Breaking up practice

"At our age, how many more times do you think we’ll get to meet?"
The more I think about what my friend said, the more I realize—it wasn’t just small talk.

“It’s me, Suim.”
I hesitated for a while, then finally gathered the courage to call her.
“Where are you? Are you in LA? Come over to my house.”
“It’s fine. I just wanted to hear your voice before I leave.”

“Come on, what do you mean ‘it’s fine’? Think about it—how many more chances will we get to see each other? We need to meet while we still can.”

She’s always so full of life and fun. Whenever I visit LA, she gathers our college friends for a backyard barbecue, no matter how busy she is.

When we were younger, we met to build friendships and get closer. Now, we meet almost as if we’re preparing to say goodbye. I originally planned to just call and catch up, but ended up staying late into the night, talking and laughing—practicing the art of parting with old friends, slowly growing older together.

When I meet someone with a bright and cheerful spirit, their energy lifts me up and makes me want to see them again. But some people are always stuck in negativity or problems. You hope things will get better for them, but new issues keep piling up, and each meeting turns into another round of heavy conversations. Eventually, the relationship becomes distant and fades away.

There’s someone I know who always wears very bright, bold colors. He can be friendly, then suddenly explode in anger and ruin the mood. He’s carried a lot of emotional baggage since childhood, and when something upsets him, it’s like he releases a burst of vampire-like negative energy. After spending time with him, I feel unsettled for days. There are so many joyful people to meet—why keep forcing tense, unpredictable interactions that make me feel like I’m walking on eggshells?

No one—not even a spouse or children—has the duty or the ability to make me happy.
I have to find my own way to create joy in life. Only then can I share that happiness with others and have meaningful connections.

My husband and I went to the same college. Back then, we barely even looked at each other, worried that some awkward relationship might form.
But after going around in circles in this vast country, a senior once told me, “I know a lonely guy you should meet.”

And there he was—sitting confidently, saying, 

“Oh, you’re still not married? What brings you here?”

Who knew that guy would become my husband?

When things are good between us, we say it must’ve been fate that brought us together. But then we argue over the silliest things. Sometimes it gets so heated I wonder if we’ll ever cool down—but in the end, we’re just two people who will one day part ways. Eventually, death will separate us anyway.