goodbye, old friend
inspired by one of my favourite poems by the poet Erich Fried, Complication.
dearest friends,
thank you for being the first cohort to subscribe, and to receive this email.
i’m currently sitting in the corner of a kebab shop, eyeing the construction workers in front of me eagerly devouring their wraps and pita breads, somehow finding peace in the cacophony of the place. names being called out, meals being passed down. the love people show in feeding others has always amazed me. “Dora!” the man next to me is on facetime with a beautiful woman, i chose to believe it was his wife, because i find it romantic to call your loved ones to share your mealtime.
i’ve spent the past few years waltzing back and forth on whether i would like to publish my thoughts again, and whether it was a wise idea to do so.
some of you have been here since my “Marossy’s Vents” days, and some have met me during my Yuppie time (this means we’re growing old, dear friends, but at least we’re growing old together), and i have trouble swallowing my tears when i think about how much love and support you have shown me, enough to gain my courage to write back.
truth be told, i’ve always had a “why not” and “i could do this too” approach to life. this is how i became a yoga teacher, this is how i worked at a surf camp for a while. yet, somehow, when it comes to sharing what i write, i’ve become petrified. halt, now.
since april, i’ve been secretly scribbling into my tiny notebook, and i’m so excited, and yet, absolutely, completely, terrified, to share my observations, my experiences, my late-night snotty cry-sessions on my bathroom floor, snippets into this wonderful, wonderful life i get to live, surrounded by you all.
the poem below was inspired by one of my favourite poems by Austrian poet Erich Fried, whose book i casually picked up in the middle of the summer, during one of my many spontaneous trips to Alinéa, and it hasn’t left my bedside table since then — i’ve even brought it with me on holidays. i keep photos of his loveliest poems on my phone to be able to read them out whenever i manage to find a lost soul willing to lend an ear.
i’ve recently started to understand that there is a fine line between love and relationships, and that the two are not necessarily mutually inclusive. actually, i’ve come to believe that one can be much happier in love alone, than in love together. perhaps i’m just a little jaded from pouring my heart out, or perhaps i just haven’t found the right person to love. i once told my friend toni on a phone call:
“sweetie, if you can love the wrong person this much, imagine how much you’ll love the right one”
she reminded me of this recently, during one of our regular catch-ups, and she said that i was right, so maybe i should start listening to my own advice.
the poem
goodbye, old friend
if i met you for the very first time, again i would listen to your name over and over, savouring the cadence of the letters as they fall off of your l i p s, stumbling in the a i r, strung together, as they find their way to my ears, honey-sweet if i met you for the very first time, again i would not even dare to blink, i would keep my pupils as wide as can be to really take you in, to create a picture-perfect imprint of you on the back of my lids so that when i finally am forced to shut my eyes, i can still see you in the darkness of my mind if i met you for the very first time, again i would let you sink into every single cell on my body so that once you’re gone, i can scrape up whatever is left of you on my skin, to make the memory of you last longer, to hold you a little while longer before you inevitably seep through the spaces between my fingers, if i met you for the very first time, again i wouldn’t say a thing how could i? how would i gather the courage to utter a single sound when i know that i’ll see you twice more, three, four, a few months, years, in this life and another, or more how could i say a thing when i know that you’ll be my favourite scent, my hardest laugh, my deepest sleep, my brightest star, my messiah my favourite ache, my hardest cry, my deepest scar, my brightest star, my fallen angel, i was smitten and you did smite i wouldn’t say a thing if i met you for the very first time, again i would let you walk past me, i would joke about how i mistook you for my long-lost cousin Wilhelm, and i would hope that you’d have laughed, so that i might see you smile again and then i’ll walk away, far, far away, perhaps i would even run so that you may not catch up with me even if you tried if i met you for the very first time, again i would beg the Gods that it's the very last, so that i may keep a semblance of sanity, to keep you from forever invading my mind.
i’ve copied out Fried’s poem too, to indulge you in it since it’s not readily available online.
COMPLICATION (translated by Stuart Hood)
To see you only once then never again must be easier than to see you once more and then never again To see you once more and then never again must be easier than to see you twice more and then never again To see you twice more and never again must be easier than thrice more and then never again But I am stupid and want to see you often before I can never see you again
thank you again for not letting my first post fall on deaf ears.