Midterm Writing

Cecil 110211046
4cd

It was a warm, but moist, silent late spring afternoon. I hastily grabbed my jacket, put on
some Nikes, and rushed out the door. I walked quickly for around 10 minutes, past the grocery store,
the elementary school, the gym, the hospital, and finally into an abandoned garden, the place where
everything reminded me of him. By the time I got there, my heart was beating incredibly fast and I
was out of breath. I stopped for a minute to catch my breath, while the wind then blew my hair
sideways and blocked my view, as it reminded me of his hands that used to stroke my face. The trees
moved in rhythm as they welcome me back. The sound of dried leaves rustling away comforted me
like a mother’s hug. As I follow the traces of my past, I sat at my favourite spot, an old bench across
from a statue. I folded my legs and leaned against the back of the bench, slowly getting into a
comfortable position.
 
I looked at the statue intensely. The sorrow from her eyes seeps through as she embraced
the jar like her baby. She had beautiful hair that caressed her soul and robe that hugged her tightly
and a smile that made everyone feel at peace, or at least me. It was as if her voice and her cries were
unheard. Nonetheless, the butterflies sang for her, the leaves applaud her. I felt like she was dry as if
she had nothing more to give, but the stones continued their support for her. They had formed a
pack to defend her. They were in her control. They’d do anything for her. Her barefooted feet had
wrinkles that showed her strength, her perseverance. It was as if she had been standing forever. It
was as if she was trying to tell everybody about her pain. The podium she stood upon was her
support. As I take my time looking at her, I began to wonder what was her story.
 
We were 18, waiting in line outside of the gym to walk into our school’s graduation
ceremony, when he slid his hands to hold mine, with his fingers wrapped tightly, our hands became
one. I could feel his sweaty palms, his rough fingers from playing basketball, his warmth, and his
pulse. As we entered the hall, he pulled me closer to him and whispered, “I am proud of you. I love
you.” I smiled, thinking how lucky I am to have him, maybe not forever, but at least for now. We
were seated away from each other, but we caught each other’s eyes now and then. The ceremony
began, and the teachers took turns giving speeches, but I could only remember Mrs. Morgan - our
English teacher. She was always humorous and loud, while the other teachers kept on rambling
about random kinds of stuff and gave cliché advice that I've read on Google already. Around one
hour into the ceremony, we got ready to take our awards and were asked to get in line at the side of
the podium. I was hesitating about how I should pose to the camera, how I should smile, or if my
hair was pretty enough. But by the time I went up, the nervousness I had earlier was gone because
he had cheered the loudest. He stood up and screamed, “That’s my girl!”

Once on a Tuesday afternoon, my hands were tied to the kitchen, trying to replicate an
internet recipe of the good old pumpkin pie for my Friendsgiving tonight - a culture me and my
college friends made as we are in our last semester. Pumpkin seeds were everywhere, egg shells
were all over my kitchen counter - it was a mess. Then, I heard light footsteps down the hallway, and
after a few seconds of pause, there was a gentle cluck in my keyhole as he/she turned the key to
unlock my door. I was a little uneasy that I find myself peeping behind the wall with my dirty apron
hugging my beige turtleneck and dirty spatula on my left hand. But to my ease, it was a familiar
figure wearing dark jeans and Nikes - probably the third person I feel at home with, after my parents
and two brothers. I ran to the door, almost hugging him when he pushed me back, saying "You'll ruin
my clothes," I chuckled. It was a cute moment seeing him care about his looks to meet my friends.
He brought some sourdough bread along with flowers he said he had picked in a market. I had
begged him to help me make this pumpkin pie, which he proceeded with after cleaning the pumpkin
leftovers. Seeing his fast and clean cooking style amazes me, I think everything about him is just
perfect. 

It was soon time for my friends to come. The sun had begun to set and cast a shadow of the
both of us sipping coffee to stay awake for the night. It was such a warm and comfortable light that
made me emotional and nostalgic about the one time we went on a picnic. He was not in the mood
to sit down, relax, and act pretty. It was only because of my nagging that he had no other option but
to stay still. I wanted to take pictures to remember this moment, but I soon realized that he was just
like other guys - they don’t like taking pictures. Nonetheless, he eventually gave up and gave in to
me. While I reminisced about this memory, I heard the doorbell ring and instantly snapped out. One
of my friends, Michelle, had come 30 minutes earlier to help me set everything up. She brought
some dessert for the 8 of us tonight. 

