‘Am I a difficult person?’ I asked my partner the moment he sat on the chair opposite me. I spent the last ten minutes slouched over the wooden table in the corner of the Costa cafe I was in when I wrote my first post, looking outside of the window. A woman in a denim jacket and a leopard skirt is sitting outside on a table for three, and plays Candy Crush. Her empty coffee glass has a thin layer of foam on the side and a tiny pool of leftover coffee on the bottom. The ashtray on the table has eight cigarette buts, and the ash escapes sometimes towards her direction. Chris Isaac’s Wicked Game plays on the speakers, and my tea is getting lukewarm. She lost another game. I turn my attention to my question.
‘I would say complicated, not difficult’. My partner tells me as he puts his bag on the floor and his jacket on the back of his chair. I look at him, and the fact that I have not written on this blog for almost 9 months creeps in on me again. ‘Is it about your blog?’ he asks me, and I nod, taking a sip of my gingersnap peach tea. The sugar is stuck on the bottom of the paper cup like a crystal carpet. I put it back down.
‘I’m alright (you gotta go there to come back)‘ replaces Isaac’s hypnotic notes, and a momentary feeling of sadness sinks in. ‘so much has happened in the past few months’ I tell him. ‘so many things changed; I changed; this blog stayed the same, froze in time, but inside me it has changed’, I say, aware that this is a thoroughly discussed topic.
‘Well, you have to start from somewhere, and there is no clear beginning point. Pick a point, and start from there; then, tell your story as you want it to be said’. I blink. He is right.
An acoustic version of Ironic starts playing, and I remember having to write a poem for class in high school, and listening to that song again and again and again, stuck on repeat on my portable CD player (the song jumping every time I moved, so I had to lie really still on my bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering how life would be when I grew up). Now I am here. Isn’t it ironic?
As we get up to leave one fine day starts to play. My shoulders fall a bit, and I smile. I have a lot to tell you, and I will in good time. I have changed, and this blog is changing, but what remains the same is this need to write about it. Every word starts with a letter, and every letter starts with a word; this is the start; another beginning.