Real world blues

Got to work, checked my email, and there's one, from Anna. Actually, from LiveJournal. She replied to a comment I posted on her blog, which was odd, because I haven't posted anything on her blog for quite a while. In fact, she hasn't posted anything on her blog for quite a while.

"How come I'm just seeing this now?" she wrote.

I saw the comment she was replying on, and I myself couldn't remember why I said it. It was gloopy, unusual for someone like me. In fact, it felt a bit forced. I can sense it, of course, for I wrote the words.

"Isn't that the sweetest ending? And fairy tale-ish at that."

Apparently I wrote those words two years ago. Twenty-five months and a week ago, in fact. Anna wrote about how she was given a midnight curfew to attend a birthday party, and how she broke that rule, and how surprised she was that her parents didn't get mad when she got home.

Well, actually it was Milan's birthday, and on that day they became together.

It was a pretty good story, maybe gloopy, so maybe that's why I wrote one of the gloopiest phrases I ever wrote.

"If that means seeing you around finally with a bigger grin on your face, then it's all worth it, I guess. I can't help but be happy for ya."

Yep, that's ya taking the place of you.

Anna and I barely knew each other back then. I think I followed her on LJ solely because we took the same course, but apart from that, there was no bond to speak of. Around that time I was only learning about the existence of the other CAM block, when I ended up taking a floating class with Cam, Piyar and that block's other Anna. But I remembered her for the wrong reasons, which was exactly why, I now recall, I wrote those words on her blog. I guess even if you don't really know the person, you feel happy for them when you know it's coming.

Quite ironic, you see, considering that I am now probably the most cynical person you ever know. I have lost all sense of optimism in me, and perhaps more importantly, that feeling of genuine happiness for someone else when it happens. Hardened by time, they'd probably put it. Real world blues.

So there I was, in front of the computer I've been friends with for the past fifty-seven weeks, delaying work just to read that blog entry, and wondering why all that happened in the two years that separated me posting that comment, and Mooie - of course, you know who she is - seeing that comment. Two years, and it seems I have lost a lot of things. I was trying to look for it in her response; it was, after all, a compliment, and you know I love compliments, if only to remind me that amidst everything, some people get it, at least momentarily.

"Thank you, Niko," she wrote, grin in hand. "I still appreciate this comment after two years."

The last time she posted a blog entry, it was May. The middle of summer, of heatwaves and me wondering about myself. She was, too, talking about her future plans, which she kept secret even if I already had a clue. She wanted to change the world and I was slightly giddy about it, for some odd reason. Maybe write about what she believes in. Okay, I thought, maybe I could help you with that. She ended up writing about dreaming about work, wondering whether it was normal, and I said it was. And then she disappeared. Now, I figured, she must've written something.

She did write something new. She was giddy and happy and, well, happy. "I now have a new identity," she wrote last night. I looked down, my head searching for references, quickly getting it, and for a moment, when I finally saw the next paragraph, I actually smiled. That, I guess, was where my optimism went.

Now I can call her Teacher Mooie.

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