Dear old friend, trusted lover,
It has been a while, hasn’t it? How long ago did we lock arms and walk down narrow paths of forgotten lands?
Do you remember those countless, sleepless nights when we sat on my bedroom floor, planning meetings, writing grant proposals, and dreaming of better days for the marginalized?
Remember those long, passionate speeches I’d give my peers on why they should care about the orphans and not their SAT scores? Or how’d I would convince my teachers to offer me their spare change and extra credit so I could single-handedly save the world from disease? I’d speak with such charisma and magnetism, I think I fooled away all the doubt inside of me!
We dreamed together. We prayed together. We left everything we had at the crossroads of hope in humanity and faith in better days.
But I got tired. Somewhere along our beautiful journey, my luggage became too heavy for me to carry. My knees started to get weak and my doubts started to become frequent visitors.
I spoke of you and for you, but I no longer convinced myself. The questions haunted me and I couldn’t help but lean in: “Is this worth it? Am I really making a difference in the world? Why am I doing this? What am I really doing?”
I tried to hold onto your hand, I did. With all my strength, I clenched onto your hand, but it was slipping.
Then one day, I didn’t have a choice.
I let go.
Oh, how devastating those days were! I cried bitterly over what I thought were wasted days. I had poured every ounce of life I had in you, but I became an empty vessel, unsure of how to replenish myself.
Hope still lingered somewhere; I believed that one day soon we would reunite and restart our journey together with all the gusto and power we could muster up together.
But… weeks turned into months, which soon turned into years.
I still haven’t been able to fill my vessel yet. I still haven’t found your hard-toiling hands to hold onto.
I miss you, old friend, trusted lover.
I miss those days we were on fire, and we were unstoppable. Those days when we waged war on poverty, prostitution, and death. We were unstoppable warriors and furious lovers.
Those were our glory days.
I don’t know when we will lock hands once more and resume our journey on that narrow path.
But I still have a little hope left in me. That day will surely come. It might not be today or tomorrow… but we will soon be together once more.