after i sat on the bus, driving away from her and this city that was once my home, i watched the rain fall on the windscreen for over an hour. the monotonous movement of the windscreen wipers going back and forth in an unfair battle against the continuously pouring rain brought me back to my childhood, on the back of my father’s car. there is something soothing about this repetition and the memory of when things were simple, potentials instead of concrete realisations.
how does 9 years of commitment to someone followed by a sudden crumbling down of a relationship materialise as? apparently, through 11 boxes of cardboard filled up to the brim, roughly 200 kgs, shipped across the continent.
i can still see her standing in the middle of our apartment, now half empty, hollow shelves and bare walls, as if the void i felt then had spilled onto the physical world. and i can still see her and her look as I walked away, followed by the brief glimpse i saw of myself, reflected on the door as I shut it – red faced, swollen eyed, messy hair – and such a hopeless expression, that for a fraction of a second, i felt genuine horror for the man i saw.