My own "Past Lives" story
We usually think: "what if?" but truth to be told, sometimes it's not just up to us.
During one of the 9 flights that I took over the last month, I finally watched Past Lives. I didn't know what the movie was about, but I had read great reviews. In case you are not aware, it is a romantic drama that follows the lives of two childhood friends, Nora and Hae Sung. They grew up together in South Korea, but when Nora emigrated to Canada with her family, the two lost touch—only to reconnect 24 years later. What I loved about this movie was how I could relate with the story in a lot of ways. It's so real. It's not around a formula where everything impossible happens. It's about what really happens with a lot of people when they grow apart. After 10 years living abroad, I can't deny the fact that a lot of people that once occupied a place in my life are barely in my thoughts anymore - and I'm sure a lot of these people think the same of me.
In fact, I guess I have my own Past Lives story as well.
It was October 25th, 2020, and my friend Camila sent me a message on Whatsapp. Camila was my BFF for a long period in my life - a period when both of us were teenagers trying to find our place in the world, having moments of joy - and drama, of course, cause, at the end of the day, we were still teenagers. We don't talk a lot these days, but she has a special place in my heart (and I think I occupy that space on hers as well).
-Don't know if you heard about J. He discovered a lymphoma, stage 4, about two weeks ago and he is in the ICU. Doctors gave him two weeks.
I read that with some confusion. At first, I didn't get it.
-J.? Which J.? Our J.? - I answered her.
Like Camila, J. had been part of my life when I was a teenager. He was my highschool sweetheart - although I never knew for sure if I was ever his. It was complicated. And we will get there.
One thing you should know about this sad news is that J. was nearby. Nearby like a 4-h drive. Or a 4-h train ride. Or a 1h flight. J. was in a hospital in Boston, Massachusetts. He had moved there some years before, and he was working as a construction worker. Part of me found that coincidence fascinating. We were from the same small town in Southern Brazil, and we were now living in the United States. And we were relatively close if you consider the size of the United States.
But I didn't learn about his move to America because we were still good friends that kept in contact. No. It was through Facebook. We were friends on the platform. But can you really use the term friends to relate to people that you just have “hanging” there on your network? I've always found the word “friends” too strong to define people that just know you for some random reason - and would ignore you in real life. And perhaps that was what J. was. Would he recognize me if we saw each other on the streets? I have my doubts. But I did find it interesting, to say the least, that he was living in the U.S. I imagined encountering him after so many years and what kind of conversations we would have. I could have reached out. And he could have reached out. But none of us did that. All we did was send a friend request on Facebook. We never chatted. We never commented on each other's posts. That was it.
The news about his disease was a shock anyway. Not only because of the obvious fact that he was so young and because he was someone that had been so important to me in the past but also because he was facing it alone in another country. Remember: it was 2020, and we were in the middle of the pandemic - with the U.S. borders closed. I could only imagine the pain of his parents, who are farmers living in the countryside and probably didn't even have a passport. I could barely share the news with my husband; I was so sad that I couldn't find the words. I put myself on his feet, and I felt so sorry for him and for his family.
I still have it clear in my mind the day I noticed J. at school. He was tall, slim, and had large shoulders, with a sun-kissed skin, a square-shaped face, a prominent chin, thin lips, and a beautiful smile. His dark hair was always styled with hair wax and I loved that.
J. was handsome - but I didn't think he was that popular boy at school, so I thought I had some advantages. For some reason, I felt we were meant to be - although I had no idea he knew who I was and I assumed no one had noticed him. It was just my silly and romantic teenage imagination. I was so wrong, and I quickly discovered that. When our school promoted a love mail, I decided to write him an anonymous love letter. I spent an entire afternoon locked in my bedroom making a collage with magazine letters to "write" the chorus from a romantic song I loved. I wanted my letter to be remarkable. To be unique and special. The letter was delivered successfully - with tons of other letters from other girls. Yep. J. was the boy that received the most considerable amount of love letters. And it was when I realized I was not the only one who had romantic feelings for him. At some point, I learned that my letter did make a difference. When his mom saw my little piece of art to him - something he shared with me when I told him I was the author of that letter, probably a year later - she told him: “the girl that wrote you this letter really likes you”.
I'm so glad he was not in my class - cause I would probably have behaved like a stupid girl near him. I was a 16-year-old girl with self-image problems and many insecurities, as happens with most girls at that age. And I used to feel lost in the middle of all the other girls my age, who had kissed dozens of boys - some of them had "relationships" and even lost their virginity. I guess I was not the kind of girl boys would pay attention to - and that used to hurt me so much. I felt like a stranger seeing the other girls having a lot of experiences, while it took me a while to even have my first kiss - compared to them. My parents always told me I had to study, be focused, etc, etc, and that's what I did. I had my plans and dreams. I loved to read books - and teenager magazines. And although some of these magazines were just reinforcing beauty, fashion and behavior standards, I did learn a lot through the hundreds of pages I read in my adolescence.
It was probably because of all the articles I read that I felt confident enough to take what I consider a bold step for someone my age, taking into account my personality. I am trying to remember if it was before or after the love letter - probably before - that we were all hanging out during a party, and I decided to finally talk to J.
-Can I speak to you for a second? - I asked him.
-Sure - he answered promptly and in a sympathetic way.