The dinner was perfect - the table set up, the pumpkin pie, the mac, and cheese, the white
wine, the music, the companion. It was probably one of my favourite nights ever, second to when I
went to Taylor Swift’s Reputation concert. I gave everyone a tight hug before sending them home,
wishing the night wouldn't end but my clock had struck 11.15, and everyone, including me, had early
classes the next day. It’s so sad to think that this is one of the last moments that all of us will be in
one place before graduation. It’s just so crazy to think how much time had passed since we first met
each other at a literature class. I stood in front of my door to say goodbyes to them and watch them
go just like how a mother watches her child go to school.

Afterward, he helped me clean every inch of my kitchen, when Daylight by Taylor Swift
played. Dropping everything in our hands, and picking up an item close to sight to grab, we sang our
hearts out to the song the radio played on the way to our 4th-anniversary dinner. We danced
around the kitchen in the refrigerator lights, while I shouted “AND I CAN STILL SEE IT ALL IN MY
MIND, ALL OF YOU ALL OF ME INTERTWINED!” and he replied, “I ONCE BELIEVED LOVE WOULD BE
BURNING RED, BUT ITS GOLDEN!” We then wind down the night by listening to more Taylor Swift
songs, yes, we are swifties. 

And when we had that fight out in the rain. We were both tired from working the whole day,
and I got sensitive when he kept on asking me questions about my day. I got angry and he felt
insulted. When his tone of voice gradually increased, I just couldn’t stand it anymore and packed my
bags and carried my shoes down the lobby. It was pouring rain but I just wanted to get home so
badly. I figured I’ll walk in the rain as my house is 2 blocks from his anyways. After approximately 30
seconds, he followed me in the rain and called out my name, “Celine!” I stopped for a moment, and
as he continues, “I’m sorry. I’m very sorry”, I turn my back. “I know you hate it when I raise my voice,
it was wrong of me. Now, will you please come back upstairs? You’re going to get sick.” He once got
in a fight with a stranger at a basketball game because that person had spilled Coke on his shoes.
The image of him fighting and yelling frightened me so much, I begged him to never do that again. I
walked slowly through the rain back to him while bawling my eyes. He hugged me. I hugged him too.
We both apologized. 

The skies had turned bluish-grey after all the reminiscing. Time passed by fastly, though it
felt like a million years for me. I was still sitting with my legs folded and slowly getting cramps when
the sudden clattering of the phone on my lap woke me up. It was my mom consistently ringing my
phone, demanding to be answered. I heavily grabbed my phone and it answered, “Celine, you there?
You’re coming home next week, right? No more excuses please, me and My dad have been missing
you like crazy.” I replied to her, “Yes, don’t worry. Do you want me to bring anything? What do you
want for your birthday Mom? New pair of Air Pods? Or some Converse?” Mom responded with
chuckles, “Nah, I don’t need anything. Just promise me you’ll come, and maybe you’ll stay over?” I
laughed and promised her nothing as I end the call 5 seconds later with a, we’ll see, bye, and love
you. I got up from my seat, did some stretches, and walked my way out slowly while taking in
everything this place had for me in the past years as I say farewells. I wish to put everything behind
me and move on. 

Sunday, July 29. I had kept my promise to go back home for my mom’s birthday and drove
13 minutes down to Cornelia Street. Driving around my old block made me realize how much I’ve
grown up over the years, as well as how long I haven’t been to my mom’s house, although it was
only a 13-minute drive. I wonder why. I parked in front of her house, behind my brother’s car, and
saw that my mom had been waiting for me by the door. She welcomed her daughter back home. She
hugged me tightly and whispered, “Glad you’re here.” I was pulled by my wrist inside the house,
where everyone, including my dad, my two brothers, my sisters-in-law, and our family friend, had
been waiting for my arrival. It was a sudden burst of energy when they cheered and sprinted to me
to give me a dear hug. I was not prepared for this. Mom’s birthday cake was the prettiest - tiny red
hearts all over the buttercream and cursive writing of “happy birthday Mom”.

During lunch, the parents reminisced about our first bike ride together, first Christmas play,
first Graduation, first Prom, first heartbreaks, the first day of college, and many more firsts - yes, we
all grew up together. Everyone had a blast making fun of each other when my oldest brother
suddenly added to the conversation, “Remember when Celine used to sneak out of the house to
meet James in that garden down the street? And I once caught her there at 2 am on a school day, do
you guys remember that?” Everyone turned silent and awkward because his name is forbidden in
our household. As I slowly tilt my head down to escape from this uncomfortable remark, I begin
playing with my food and drinking some soda even though I was not thirsty. I could feel all the stares
they gave me, even from the other side of the table. 

