Godfather Part I

I received a birthday e-mail from an old friend, i.e., my Godfather Part I [in the words of one of my buddies], which surprised me considering that we haven't seen nor spoken to each other since 2003 [when I went on a crazy U.S. trip with my friends]. She was in New York, and was apparently doing fine. I was doing fine, too. Since I saw her last, I've been wanting so much to talk to her--the way we did years before. We've had many a profound conversation, but our best conversations were those we had while we were driving around aimlessly in my car, or when we were dancing the night away in the disco [pumped up on something]. Weird, but we carried on the way we did. And we were happy.

Then she left. And with a heavy heart, i bade her bon voyage. It is truly saddening for having someone you truly care for leave. But the pain of being left behind lies not in the fact of being left behind per se, but rather, the possibility of being forgotten. This, i conjecture, is the root of melancholia. And truth to tell, I suppose a lot of people, including myself, have, in one point of their lives, been afflicted by it.

In her email to me, she said that she missed me so. And, in an act that was totally out of character, I replied in the same way [I am rarely cheesy]. Because I did and do miss her. And I'm sure that she really does miss me. For once in the three years of oblivion, I have come to realize this--there is a joy in being left behind, and an excitement, too. The joy lies in the affirmation that after being tormented by the demons of the forgotten, you have actually been remembered. Likewise, the excitement lies in the tingling sensation one feels when he/she knows that an old flame has been rekindled. It is the knowledge that you have been, and will always be, in someone else's heart.