L’esprit de l’escalier – the feeling you get when you leave a conversation and think of all the things you should have said.
Iza, I miss your smile. I miss your encouraging words. I miss our late-night conversations. I miss being your friend. We had told each other we would travel to California to find ourselves. It may have been a cliché, but it was our cliché. I appreciate all the times you stood by me, believed in my art, and gave me a listening ear. Not many people in my life deserved the title real friend but you were a real friend to me. Not many people get me, but you did. You get me. Let’s go to Home Depot and sit on the chairs to people watch! Yes, what we have said to each other made no sense to outsiders. I still remember we would still chat even during the holidays. I gave you a book from Ali’s daughter ’cause her strength reminded me of you. We understood each other; we felt like we were trapped behind bars and had family that tried so hard to crush our dreams. I’ll always have our memories kept in my pocket.I was walking on the streets of Atlanta and wanted to bump into you somehow. I would love to see you in Puerto Rico one day. If you’re not there when I’m there, I hope you’re happy —- wherever you are.
“The crooks thought they had the wrong girl ’cause she was smiling like a fool but ———– can you blame her? This is her big break. Philosophies in her pockets. She held her childhood lullabies and had her own lines to live by. We take chances to discover ourselves. Crashing police cars. Building underground hideouts. We may be falling but ———— to us, we’re flying. The angels breathe down our backs. “We’re reviving ourselves.”I write these words for you, Iza. I will never stop being your friend.
Advice from a friend to a friend: eat these with water. It may sound weird to you, but it makes all the difference. If you don’t, it will be hard as a rock. No good.I walked the old streets of San Juan in hope I would bump into an old friend. I wore my salsa dress and old shoes; I take random snapshots as if they’re mini therapy sessions. I bathe in the sun and press “rewind” with my mind; I think about the memories I have in these sort of places. Hey Izzy Pop, how’s life? I’m sorry. I’m forgetting everything. I’m trying to remember what I have promised you. I only remember bits and pieces of our story. Do you still drive that beat up car? I keep failing my driver’s license. I am now a strong believer in a good public transportation system. I have lived on a beautiful island called Taiwan and now I’m temporarily staying in Shanghai. I wish I can say I am doing something with my life. I’m just wasting away. I’m not getting any younger, you know. I just turned 30 years old. I’m also glad we didn’t escape to California; Arnold did a terrible job. Besides, I don’t think I’ll be able to find myself in the City of Angels. I still bury my feet in the sand like a child but I now worry about moles and skin cancer. This is life. C’est La Vie!
This post is kind of an extension from I carry my memories in my heart like a suitcase.