The first year of high school. A new, geeky boy sat beside me in Biology class. I first thought
of him as weird cause he was constantly trying to be friendly to me, despite my unkind and cold
glance every time he tried to speak to me. He was also annoyingly smart and whenever Mr. Roger
gave the class a chance for free points, he never failed to get them. We were paired together for a
semester project and one day, I asked him if he wanted to do the homework at my house as the
deadline was near and I didn’t want to be seen with him anywhere, so I’d rather him come to my
house. That was the night I no longer see him as the awkward guy. He had a very sweet smile that
my mom loved and fell for and an appetite bigger than anybody. I also found out that he lived 2 rows
behind my house, he was also a big fan of How I Met Your Mother, he listens to Chainsmokers and
he loved pizzas.

One day, on the way home from school, he asked me if I would come with him to a place
that he swears I’ve never been to. I challenged him, saying that I’ve lived here far longer than him
and that there can’t be a place in our neighbourhood that I’ve never been to, as I take evening walks
with my dog almost every day. When we arrived in front of a garden, I was in awe upon seeing that
there is such a beautiful garden and how could nobody have ever told me about it. We talked for
hours and it was like being in a different world. We sneaked out a lot at night to meet each other
and to see the stars and the moon, dressing in nothing more than hoodies and pyjamas. We find
ourselves there even when we were in college. We didn’t need to go to any cafes or bars, we just
needed to go there - it was like our second home. 

Tuesday, 16 August, 4.19 pm. I was in my living room, editing some pictures I took the other
day for a clothing company. People find it weird how I used to study Marketing but ended up being a
photographer instead. Although, I do think that studying Marketing helped me in understanding the
type of advertisement people are more attracted to. Well, if I could turn back time, I might have
chosen a different major - Media and Journalism, or Photography. I think one of the biggest
drawbacks of being a freelancer and being your boss is loneliness. I sometimes envy my friends who
have co-workers that they can complain to about how big the workload is, or when they would go to
dinners and drinks after because I’m always on my own. I never got to experience team bonding or
getting help from someone else. Anyways, the model I took pictures of was so pretty that she
needed very minimum edits, except for maybe some flyaway and freckles. Nonetheless, the pictures
turned out perfect - the makeup, the clothes, the props, the model, and the lighting. I was at my
higher concentration level, trying to finish it as soon as possible.

I had set up a Lofi playlist, coffee on my side table, and a cold room temperature when a
message from an unsaved number popped in the bottom right corner of my computer screen. It
wrote, “Do you really want to know where I was April 29th?" 

Saturday, April 29. The day we were supposed to tie the knot. The day I was supposed to
become his wife and him as my husband. The start of many more firsts. The start of our forever. On
his birthday dinner last year, in front of his family and friends, he got on one knee, popped a Tiffany
box with the prettiest diamond ring, and asked, “Will you do the honour of marrying me?” I
answered with no doubt, “Yes!” Weeks later, I started a hunt for the perfect wedding dress, and I
said yes to a classic, straight dress with pearls all over. But I never got to show her off. She’s still
buried in my closet. We probably visited hundreds of venues and taste-tested thousands of food to
just end up in our first choice, though I didn’t take any pictures there. I had 5 bridesmaids, and
Michelle, whom I’ve known since middle school, was my maid of honour. I handpicked silk, blush
pink dresses to wear at my wedding way. He arranged engagement photo sessions and later, a
honeymoon trip to Hawaii - one of our bucket lists. My friends surprised me with a bridal shower in a
private villa with a photo booth, a pool party, and afternoon tea. They also hired a private chef to
help cook on the day - vegetable and cheese skewers for an appetizer, pasta, sandwich, and burgers
for lunch, and blueberry cheesecake for dessert. But they were useless. Everything I did was a waste
of time. I wasn’t getting married anyway. He didn’t come. 

A few days before our wedding, I focused on looking my best for the big day. I did endless
facial masks, got my nails done, worked out, and ate healthily. I packed my things in my apartment,
getting ready to move into our house. While packing, I found an old scrapbook he gifted me for high
school graduation. He printed pictures of his favourite moments which included ice cream dates,
carpool karaoke, beach date, senior prom, lunch dates, and some more, and wrote cute little memos
beside each picture. We decided to stay in our own homes and meet the next morning at the altar to
avoid the so-called wedding jinx. But I never got to meet him afterward.

My bridesmaids looked troubled the next morning, worried about how to tell me that he
wasn’t coming. I eventually realized that something is wrong. My face turned pale. My heart sank.
My hands turned cold and sweaty. My mind was everywhere. I turned frozen. My dad was supposed
to walk me to the altar before noon, but even 3 hours later, he still hasn’t shown any signs of
coming.