After walking away from the group, I finally said:
-I just wanted you to know that I think you are really cute - I almost had a heart attack.
-Oh, thank you - he smiled.
Maybe that "straight-forward" girl moment was too much considering our age, the context, and the small town of 7 thousand people we lived in the Southern of Brazil. In my mind, his response or reaction would have been entirely different cause there's another thing about me: I create expectations. A lot of expectations.
My feelings for J. were definitely not kept on the platonic side. But there was a lot of drama involved in our story. I quickly learned that he already had a sweetheart - my sister's best friend. Almost like a Mexican telenovela, right? But unlike a telenovela, there were no beginning, middle, and a happy end. It was complicated.
There was a point in our lives when we became really close friends. It was during one summer - I remember a morning we spent walking at the beach, having deep conversations - almost like those I used to watch on my favorite series, Dawson's Creek - and it felt so good. If I close my eyes, I can still remember that day. It was a beautiful sunny Saturday morning; the beach was crowded, and the water was not so cold. This day is the best memory I have of him because our conversations were so honest, vulnerable and genuine; and we were so open to each other, and we were so happy. I was. I know he was. I could feel it. There was so much joy between us and we talked about so many things that we lost track of time and didn't realize how much we had walked.
- I wish I had for you the same feelings I have for her - he told me - it would be easier. You are so lovely, and I adore our conversations - he still had feelings for that girl. Should I have felt thrilled by that comment or just felt sorry for myself?
Part of me felt good about it - but that didn't change anything because, at the end of the day, he wouldn't end things with her. And he didn't. I can't blame him. When we are that young, we are so passionate. We don't think about things in a rational way. It doesn't matter if he had invested in that girl for a long time and was still facing some issues since her mom was against it - I mean, of course, we were all so young and I totally can see that today. He was crazy for her.
But hey: you don't need to feel sorry for me - I didn't spend this whole time investing in J. I have met other boys - and I had fun with some of them, others not so much. Looking back, it's silly to think that I wanted to live a beautiful love story when I was so young and didn't know anything about life…
J. and I also had some weird moments - when boys decide to be mean to girls, with no reason. He would act one way when we were alone - like when we had a special moment sharing a kiss and exchanging confessions - and then he would gossip about it, and act weirdly with me. He made me cry a couple of times - and, of course, that - and life, and other boys, and the time - made me change my feelings and interest for him. I'm glad I had some self-respect, at least.
But in this game called dating, it's all about not showing a lot of interest, right? So, eventually, the tables finally turned. It was my high school graduation night. He was drunk - and I was in love with another guy that didn't show up that night. While J. was telling me bad things about the other guy and trying to kiss me, I was just crying, feeling miserable, like the last girl on earth that deserved love. So. Much. Drama.
I don't remember exactly when it was the last time I last saw J. or even talked to him. When I moved to another town to go to college, one year after my graduation, my life changed a lot. New friends, new experiences, new boys - some old boys - new dramas, new discoveries, new concerns. Social media was not what it is today, smartphones were not a thing. So, it was a little hard to know about other people's lives - like it is today when you open an Instagram or Facebook profile and you can learn a lot about someone's life. At that time, the news would travel between groups of friends, and that's how you would hear about people.
It was around my first or second year in college that I learned things could have been better with J. He was using drugs. I don't know what kind of drugs - I just remember I felt sorry for him. Learning that someone who used to be your friend has taken that path is sad. Especially because we all know these choices have terrible consequences. I didn't give that a lot of thought, except feeling sorry. Life goes on. Looking back, I do wonder what made him make that choice.
And then, time passed and I found out he was living in Massachusetts. Looking at his profile, he was so different. It was through his page that I also discovered he had a son, who has stayed in Brazil, and he would post a lot of pictures of him. I wondered if J. had met him or if he was born after he had moved abroad. I didn't know why he had moved to the US. Still, being a Brazilian expat myself and knowing the immigration situation in Americam he probably came here to work hard in jobs that most Americans don't want and make money to send back to Brazil. Maybe he would be back one day?
I would never know. When Camila sent me that message breaking the news, it was the beginning of the end - two days later, I got another message from her.
- J. passed away today - we all knew that there were no other possible scenarios, but it is always shocking to see someone dying so soon - The problem is not dying; we are all going to die one day; the problem is going through this being alone - she added.
It had crossed my mind, more than once, to take a train or a bus and go to Boston, being moved by the compassion for someone who was facing such a terrible and dramatic moment. Living abroad can be lonely sometimes - and it hurts me to imagine going through sickness and death being away from the most important people in your life.
While Camila shared with me the good memories she had about him, she also told me how part of her was feeling guilty for the distance we created between us and some people along the cycle of life.
- I know this is part of the grieving process, but then I keep thinking that I should get closer to the people I have liked and have lived with and that it would be nice to have a closer relationship again - she said.
- Don't blame yourself - I responded - life takes paths we don't control, and relationships are made of two people.
I also wanted to believe in my words. And it was hard, especially in moments like that. We usually think: "what if?" but truth to be told, sometimes it's not just up to us. Yes, we do move away from people, but that doesn't mean we've forgotten or don't love them anymore. It's the cycle of life. What is meant to be is meant to be. Not everybody that crosses our lives is gonna be with us until the end. And the beauty of life is understanding and accepting that.