Made myself a cup of coffee and absentmindedly brought the mug back to my office, set it on a coaster beside a pencil holder made of shells, another coaster made of woods, and beneath a devil's eye. Suddenly I noticed them all being souvenirs from far away places and long ago "friends".
The force of the time and necessities of lives had set us apart, me and those friends of the past. I think about them occasionally still. With some I have occasional communications, sending a congratulatory note for the birth of a new baby or for their birthday. With some however, there seems to be nothing else to be told. And it hurts. Then I paused in the middle of that thought. Do I want to be reminded of them, day in and day out, by using their souvenir around the office? Well of course I thought. They used to be a friend. Kind enough to bring me a gift and dear enough for their gift to be treasured. Yet a nag came back up: were they a friend still? Surely not. So whom did I want to be reminded of? A person in the past who nonsexist now, or the person they were today who was not a friend, or anybody for that matter. Just a person like any other millions of people out there. Except all the reminders about them pushes the dagger in my heart ever so slightly but surely.
I look at the souvenirs again. All authentic and pure in their presence yet hurtful at some level with a reminder.
This hurt is a new experience for me. Fresh. Foreign. Ferocious. Unjust. I know this is not how I live my life. I know I will get over this one too and will let my heart heal. In due time. With or without a souvenir reminder.
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