No messages. No voice mails. No phone calls. Nothing. What happened? What did I do? Did I
pressure him too much?

Did he have some wedding jitters? Did he change his mind? Hundreds of possible reasons
passed through my mind, but nothing made sense to me. Or was it what they call a 7-year itch? I was
devastated. I was alone. He left me alone. 

It took everything in me to get by these past few months, trying my best to get up and smile
each day, but nothing made sense to me. Again, nothing made sense to me. Everyone I knew kept on
telling me to be patient, that he’ll come back, and that I’m way better off without him. But I’m
nothing without him. He’s been my best friend for the past decade, he was my person, he was my
home, but now he’s gone.

“Do you really want to know where I was on April 29?” The sentence that I’d been waiting to
hear for months, but also the sentence that horrified me. A part of me misses him so much and
wants him back, but another part of me thinks he has no right to come back and he’s hurt me. I
stared at the message for long enough that the skies had turned purple and pink, but all of a sudden
a voice message popped. 

The voicemail started, “Celine,” I waver as I hear him call my name, 

“Hi. I.. I.. don’t know quite sure how to start this, but I owe you an explanation.” I begin to
cry. Right after, he continued, “I left you all alone that day. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Celine. I’m sorry. I
loved you. I love you. I care for you. You were my everything. But I didn’t know if I loved you that
way if I loved you that much to sacrifice everything for you, to build a family, to settle down
and be yours forever. I don’t know. I realized that I still see you as my Bio seatmate on the first day
of school. I still see you as someone who needed help to start their car engine. I still see you as a girl
who loved English and Mrs. Morgan. I still see you as an innocent, plain kid. But the thing is, I don’t
see you as who you are now. I don’t know who you are now. And I don’t know if I can marry
someone I don’t even know. I’ve only realized lately that you’re a mature, independent, intelligent,
beautiful woman. I can’t let you marry someone who doesn’t see you as you. I can’t let you marry
me. I’ve also realized that I’m only 25. All of my friends are single. My parents are divorced. I am
never ready for full commitment to you.” 

I paused the voicemail as I prepared my heart to hear the last 30 seconds. He carried on, “I
know you’re never going to forgive me for doing this to you - for leaving you all alone and behind. Go
see the world. Go meet some other people. I believe that you’ll find someone who knows and is in
love with everything about you. I love you Celine, I’m always going to love you. Goodbye.” 

I lay on my couch crying. I listen to the message again. I listened to it before I shower before
I fall asleep, and a few more times the next morning. I listened to it at brunch with Michelle and let
her listen. I listened to it in the mornings and at night. I listened to it on the day I miss James. I
listened to it until I have memorized his voice, his words, and his regret, and I didn’t need to play it
anymore. 
I wrote him a letter 3 months later. After I’d put everything behind me, I felt it was wrong for me if I
didn’t appreciate him. I wrote:

Dear James,
I hope you’re doing well. It took me some time to process your voicemail, but I thought I should at least
reply. James, you were my best friend. I loved the person you made me be and you were the best thing
that happened in my life. I will always be grateful to you. I may not even find someone whom I will love
so much as I loved you.

As you said, I am going to see the world. I’m moving to New York tomorrow, my flight is at noon, and it’s
just me. I’m going to start anew, maybe meet some new friends, find new jobs, and find new hangout
places. Whatever it is, I’m going to try to discover myself. I feel like throughout the years we’ve been
together, I’ve never really gotten a chance to find the things I like, the things that annoy me, or the
things I love.

My mom and dad are doing fine. They’re going on their third honeymoon to Japan next week. My oldest
brother and his wife are expecting a child, the baby will probably be here around March. Also, Michelle
has a boyfriend, they’ve been together for 4 months and he seems nice and respectful. I met Mrs.
Morgan at the church too, she asked about you. My dog, Kylo, unfortunately, left all of us last month. He
wishes you were there in his last moments. Well, everyone missed you. I miss you too.

I wish you all the best. I believe that you’ll make it in the world someday. I hope you become happy and
content. Love you.

With love,
Celine

I changed my mind. I remove some words and changed ‘respectful’ to ‘honest’, and ‘next week’ to ‘next
Tuesday’. But then I change my mind again. And again. And again.

I deleted everything. I pressed the delete button for quite some time instead of just highlighting the
whole paragraph. I feel hesitant to delete it, but I did it anyways.

Goodbye, James.