MMX - MMXVI

I don't know if anyone will ever read this, but at least I'll have something to look back on, as I did when I first started this blog six years ago.

Six years ago, I sat on the floor of my bedroom, on the second level of my parents' house in Burnaby, typing late into the night as I calculated how many hours of sleep I would get before waking for 7:00am yoga in downtown Vancouver.  Yoga would become my almost-daily commitment.

Six years ago, the seed of a dream to study in Florence was sprouting, and I had no idea what would be ahead of me--only that there was excitement in the uncertainty, and a belief that the experience would forever change me.

Six years ago, I had a cat named Chiara, whom I adopted from a kind family who wanted some peace for the cat's senior years.

Six years ago, I daydreamed about one day falling in love, wanting to cash in on the lottery ticket that I never remembered buying.

And six years ago, my dad (whom I called Giagi) was still healthy and alive, being a constant source of love and comfort.  I'd get him Italian novels to read from the library, and he'd feed us delicious home-cooked meals made from the heart, whistling while he worked his magic in the kitchen.  There would always be hugs and singing.

I cannot say I know where the past six years went--only that I can point out the differences.

Now I sit on my lime green chair in the living room of the apartment I own in Vancouver, which I moved into one year ago.  I've since learned about calories and how to ride a bike.  I no longer have the ability to operate on five or six hours of sleep, and waking up before 7:30am displeases me.

Now I look back at my time in Florence with deep gratitude, cherishing everything living abroad meant to me and solidified in me; missing what came with having a clear, attainable goal which I made for myself, and envious of that girl who knew what she wanted--because I have no idea what I want.

Now I occasionally remember Chiara, who we had to put down due to kidney failure, and how I am almost ready to open my heart to another pet again.

Now I celebrate four years since the day I met Boy, and think about how attached I have become to one person, who is both my best friend and great love.  I never thought that meeting someone else would make me become my truer self.  And sometimes it scares me to be so deeply invested in another person.

Now I shed a tear for Giagi, who I still feel left us too soon.  I wish I could say that I remembered his life well, but more often than not my thoughts drift to the weeks leading up to his death, and all the guilt that comes with not doing my best to help him.  I think a lot about how I never got to say goodbye, and how we never had any final words with each other.  I wonder what he would have told me if he knew he was dying.  I wonder if he knew he was dying, because I didn't until it was too late.  I wonder how long his absence will continue to be felt, and would not be surprised if the answer was forever.

These are among the many thoughts that have been itching to come out of me, but most of the time it has been much easier to distract myself--and six years ago there were no smartphones or Netflix, or the being of an adult.

All I know is that six years ago, I was an insecure and shy girl looking forward toward a path, and now I am a self-assured woman lost in the dark.  It's strange where life takes us, and I think I'm ready for my next jolt...

...and there has not been much singing.