My Letter to You, Five Years from Now

by HelluvaGirl

It is amazing how passionately we move towards some things that in the course of time appear to have been of a very different purpose than it seemed at the moment passing by. Some of them, though, leave you wondering about the possibilities that are given to you but not fully, as if we were kids and someone put a candy on the table,
and as soon as our eyes widened with the sweet expectation, it was brutally taken away.

This is the place where someone would jump to an uplifted note saying those things happen only for us to get a cake instead of a candy, something much bigger and better very soon. But in my experience, it doesn’t work that way because nothing is good or bad, worse or better – it’s what we feel about those things that makes them what they are.

So I did move to Cyprus and get married. My husband is very proud of our twin boys – they are loud and jolly creatures. Pia has adjusted well: she’s learning English and Greek at school, and we both practice French with my mother-in-law. I am very happy my sister lives close and we spend most of our free time as a huge extended family – something I would always dread, but here I am, living in the crowd and even enjoying it.

I remember always wanting more children. Not for me; I wouldn’t have tried to get pregnant just to not feel alone. I wanted a family. A loyal, intimate, trustworthy, meaningful and lasting one. And that, too, proves to be what you make of it.

I remember your inspiring example regarding the matter – it impressed me quite a lot. Your loyalty and code of ethics. Your depth of an artist combined with the honourable stance of a soldier. I always considered your family as enlightened one, just because you were there with them and I got to know you a bit.

Is my marriage happy? I can say it is strong. My husband and I are like night and day but he loves me unconditionally. With him, I feel like I am building a house forever: picking out the textures, matching the colours, deciding where’s the place for things edgy and what definitely needs the softest touch. And that house is light.

The darkness is elsewhere.

I sometimes get into the car and drive to a place on a farther beach, to a secluded area without tourists and passers-by. I sit on the shore and watch the waves crashing – the windier the better – and I think about miracles. A Winter’s Tale, remember? Remember how they said each of us brought a miracle to that one single person?

My husband’s miracle and gift to me is probably our large family, our healthy kids and me being someone’s wife at all. He waited for me like a dog for two years and it is helluvasomething to be with a person whose dream came true because I came.

My miracle, though, must be one family that didn’t break, and it’s not mine. And it’s a good thing, really. It’s one good thing I served for without an effort or intention.

Sometimes, when it’s very windy and the sea is restless, I try to compete and shout it down and, bizarrely, end up screaming against the ocean as if my soul was away and I tried to invite it to come back and reunite with me. And then, I feel the darkness boiling up in me, and I scream even louder to release it until it surrounds me sobbing through clenched teeth till I’m washed out.

When I come home, I come back grateful it is a place of simple things.