January 14
I was supposed to be the one getting on a plane; my visa had expired.
But everything was out of whack and Amit was the one jetting off.
I hadn’t even booked a flight. Overstaying my visa had seemed a crime worth committing in order to steal a little more time in Phuket with Amit.
I was hopeful to the last, but it had blown up in my face.
So there I was, not just a criminal but – even worse – alone.
I went home, but I was restless. I shifted from the sofa to the bed to the floor to the kitchen counter, trying to find a place to sit and think, but I just couldn’t get comfortable.
My body refused to be still; it ached to run, scream, flush out the pain in a burst of movement.
It was a step ahead of my mind in processing that pain.
I told myself that I just needed some sleep so that I could start fresh in the morning with a cup of coffee and a story.
Perhaps recalibrate, consider my options.
But my body wouldn’t cooperate. It wouldn’t even let me hide in bed, crying and bingeing on purple sweet potato ice cream, like normal people do after breakups.
The phone buzzed, letting me know that the taxi had arrived.
I went outside. It was cool for a tank-top, but my body welcomed the sting of cold, the prickle of gooseflesh.
I got into the car in silence and the driver let me be.
It was quiet out, as if the world had stopped turning for a brief moment before the streets grew crowded again.
I’d been so lost in thought that the seven minutes it took to get to the beach seemed like seconds.
I quickly paid the driver and got out. Standing on the beach dotted with tall coconut palms, I listened.
It was too quiet. Even the sea was subdued that night.
I stood there, trying to pay attention to what my body wanted from me.
That was why I had come, and it worked. I took off my shoes, undressed and ran into the water.
I’m someone who prefers getting into cold water slowly, so I can gradually adjust. But that night I dove right in. The shock was what my body craved.
It started to rain, and I knew it would soon be over-the-top rain, as Amit calls it.
I didn’t care. I was even glad. But when I looked back at the blackness that shrouded the beach, the memory of that night at Patong slammed into me.
No, not slammed. Pierced my heart straight through.
I remembered it all, in minute detail – the feeling that nothing else in the world mattered or if the world beyond our kiss even existed.
I never asked Amit how he felt at that moment.
I still had so many questions that would never be answered.
Was it the rain wetting my face, or sea water, or tears?
All three. And soon it was over-the-top because I was living the memory, but also painfully aware that it was just that – a memory.
The huge lump in my throat made it hard to breath.
I had to let the pain out or the dark ocean would suck me in.
Not such a bad idea, something inside me challenged, and I started to drift with the current.
Then the part of me that loves life kicked in.
Happy memories flashed through my mind – astonishment at the natural beauty of Argentina’s mountains; surprise at the easy connection between people who had just met one another at the Chabad House in Mexico on Rosh Hashana; seeing the sunset with Amit for the first time…
There was more to this life. I knew it. I screamed, wordlessly, in the universal language of pain.
I screamed at the top of my lungs, opening the floodgates to allow all the frustration and despair to pour out of me.
It seemed like I screamed for hours. At some point I got out of the water and ran again, still howling like a madman.
Eventually I lost my voice and collapsed on the sand, wailing like a baby.
How the hell did it end like this? How did I let it happen?
I’d made sure I had the freedom to do whatever I wanted to, without limits.
I’d sacrificed so much for my happiness and, in the end…
in the end, I had not been able to keep Amit with me.
I only had myself to blame – not life, God, the universe or whatever.
It was my own fault. I wasn’t good enough.
I should have known better. Nomads can’t form bonds.
I’d been convinced I could control my feelings, put things behind me, appreciate them in retrospect, and move on; but I had failed.
I caused myself unbelievable pain, and – worse – I hurt someone I cared about, someone who was so deserving of happiness.
That was the most painful part; he really didn’t deserve what I did to him.
I hadn’t considered the consequences. I had been arrogant, thought I understood how life works, that I knew how to play the game.
But life has a way of finding your Achilles’ heel and tripping you up.