He’s coming back to Indonesia on September 18.
And apparently, I'm supposed to have a normal reaction to that. Right. Sure. Totally normal.
Except I don't know what I'm supposed to feel.
Excited? Nervous? Happy? Indifferent? A little bit of everything?
Maybe all of the above, depending on what time of day you ask me.
The funny thing is, he's not coming back to see me. And yet, somehow, I know I'm going to see him.
After all this time. After all the distance. After all the silence. After all the things that were said and all the things that were never said.
And now suddenly… September 18.
There it is on the calendar. A date that wasn't supposed to mean anything. And somehow it does.
I keep telling myself not to make a big deal out of it. Don't romanticize it. Don't create scenarios.
Don't imagine some dramatic reunion where we look into each other's eyes and suddenly everything makes sense.
Please. This isn't a movie. And honestly, my life has never been that cooperative anyway.
But I'm human. Of course I wonder what it will be like.
What will I feel when I see him? Will my heart race? Will I feel nervous? Will I want to cry?
Will I want to laugh? Will I feel absolutely nothing?
That's probably the one I'm most curious about. Because I don't know which version of me is going to show up that day.
The woman who still remembers everything? The woman who has spent so much time trying to heal?
The woman who still secretly wonders what if? Or the woman who has finally reached the point of saying, “Oh. You're here.”
And then carrying on with her day. I don't know. And weirdly, I think that's okay.
Because I've spent so much time trying to understand what happened.
Trying to understand him. Trying to understand us.
Trying to understand why something that once felt so alive could become so distant.
There are questions I still don't have answers to. Maybe I never will. Maybe some stories don't come with satisfying explanations. Maybe sometimes people simply change. Maybe feelings disappear. Maybe timing ruins things. Maybe two people can love each other and still somehow end up standing on completely different sides of the same relationship.
I don't know. What I do know is that I'm not the same person I was the last time he really knew me.
I've been through things. I've cried. I've broken down. I've picked myself up. I've had days where I thought I was finally okay, only to wake up the next morning and realize, Apparently not.
Progress is so annoyingly non-linear. One day you're convinced you've moved on.The next day one stupid memory comes out of nowhere and punches you directly in the chest.
Very efficient system.
So now he's coming back. And I have absolutely no idea what happens when our paths cross again.
Maybe we'll talk. Maybe we won't. Maybe it'll feel awkward. Maybe it'll feel strangely familiar. Maybe I'll look at him and remember exactly why I loved him. Maybe I'll look at him and wonder how I ever got here. Maybe both.
That's the scary part. I don't want to expect anything from him.
But I also don't want to lie to myself and pretend I don't care. Because I do. Maybe not in the same way. Maybe not with the same hope. But I care.
And I think I'm finally learning that caring about someone doesn't mean I have to chase them. It doesn't mean I have to wait. It doesn't mean I have to convince them of anything. It doesn't even mean I have to know what I want from them.
Sometimes caring simply means acknowledging that this person mattered. And maybe still matters. While also accepting that my life has to keep moving.
So what am I going to do when I see him?
Honestly? I have no idea. And for once, I'm not going to rehearse the moment in my head a thousand times.
I'm not going to plan what I'll say. I'm not going to decide whether I should smile or act indifferent. I'm not going to prepare some clever speech. I'm just going to show up as myself.
Whatever that version of me looks like that day. Maybe I'll be nervous. Maybe I'll be calm. Maybe I'll surprise myself. Maybe I'll go home afterward and think, “Well… that was anticlimactic.”
Or maybe I'll sit quietly and realize that something inside me has finally changed. I don't know.
And maybe that's the point. September 18 isn't a promise. It isn't a second chance. It isn't a reunion. It isn't closure. It's just a day when two people who once meant a lot to each other will be in the same place again.
And whatever happens after that… I'll deal with it then.
For now, I'm trying not to get excited. Trying not to get my hopes up. Trying not to expect anything.
But if I'm being completely honest with myself? A tiny part of me is still wondering what it will feel like to see him again. And maybe that's okay.
I'm allowed to wonder. I'm allowed to feel. I'm allowed to be confused.
I don't have to have everything figured out.
Not anymore.
I'll just meet the moment when it comes. And hopefully, for once, my heart will behave itself. Although… Knowing my heart?
Yeah. Probably not.
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