements.

And that's it.

Nobody gives you a neat list of all the technologies you need to learn beforehand.

It's up to you to figure out what tools you need.

Sometimes you aren't even given a clearly defined technical problem.

You have to figure out what questions need to be asked first.

Then you start searching for the answers.

I guess this falls under what people call ill-defined problems, where there isn't always one perfect or unique solution.

During my time at my previous job and now in my current one, I've learned a lot about how solutions are actually pieced together.

You might have help from a vendor.

You might have external professional services working with you.

You might have documentation, architects, engineers, and other teams involved.

But eventually you realize that solving problems isn't always as straightforward as it looks from the outside.

Some tasks suddenly become more important than others.

Something from the business side might come up halfway through the sprint.

A requirement changes.

A deadline moves.

A dependency suddenly appears.

And now you have to rethink which of the ten questions sitting in front of you actually needs to be answered first.

So the industry's way of learning can get pretty messy.

You search for whatever you need at that moment.

You try it immediately in your test environment.

If it works, great.

Maybe you start incorporating it piece by piece into your code or configuration.

Then you test it again.

Check the logs.

Run your unit tests.

Run OAT or whatever other validation process you have.

If everything looks good and nothing starts screaming in the logs, maybe it eventually finds its way into production.

Oh, and here's the fun part:

You need to have all of this done in four sprints or less.

No pressure.

Now, situations like this can introduce what we call technical debt.

This usually happens when you choose a quicker or easier solution today, knowing that you'll probably have to revisit or improve it later.

Is technical debt bad?

Yes.

No.

I don't know.

I guess the real answer is: It depends.

Sometimes you simply can't make something perfect.

Your solution might depend on a platform managed by another team.

A new version might change how your code behaves.

Another system could be updated.

Requirements could change again.

There will always be factors outside your control.

And sometimes getting a working solution out there lets you learn something that you would've never discovered by spending another month trying to make everything perfect.

The faster something fails in a controlled environment, the faster you can understand why it failed and improve it.

So in a strange way, we're constantly trying to find ways to break things safely so we can figure out how to make them better.

Wait. Where was I?​

Oh, right.

A shift in thinking.

I guess I've spent all this time trying to explain how structured learning differs from learning when you're already trying to solve a real problem.

So, should I stop taking courses and just focus on projects?​

No.

If something is completely new to you, you still need some sort of foundation.

And that's what courses are really good at.

They give you the basic tools that you might need later.

They show you what's possible.

They introduce you to the terminology.

They give you enough knowledge to at least know what to search for when everything eventually breaks.

Then, somewhere along the way, you start using those tools to answer your own questions.

Sometimes you'll keep using them.

Sometimes you'll realize that the tool you learned isn't actually the best one for the problem sitting in front of you.

So you drop it and learn another one.

And that's fine.

I am still confused​

Well, you're not alone.

I still haven't figured all of this out either.

I still have a ridiculous number of courses sitting on my laptop that I haven't finished yet.

And since time is a limited commodity, I've slowly developed my own strategy for learning things and actually applying them.

If my goal is to take a certification exam, I usually go through the course, do the labs, write down notes, and then prepare using practice exams.

Once I pass the exam?

I delete the course.

Yep.

No hesitation.

At that point, I know I'm probably not going to sit down and re-watch the whole thing again.

If I eventually need to use the technology for a project and I run into an issue, chances are I'll just search for the exact problem anyway.

And honestly, I like it better that way.

Instead of going back through hours of videos, I can search for exactly what I need.

Kind of like picking apples.

You grab the ones you need and leave the rest of the tree alone.

The important part is that during the discovery and review stage, I used the course to build some sort of foundation.

I learned enough to know the terminology.

I learned enough to understand the basic concepts.

And hopefully, I learned enough to recognize what I don't know.

Then comes the application stage.

That's when I start relying more on my own tools.

My notes.

Documentation.

Experiments.

And, of course, my Google-fu.

Currently, I'm preparing to take the RHCSA next year.

So by then, I'm expecting most of the RHEL-related courses sitting on my hard drive to be completely gone.

