The seven-year burn

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Two weeks ago, I attended the H&M Conscious Exclusive launch in Lot 10, where I ran into a friend who was handling the public relations for it. She is one of those friends whom I rarely get to see, mainly because of conflicting schedules and my increasingly scarce public appearances, but when we do see each other, we seem to be able to pick up right where we left off.

During our brief chat at H&M, she asked how I was and if I were still working for Ceres, my ex-boyfriend’s jewelry brand, to which I told her I left the company almost 11 months ago. Then she asked if I was still even with said ex-boyfriend, and I told her I wasn’t, which was why I left the company in the first place.

It was only after I left H&M that it really hit me: I had been working on my own for nearly 11 months, and I have been back here for seven years.

Every year, I would write a post on the anniversary of the day I moved back to this country. I’m not very sure why. Maybe it was to remind myself that I was not where I had intended to be, and not doing what I had intended to do. Maybe it was a way of remembering the life I had left behind, as a way of motivating myself to find a way back to that life. Four months ago, I went back to Buffalo for the first time since I had left it, and the two weeks I spent there reminded me of why I had moved back here in the first place, and why I absolutely have to find a way back out.

Last year, I renewed my vow to change the circumstances of my life. I made what seemed to me were perfectly feasible plans with someone whom I had thought shared the same desire. And now, even though those plans have failed spectacularly, my resolve remains the same, with or without this person. And given everything that has transpired in the last 10 days, it is perhaps because of this person that I am more determined than ever to see this through, to carve out a new life for myself free from the destruction left by the mistakes I’ve made.

And so begins Year 8. We’ve definitely overstayed our welcome.

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