Life Through Analisa

Actually, there is another part of this story.

Maybe this is Part 2.

The funny thing is, everyone in this story lives far away from me.

Different countries. Different lives. Different time zones.

Maybe distance has always been part of the equation.

The person I’m close to right now is currently on holiday in South Africa.

A few days ago, he sent me a photo of himself getting into a helicopter.

And honestly, my immediate reaction was:

Oh, you look so gorgeous.

He asked, “Who? Me or the helicopter?”

You, obviously.

It had been such a long time since I’d seen him, even in a photo like that. And there he was, looking ridiculously handsome somewhere far away in Africa.

Then he told me that he was going to be extremely busy for the next two weeks and that, during that time, he might not be able to reply to my messages.

And somehow, my first thought was:

Can I actually survive two weeks without texting him?

Okay. That sounds dramatic.

Obviously, I can.

I have a job. I have my own life. I have things to do, things to finish, a career to think about, and approximately a thousand other things that should probably occupy my brain.

But still.

We haven’t seen each other for almost a year. For a while, we weren’t even talking that much. Then, over the past few months, somehow we became close again.

Closer than usual.

More conversations. More messages. More little pieces of our days being shared with each other.

I don’t even know exactly what to call us.

A relationship?

Not exactly.

Friends?

Definitely more than that.

Maybe we’re somewhere in between.

And perhaps that’s part of what makes everything slightly confusing.

Then today, someone from my past appeared.

He was visiting Indonesia, and we had lunch together. We talked about everything—life, work, old stories, random memories.

And eventually, somehow, the conversation wandered into the past.

Apparently, I once cried because of him.

Excuse me?

I genuinely wanted to dispute the historical record.

Did I really do that?

Because I barely remember it.

He, unfortunately, seems to remember everything.

Even when we were about to leave, we were joking about how strange he is.

I told him, “You know you’re weird, right?”

And he basically responded, “I’ve always been like this.” You already knew that.

Then somehow the conversation turned into the fact that I have apparently continued talking to him for all these years.

And I was just sitting there thinking:

Oh my God.

Because he remembers things about me that I don’t even remember anymore.

Little details.

Old conversations.

Things I said years ago.

At one point I basically told him, “You are dangerous. You remember everything. I don’t even remember any of this.”

And honestly?

It was embarrassing.

Funny, but embarrassing.

There is something incredibly humbling about sitting across from someone who remembers a younger version of you better than you remember her yourself.

Apparently, that girl had feelings.

Apparently, that girl cried.

Apparently, that girl cared enough for someone else to remember it years later.

And now I’m sitting here wondering whether I have actually changed that much.

Because with the person I care about now, I can also be… a lot.

I say I miss you.

I say I love you.

Sometimes I say ridiculous things.

Sometimes I want reassurance.

Sometimes I want to know that I’m missed too.

And suddenly tonight I’m wondering:

Am I too much?

Maybe that’s the question underneath all of this.

Not whether I still have feelings for someone from the past.

I don’t think that’s what today was about.

The past is the past.

We can sit across from each other now, laugh about things that once felt incredibly serious, and then go back to our completely separate lives on opposite sides of the world.

That’s life.

Things that once made us cry eventually become stories we tell over lunch.

Maybe one day, even the things I’m worrying about tonight will become stories like that.

But right now, I’m somewhere else emotionally.

I don’t think I’m sad.

I’m not disappointed.

I’m not angry.

I’m not heartbroken.

I’m just… confused.

And tired.

Very tired.

Maybe that’s why everything feels louder tonight.

Old memories.

Distance.

Someone being away.

Two weeks without much communication.

Questions about relationships that don’t have clear labels.

Questions about myself.

Questions like:

Do I love too much?

Do I say too much?

Do I become too attached?

Am I too much?

I honestly don’t know.

Hopefully not.

Maybe being expressive doesn’t automatically mean being too much.

Maybe telling someone you miss them doesn’t make you weak.

Maybe caring deeply isn’t something I need to be embarrassed about.

Perhaps the only thing I need to learn is how to care about someone without forgetting that I still have my own life to live.

So, for the next two weeks, that’s what I’m going to try to do.

I’m going to let him enjoy his holiday.

Let him be busy.

Let the distance exist without constantly trying to fill it with messages.

And meanwhile, I’m going to return my attention to myself.

My career.

My work.

The things I want to build.

The life that continues whether someone replies to my message or not.

Will I miss him?

Of course.

Will I occasionally want to grab my phone and send something completely unnecessary?

Almost certainly.

But maybe this is good for me.

Maybe I need to discover that missing someone and continuing with my own life can exist at the same time.

And maybe, for the next two weeks, instead of sending every thought to him…

I’ll write some of them here.

Let’s see how long I survive.

Day 2.

Still alive.