Writer's Block

So this is what they call writer's block. Or maybe I'm just too lazy to write. Or too happy, perhaps. My diagnosis is writer's block secondary to too much happiness secondary to spending time with you. Aargh. This blog is getting cheesy. And I hate it. But nobody reads this anymore anyway, so I might as well ventilate. I could not tell you anything. No, not yet. Maybe one day, I will. But for now I will write. Write for no one at all. Write for myself. Write for the you I created in my head. Write for the you who might come across this one day and realize that that girl you traveled with, drank beer with, danced like mad with, was in fact dreaming to travel with you forever.

Last Saturday night, you brought me to that place you've talked about many times before. You've mentioned several times that you wanted to take me there. This weekend, you did. It was a resort on top of a hill, with a breathtaking view of the city. The evening was cool, and they stars were bright. The city lights were dazzling. I didn't even notice them that much. I was with you, and we were talking about dreams and aiming for the stars and landing on the moon, or the other way around. It was a little past midnight when I said I wanted to dance. So we went back to the city and got into this sleazy bar filled with drunk kids half our age dancing to trance music. And we danced with them.

On Sunday morning, I asked you to go diving with me. You were tired and very busy. I was surprised and very grateful that you said yes. You even brought your lovely little niece along. For awhile, we stayed by the ocean reading the paper, looking wistfully at the water, saying nothing most of the time. There is always something about you that recharges me. It's the beauty and strength of your spirit, I guess. You have a countenance that radiates peace, and it's contagious. You probably think the same of me. Or else, why would you be wasting time with me?

I wish we could talk about these things. You are shy. I am scared. You are scared. I am shy. So we just kept quiet. Let's just enjoy these moments and let our actions do the talking.

It took me one more day to write about the weekend. So that's what they call writer's block. Or maybe I was just too lazy to write. Or too happy. Yes, I was too happy.

Reoxygenation

Reoxygenation. That's your word. In medical parlance, it's called "detoxification" - it's what we do to relieve ourselves of life's toxicities and stresses. For example, medical students party hard to detoxify after a major exam. But as I grew older, detoxification has evolved into something entirely different from parties. For me, it's staying by the beach, or drinking beer on a quiet evening with soothing music playing, or getting lost in some mountain trail by a river. And most recently, detoxification, or reoxygenation as you would like to call it, means spending time with you.

We both have been extremely busy these days. And though I would have really wanted to spend time with you, our workloads have been very prohibitive. I didn't call you at all, because I didn't want to be a bother, but I have been fervently praying for Fate to intervene. In a small city of half a million people, perhaps it wasn't too much to ask for our paths to randomly cross. This morning, Fate was kind.

Today, we met. It must have been random, or maybe not. You knew I have breakfast in that diner every Sunday morning. And that has always been our favorite breakfast place. You must have known all along that I would be there. Perhaps you were wishing I would be there. Maybe, maybe not. But I must admit I was hoping you'd have breakfast in the same place too. Praying, in fact. I almost lost all hope of seeing you and was about to leave when you came.

I was checking the news on-line and when I looked up, you were outside. You smiled that big shy smile of yours when you saw me. You have so much work to do, you said. We talked about so many things, planned future journeys and business ventures, talked about national issues and politics, laughed a lot about life and the jokes it plays on us. You have always been the smartest person I know. People tell me I'm a smart one. They should meet you, I say.

After you had your breakfast you said you would have to get some reports done. I told you I would leave you so you can work. You asked me to stay. Just stay. You can read while I work, you said. And so we just sat there for some time, with you working on your computer and me reading my book. No words said. Just a strange, restful, soothing quiet. At 9am, I said that I had to start seeing my patients. And you said that you have a meeting to attend to. And we parted ways. Just like that.

I walked out of the diner feeling refreshed. That quiet time with you was a draft of fresh air. I hope I gave you a fresh supply of oxygen too. It will be another busy week ahead. This time, I am no longer worried about it. You had me refreshed and recharged. Reoxygenated, you would say. I am now looking forward to a challenging week. I hope, no, I know, that you are too.

Apprehension

I saw you pass by the hospital today. I happened to be in my car, at the parking lot, wondering how I should spend the free evening. I was trying to stop myself from texting you. Geesh, I missed you terribly! Just when I was already convinced to send you a message, your car passed by. And I set my phone aside and decided against texting you.

Something tells me that if you're not busy, you'll be with me. That even if you're busy, you'll find time to be with me. After so many years of unrequited affections for so many men,  something tells me that this thing I have with you is different. I know that somehow you like me back. I only need to text you and you'll come to me. But what if I'm wrong? What if this time, at the height of my hopes, you would reject me and break my heart?

I could not risk it. I will wait for you to make your move. Or better yet, I have to heal myself from this obsession of you.

What if you feel the same apprehension I'm feeling? What if you're only waiting for me? Nah. Wake up and get real, Jean. There's no such thing. There's no such thing.