Guest Post: Making Adjustments
”Fight the future” is a shy cupcake who lives in her own little world. A pop culture geek, lover of languages and different cultures, and professional daydreamer, her mind usually takes her to mind-blowing places. She is fearless. If she sets her heart on something, she knows she will get it… or that’s what she likes to believe.
When I was first approached to write this piece, I didn’t hesitate. I really admire what Funfetti and Red Velvet are doing here and I wanted to be a small part of their adventure in blogland.
I had thought of a topic which was close to my heart at the time but, due to a series of events, all the words I had typed suddenly lost their meaning and I needed time to rethink my guest post. Sometimes I feel that too much joy ultimately brings about tragedy. The universe has some sort of secret mechanism to balance the world.
Ever since I can remember, I’ve had a dream: travelling around the world. The year 2011 was supposed to be my year, I began planning my dream trip and it all seemed so surreal. A week in Paris and another week in London, a weekend camping at a rock festival and a day trip to the English countryside. I was on cloud nine… the fall was inevitably going to hurt.
Most reservations were made, I was deciding on what sights to see, what museums to visit and what plays to attend once I got to Europe, when my parents and I realized that my doggy had a bump which looked like a tumor. We were afraid of what the vet would say, yet we had no other choice but to call him. The vet came home and told us that our dog had to be operated on before it got any worse. I don’t know if it was the confidence in the vet’s voice or the fact that we wanted to believe that everything was going to be alright, but we thought that, even at age 15, our little guy was strong enough to endure surgery.
We were prepared to hear bad news, or that’s what I thought… I had never lost anyone close to me; my grandparents died either before I was born or when I was so young that I didn’t fully understand what death implied. When the phone rang and that confident voice told me he had had a heart attack and there was nothing he could do, I felt so weak and empty… as if someone had ripped out my heart and stepped on it, repeatedly. It’s impossible to prepare for the conversation I would have with my parents: “where were we going to bury our dog?” I asked my grandmother if we could do the burial in her backyard, he loved it there. I wasn’t expecting her response: “Of course, he’s family.” And that’s the exact moment when it hit me, and the tears came rushing uncontrollably.
That night was the longest night of my life. All kind of thoughts crossed my mind, wondering if we had made the right choice, if we should have done anything differently, if the outcome would have been another one. Now I’m positive, we did what we were supposed to do and he left with dignity, I could have never handled it otherwise. Tough, that doesn’t make it any easier.
Every day I wake up and look around to let him go outside, at noon I expect to hear him asking for lunch and when I get back home it takes me over a minute to remember why he is not there to greet me. When I’m in the kitchen I feel he’s behind me, but I look at that corner where he used to take his nap and he’s not there. I miss him, and I will never forget him nor the fifteen years he shared with us. He was there when I was a little girl, he was there when I was a teenager with boy troubles, he was there when I turned into an independent young woman, moving away from home to study at University and he was there when I graduated and started looking for a job. He watched me grow up and comforted me along the way. He made the ride so much easier, he brought me peace whenever it was needed. I watched him as a playful puppy nobody wanted to adopt, with his piggy tail and his awkward looks, I watched him turn into my very protective best friend, I watched him grow old.
So, what now? I have to go on. I have to put reality aside and carry on with my plans. The thing is, I no longer feel like planning. The idea of travelling through Europe no longer seems… important. It took me years to be this close to actually living my dream, but all of a sudden, it feels rushed. I should be mourning, I want to crawl under the covers and lay in a fetal position, I don’t feel like choosing a hostel and a sightseeing route. I need time to process the changes and I don’t have any.
As the departure date approaches, I’m scared. I’ve invested so much time and energy in making my dream come true, I want everything to be perfect – being the control freak that I am – but I don’t know if I’m ready to face the fact that things just might not go as planned.
