I hate that people leave

A few weeks ago, some friends invited us over for breakfast at their new place. They had bought it just a couple of months before. Great location; an old house, but recently renovated. They were thrilled. They sent us the address and we walked over. As we got closer, I started to feel like I knew exactly where I was going. How was that possible, if I'd never been to their house?

When we reached the door, it all clicked. I knew exactly where I was. The window with the bars across it bore no resemblance to the uncurtained window where you used to be able to see a living room with walls covered in beer bottles. Before, you couldn't walk past without noticing it. Now it was just another window, one that didn't want to draw attention. But it didn't fool me—I had recognized it. I had already been on the other side of that window because my friend U used to live in that house.

They opened the door and, as I walked up the stairs into what was now their dining room, my head exploded. I immediately sent a photo to U.

"My god. That's my room. Who lives there?"

I had to process the fact that, where their new sofa now sat, I had once stood singing on U’s old sofa while he played guitar. There, where a table with candles and freshly baked bread now stood, I once watched the fifth season of Black Mirror with U and M. There, where my new friends were now cooking, U had slept for a long time.

It hurt me that all those memories had been plastered over and painted white. It felt unfair to mask the personality of walls that had experienced so much.

The craziest part of the story is that, just one week earlier, U had told me he was moving away.

Suddenly, I felt as if my friend had already been erased, even before leaving. I felt as if the universe had pulled one of its tricks and was trying to replace the departing friend with new ones, as if it were moving people around like furniture. As if I wouldn't notice the change.

I could fill an alphabet with the initials of the people who have left since I moved here: A, P, H, C, C, M, F, J, U, L, E, J, A, A, W, T, C, F, G, H, I, J, J, K, L, P, S, V, Y, V, R… and those I’m probably forgetting.

I feel like I've lived at least five lives in the last seven years. I've changed, of course, and so has the city, but what defines a life are the people around you and the rituals you repeat. Knowing what to expect. Wanting to do the same things, with the same people, over and over again. The predictable warmth of belonging somewhere, with someone.

At this point, I could probably get a PhD in the physics of people-flow within expat friend groups. I've watched circles expand, divide, dissolve, shrink, and then, at the tipping point, you meet someone new whose friends are also fading away. And that’s when the cycle starts all over again.

It’s like grabbing onto another vine just before the old one snaps, right before you fall. It’s a constant effort. It’s living in a state of high alert, trying to predict who will be the next person to leave. Everything seems fine until you realize that soon that person will no longer be part of your routine plans, your day-to-day. Soon, to hug that person, you’ll have to get on a plane. Daily life will evaporate and you’ll have to relearn how not to count on someone who was once always there.

I’m tired. I’m tired of people leaving. I hate it, actually. I hate that people move away. I hate it when my friends leave. I hate having to rebuild my life without even moving. I hate having to do a "catch-up" every four months with people who left this city but who I don't want to disappear from my life. I hate long-distance friendship.

The worst part is that each time the blow hurts a little less; I’m getting used to saying goodbye. I speak the language of "see you soon," knowing that nobody knows when "soon" is. I don't know if I’ve become numb or if I just live with a constant level of sadness that softens the bad news. It's not that I care less; it's that, unfortunately, I’ve learned how to take the hit.

I can already feel the next one coming. A friend is leaving, and every day it feels like we’re closer. She’s become such a key piece of my life that I can’t believe she wasn't there before, nor that I’ll be okay without her. Once you make space for someone, their empty spot remains when they’re gone.

The day of the breakfast in my new friends' new house, I had to pull myself together after the initial shock. I sat at the table and ate creamy scrambled eggs and warm bread with tahini and honey. I had to push aside the melancholy taking over me to invest in a friendship that was only just beginning. Who knows, maybe in a few years, those freshly painted white walls will remember me chatting and laughing on their new sofa.

- jú.

see you on insta :)