During my bike ride last week, I was able to slip through some back entrance to the Science Complex to bike in peace and to catch a glimpse of the place. I was wondering why the place still had a special meaning to me, despite all that was said and done. I went cycling around the amphitheater and then it dawned on me: Our daily walks there during the strict lockdown in April and May last year was like a simulation of what it feels like if we were the only ones left in the world. It was like just the two of us against the world. Just the two of us. Walking hand-in-hand, stealing kisses, being free from the restrictions that were imposed on us by the lockdown, by our responsibilities, and by circumstances. It was just being in that moment, the “now” that was enveloping us, and the feeling of owning the place at that moment we were there. And the feeling that there will be tomorrow to look forward to, like scheduling a viewing of the telescope/through the telescope at the Observatory and rescuing cats from the storm drain and seeing them through adulthood.

But all that has come to an end. It is all a memory.

There was still a lump in my throat the second time I cycled around there. But at least I didn’t shed a tear like the first time I visited the place after so many months.

Maybe I’m getting better? I fervently hope so. I had a crappy weekend, feeling down and textversations with friends exacerbated the heaviness because these led to opening the wounds that I try to bury but they were just festering in the dark, not really healing.

But I am surviving. He did not break me.

You did not break me
I’m still fighting for peace
I’ve got thick skin and an elastic heart
But your blade it might be too sharp
I’m like a rubber band until you pull too hard
I may snap and I move fast
But you won’t see me fall apart
Cos I’ve got an elastic heart

Sia, Elastic Heart