I don’t even remember what day it was or what I was doing. It might have been Sunday, and I was cleaning the table after lunch. I remember, though, walking into the living room, where the TV was on.
The movie’s called The Way. I don’t think I saw the beginning on that first watch. I caught up on it in later rewatches. I don’t know exactly what caught my attention, but I was captivated by the story. That was also when I first found out about the pilgrimage called the Camino.
Coincidentally, many years later, after that silent, absent-minded promise I made to myself in front of the TV about doing the Camino, I stood in that rainy city, in front of the massive complex that is the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela.
Or maybe it wasn’t a coincidence. Maybe it was the first brick I had placed on the path I took to today. It was the walk that brought me to who I am today, and the catalyst for so many subsequent choices I made that, come to think of it, really started with that movie.
And, no, I didn’t do that Camino. Not yet, at least. But that movie caused a familiarity with the application for an Erasmus program in Spain. I might have been scared otherwise. But when I saw the location was Santiago de Compostela, I did take it as a sign.
I thought it was meant to be. I’m not exactly making a pilgrimage, but I found my way to get there. It was my path. And then, that journey also became an escape from the city that reminded me of loss and grief, and that would’ve buried me if I stayed.
It was also what prompted me to start this blog. My Little Hawk could’ve been an unrealized idea I occasionally daydreamed about, but never actually got the courage to start. I would’ve procrastinated it until I convinced myself I shouldn’t do it, and that would’ve been the end of it.
But it just so happened that I created this site just before I went to Spain. The excuse was that I would write about my experiences during the exchange, to help or intrigue other students. Nobody was reading it.
But then that first exchange gave me the boldness to try again. I got a taste of what it’s like to live abroad, meet people from all over the world, speak another language, learn at every step and every corner, and I was high on that feeling. Weirdly, I was ready to leave after those five months expired. But not because I was nostalgic for home, no. I was ready for something else. Somewhere else.
And that led me to a place where I met my happiest self. It was another fleeting goal I had as a kid. I heard about Lithuania, but I only knew about it vaguely. Turns out, I would wind up in its capital, and guess what? The scallop shell of the Camino de Santiago followed me there!
On one of my first days in Vilnius, I strolled around the old town. I stumbled upon a church and went inside. It was really peaceful, but my mind was buzzing with all the novelty, excitement, and worry. So I went back outside.
I remember seeing it by the exit, to my left. I missed it walking in! The golden shell was right there, in front of me, precisely when I was dizzy with all the emotion. I had a tough start coming to Vilnius, so I was both thrilled I was there and anxious because of some issues I had with my uni.
I remember thinking, Spain was so much easier. Why was this such a struggle? But things never happen the same way twice, so I decided to suck it up and make the best of this new and challenging period in front of me.
But I did need guidance, and I got a clear sign. It was literally showing me the way. You’re on the right path. You’re right where you’re supposed to be. And how true that was! I was the happiest, most like myself! (And I’ve never met her before! It was a surprise to me, too!)
I met the real me! (I also met my favorite people there.) I saw what I could be if I let go – no doubt, no fear, no insecurity. And okay, for a moment there, I lost her. These couple of years have been a silent rebuilding. But she’s still on that path. She’s getting there!
And, by coincidence, or fate, it all started with that movie.
between always and never: going back in time
It was a beautiful, sunny spring day, late April. We were at a bus stop waiting for her bus before I went back to my apartment. We were coming back from campus, excited about our plans, and I just felt good. It felt like a good day.
Sometimes, you confuse that feeling in your stomach, which warns you about something, with excitement.
She got on the bus, we said our byes, and I remember turning around thinking, man, that was a good goodbye. Usually, transitions are confusing for me, so spending time with someone, to having to leave, is never casual for me. It’s always accompanied by an awkward choreography of mumbled words, darting eyes, and not knowing when to leave.
Maybe it was Providence that granted me that moment of simple, naive, and peaceful goodbye with my friend, because I never saw her again.
That day was lovely, and I wouldn’t change a thing. But if I only could, I would jump into the day after. As chance would have it, we missed each other, and I was left forever wondering if anything would’ve been different if we hadn’t.
Regrettably, I lived a life full of things I want to change. But then again, it brought me here, to who I am today. So I learned to let go. But most of all, I learned that they – that nothing – compared to grief.
We were supposed to see each other again at uni. We had morning classes that Thursday.
I drove down that road many times after. I tried to understand what exactly happened. I still do, every day, and it’s eating away at me. No matter how much time passes, I’m still stuck in those few days from when it happened, when and how I found out (because that was an awful way to find out), and her funeral. What followed were months completely lost to shock and grief, with no memories, just pain and insomnia.
When I used to think about something I would change, or a day I wanted to relive, I never knew the answer. I couldn’t be bothered to go live through it again. After that day, I got my firm answer that I better not think about. It’s not easy to let go once I start thinking about the possibility, even in theory, of going back in time.
