“And wasn’t it terrible,
how much he looked forward to those moments,
so much so that sometimes
even a ride by himself on the subway was the best part of the day?
Wasn’t it terrible that after all the work one put
into finding a person to spend one’s life with,
after making a family with that person,
even in spite of missing that person…
that solitude was what one relished the most,
the only thing that,
even in fleeting, diminished doses,
kept one sane?”
― Jhumpa Lahiri, Unaccustomed Earth
The thing is, to be completely honest: lately, I am not sure the sort of friend I am in this friendship.
I am not bitter, yet strangely I realize it myself I am not the same – not around them, not completely. While I do act my usual self in general and we plan events, breaks, trips and dates around each other – behind their backs I grunt to another trusted friend, I sigh in frustration and annoyance and citing workload as the reason; my door, it remains shut.
If they knock, I will answer.
Sometimes I linger outside of my little cave (that’s looking too messy quite frankly, evident of this current, hectic period) during my timeout or short breaks. Occasionally I sit in the kitchen/main room and fill them in on my application statuses or other on-goings. But in general –
My door, it remains shut.
So much has changed in the breadth of such a short period of time but I’d be lying if I say I didn’t expect this to arrive, eventually.
It was only a matter of time and the time is… now.
If anything though, the other day we realized that this is it: the final year. Seven months from now, all three of us will embark on separate and wholly different journeys, equally extremely likely to be in different continents, time zones and locations. Philly, here and now, this 2-year living together experience – embrace it, relive it, foster it. It hit me in a hard wave the other day, the same time it did with Housemate #1. We both stayed silent for a second, an unexpected but tangible pregnant pause.
Moving forward – that is it, this is it.