The car needs repairs. I have been driving for several hours now and God knows how many ghost towns I've been through. But finally, I am here. Aberystwyth. Words don't make this place justice -- I almost feel like I have arrived in another planet. Or maybe just another part of Great Britain.
It's a warm, sunny day. There is an air of festivity all around. It is the first day of the freshers' week, and people are everywhere around. Sitting on the grass, gathering in circles, talking, dancing, singing... -- all this life around me makes me feel as if I have arrived in a larger place. Perhaps a new life. I would do anything to get away from Preston, and there is a lot I could have done worse than choosing Aberystwyth.
Yet this place also has its own ghosts. Ghosts which are inevitably of my own creation. You see, once ago, she was here. How fitting it is that I have finally arrived long after she is gone. But there is a greater sense of belonging than just the image of her walking about. This place is more comforting, more welcoming than many places I've been before. And I haven't had a chance to call many of them home: N'Djamena, Chad; Paris, France; Athens and Thessaloniki, Greece; Preston, England; Copenhagen, Denmark. Someone who knows me could almost trace my movements on the map and figure that it sort of creates a ribbon of dots.
Not that I intended to travel so far from home. Most of my movements have been involuntary. Like a marionette dancing, unseen strings attached by some grander force. Not that I believe in God in the strictest sense; no. But I don't feel our choices are entirely our own either. At least part of our life is lived in this linear transition from good, to bad, to unknown. We remember the goods, try to forget the bads, and get excited -- and afraid -- at the unknowns.
Aberystwyth was definately a big unknown, but it gave me a good feeling. A feeling that perhaps, here, in my new life, something exciting will break the ice.
A more difficult thought came to mind, all of a sudden. And what if I didn't want it to break this ice?
You see, almost masochistically, I am one of those people that do the opposite of what is normal. I attach importance to the sad events, rather than the good. I count my life in experiences that have transformed or shattered me, and it almost always ends -- or begins -- with something bad. Like that evening more than 6 years ago: I remember I was falling; breathing was a luxury I could not afford. The air around me was hot and still anyway, and gulping for atmosphere was an ordeal in itself. Every moment. Yet, little did I know that on that very day, my life would change. If only momentarily. To the better.
If only momentarily.
It is not that I haven't always been optimistic. I have felt optimism, and, fighting through 3 difficult years of severe depression, and another one earlier on when I was a teenager, I knew when it was genuine or not. Sadly, most of my life experiences had also taught me that genuine optimism is also met by that undeniable genuine sense of loss. This gulping for air. Breathe in. Breathe out. Let the oxygen mask your pain. Then deprive yourself of oxygen.
How long can one hold their breath?
As a child, I tried holding my breath whenever I wanted to test out the limits of my existence. And, always, there would come a moment when breathlessness would be so intolerable, my lungs thirsting for a new dose of this drug called life, that with a big gulp I'd take back in as much air as I had lost.
It was a form of punishment. Not necessarily punishing myself for my mistakes, but punishing me for being in position to experience mistake in the first place. And I have always been unforgiving with myself.
But that was then, and this is now. Aberystwyth. I shouldn't let dark thoughts cross my mind. Rather, I'll try and be more reserved in my enthusiasm. After all, for all I know, she was here. Long ago. Or was it just months ago?
I couldn't tell the difference.
I parked the car, and went out, only to be immediately greeted by freshers eager to meet new people. I warmly smiled back to them. A stand offering free hot dogs caught my attention then, and I decided to head in that direction. A fleeting glimpse of sun hit an open spot of ice in my heart. But only for a moment, as I quickly buttoned up my stripy red t-shirt.
I definately did not want to break this ice yet.
This story is part of a diary series, which will unfold over the coming weeks and months.
This original work by Amadeus In Denial is licensed under a Creative Commons (Attribution Non-Commercial Share-Alike 3.0) License. All work created 2006-2011.
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