By deleting them, I'm also forcing myself to think on my own instead of constantly going back and copying the exact steps an instructor followed.

If I want to remember how I did a lab, I check my notes.

If it's not in my notes, there's a good chance it's somewhere in the official documentation.

And if it's not there?

Well.

Google probably knows somebody who knows.

Okay, I think I got it.​

If you did, then you're probably already one step ahead of me.

Again, I don't have all the answers.

Half the time, I don't even know what the right questions are yet.

But I expect to figure out more as I keep going.

I'll do more labs.

I'll break more code.

I'll tail more logs.

I'll try solutions that don't work.

I'll eventually find ones that do.

Then I'll document what happened so maybe I don't have to suffer through the exact same problem twice.

And somewhere along that process, something changes.

You stop just asking: "What should I learn next?"

And you start asking: "What do I need to solve this?"

That, I think, is the real shift in thinking.

When you shift from being a learner to being a problem-solver.

And maybe, after you've solved enough problems, you eventually move into another kind of learning altogether:

Passing what you've learned on to someone else.

Back in 2017, I told myself that someday I would run SCSM. It was right there on my bucket list of races to tick off.

Today, I finally ran the streets of Singapore and crossed two finish lines back-to-back—yesterday being the first.

My knees definitely took a beating and got pushed to their absolute limits. Ha!

Time for some long, well-deserved recovery sleep.

Next year, no half measures. We go for the full 42.

Some shots from our National Day Run.

Majulah Singapura!

And the day has come.

Signing in for the last time.

It's strange how something you've done almost every day eventually becomes something you'll do for the last time.

One last login.

One last look at the usual tools, messages, tickets, systems, and all the other things that slowly became part of the daily routine.

One last look at Disneyland.

I gained a lot during my time here.

I learned plenty from the PH team, especially from seeing how applications are built, maintained, fixed, and sometimes broken before being fixed again.

I learned just as much from the US team. Networking was already familiar territory for me, but there's always a difference between knowing something from books and certifications and actually seeing how all the pieces work together in the real world.

And of course, I learned a ton from the House of Mouse too.

Different teams. Different people. Different problems.

Some days were smooth.

Some were definitely not.

There were things I understood immediately and others that sent me down several hours of Googling, reading documentation, staring at logs, and wondering what the hell I was missing.

But I guess that's part of it.

You don't really notice how much you've picked up along the way until you're about to leave and suddenly start looking back.

The systems I've worked on, the problems I've encountered, the people I've learned from, and even the mistakes I've made all became small pieces of experience that I'm bringing with me to wherever I go next.

And now it's time to close this chapter.

Borrowing from Closing Time:

“Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.”

So, yeah.

Onto an awesome new start.

I've come to realize that the desire to learn can sometimes clash directly with the desire for stability.

We want systems to be reliable. Predictable. Quiet.

We want things to work so well that nobody has to think about them.

But then someone comes along with a new feature, a new requirement, a better way of doing something, or maybe just a question:

Can we improve this?

And the answer is almost always yes.

Will we ever reach a point where there's absolutely nothing left to improve?

Probably not.

As long as people are using a service, they'll find new ways to use it, new problems to run into, and new things they'll expect from it.

The funny part is that improving something often means disturbing what already works.

You change the code.

You replace a component.

You move something somewhere else.

You test an assumption and discover that it was wrong.

And sometimes, you break things.

Strangely enough, that's where a lot of the excitement comes from.

There's something satisfying about finding that one weak point in a system, figuring out why it failed, gathering the facts, and then slowly building a solution around it.

You fix it.

You harden it.

You secure it.

Then, eventually, you find the next thing that needs attention.

There's still a lot that I've yet to break and fix.

A lot to build and rebuild.

A lot more to move, replace, improve, and probably break again.

And honestly, I enjoy watching that process.

Seeing something start as a rough proof of concept, then slowly grow into something real, stable, and useful in production.

Maybe that's the strange balance of engineering.

You spend half your time trying to make things stable.

And the other half changing them before they get too comfortable.