I have no idea whether or not other families share a similar superstition, but ours had this odd belief that whatever you do on the New Year, you’re bound do the same for the remaining days of the year. It’s moderately irrational, I know. But believers defend themselves by claiming that we’re bound to lose nothing once we submit ourselves to such superstitious beliefs.
That’s why we avoid unnecessary expenditures; it may, even indirectly, doom us to have a year full of lavish spending, which is, of course, financially detrimental to sustain. In the slightly off – chance that they do have bearings in the manner with which the events in our lives play out, then it would be to our advantage. In case they didn’t, then it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.
I could say that I started the year thinking about him. But I guess it would be more fitting to say that I was thinking about him when the year started.
The funny thing is that I don’t know why I strayed from my usual jogging route that morning. Instead of merely tracing the curvilinear path along the river, I crossed the bridge to get to the other side. Right then and there, I catch a glimpse of this guy sitting on the second step of a set of stairs leading to a dirt road. He had his baseball cap on while his bicycle was resting on the berm who slope simulated the pitch of the steps.
I knew the guy. In fact, I knew him all too well that I decided to go back instead of indulging ourselves with pleasantries and small talk. It was cowardly of me. But I comforted myself with the reality that I had no obligation or whatsoever to initiate social interaction. And yes, this is, more likely, me being the perennially hormonal teenage girl who is still goofy about her first love.
All is well. I didn’t feel my heart skip a beat when I saw him. That ought to be good, right? But have I doomed myself to spend another year with him as the object of my infatuation, in line with our family tradition? Probably not.
I don’t even see that encounter as fate’s way of implying that we’re really meant for each other. I’d rather see it as the second chance I have been waiting for—an opportunity to restore the innocence of my affectionate intention.
Despite the cynicism I feign now, such recall humbles me to think that it’s possible to love somebody so much that the pop songs start making sense and stop appearing as a mere vehicle for cultural consumerism. It’s possible to wake up in the morning and go to sleep at night with only one person in mind. It’s possible to look forward to seeing him the next day just to see his smile and to miss him the very moment you part ways. It’s possible to go all through that myriad of emotions without any spite or mind games.
This is more than what I had asked for. This is the ultimate closure.