Remembering and honoring you

I reminisce about the times when I used to make your pork ribs from the grill in the community space. The late nights when we would walk around Sac State. Everything around us -- the brewery/pub, Tacoa, even Taichi -- these were all the small places that made up our tiny little existence. I miss those days when I would drive back home to you, with the sun clear up in the sky in the Sacramento spring.

I know you remember our time living together differently. I always have held such fond memories of our time at Academy, but I think you remember our fights, disagreements, and the time when I moved out. I know it wasn't perfect, I know there were bumps in the road -- but it was the simplest kind of life we shared in that small apartment. And to me, simple and small is so much more than big and grand. I found happiness in that small, tiny, unassuming space with you, and I would trade anything that I have just to be able to go back there to be with you again.

Now, if I go by, I think it'll feel empty. The void of your spirit and love is felt. It feels alone. It feels like just a memory that I alone only hold, know, and treasure. IT feels so lonely and cold now, the memory of us living together once upon a time in that small space, but I won't forget it. I'll hold onto it for as long as I can, and give it love and warmth in the way that I know how. I don't know what this will bring... I don't know what would happen if I were to ever see you again.

Hong Dou (Red Bean) - Faye Wong

Letting go of you has always been so scary. The memories and simple happiness of our relationship that seem to drift upwards into black, like flying candles swallowed up by the dark night sky. The constant cold silence that lingers in the air afterwards... the absence of your warmth or company. I can no longer reach out to you in the way that I could a week ago -- no, my presence is an intrusion. Letting go and losing you has been terrible.

I miss you and think about you every day, many times each day, especially in the nights when I'm alone. I'll miss hearing your calls after work, when you used to complain to me about the struggles of your day, the annoyances. I miss that we were a part of each other's day, as we had been for the past 4 years, and now, nothing.

I'm sorry for all of this. I'm sorry I couldn't have walked with you for longer, I'm sorry that there were things about me that I should've sought help to take care of -- but didn't. I'm sorry that our time together didn't take us to the places and dreams that we hoped. I had always hoped to travel with you more, to see more of this world.

Right now, if I told you I was worried or scared about something, I know you would want me to be strong and that it would be okay. You would reassure me that everything will be fine in the end, and to not worry.

And the very next moment, I feel scared, worried -- reeling from this void of missing you. There's a heaviness on my chest, a sense of breathlessness, and a throbbing worry of doom & gloom?

Of time ticking away slowly from us, of time and moments that I'll never get back to share and spend with you.

I worry about running out of time with you. I've dreaded it, and It's been so hard. I've wanted to find more and more time with you, to stave off the inevitable, to delay it just a little more. Just to have an extra moment more with you, to create another extra memory with you. Another walk, another trip, another snow season. Anything.

This must have been in 2022, we had just had dinner and went for a walk. I think we made something at my apartment and went for a stroll. We walked through the streets covered with trees and strewn with apartments. It was at night and dark outside, but only about 9 or 10pm. Your stomach had been bugging you, in agitated bursts here and there. We tried to make it back in time but the agitation came about so strongly that we stopped at a street corner.

That’s when I told you I would run back and grab the car. We were about 7-8 blocks away and I just bolted, with my phone in hand to not miss any calls from you. Luckily I was able to get my car and pick you up, and brought you back safely. I think you wore your flip flops for that stroll.

Do you remember when we drove at night in late May to go to Mammoth for an end of season trip? We drove through a dark red night sky with elemental/cosmic phenomena happening. Your brother even called you to explain what was happening. I was so tired that I almost fell asleep driving, and we had to stop a few times along the way to rest. It felt like endless roads, driving in the pitch black of night. We ended up getting to Mammoth around 3am in the morning.

Do you remember when we went to that cash only bar in Midtown? in Ice Blocks? We sat in a quiet, dark booth, drinking some cheap $6-7 cocktails. It was just us together, and a smattering of random people there. Everyone was minding their own business. It was my first time there, and we were only there for probably 30-45 minutes.

Now, whenever I walk by, I always think of our brief moment in time there. Device Brewery across the way is no longer there. But I'm glad that Frank's is still there. I hope it remains there, as a little keepsake of the memory point that we left.

I will try to remember and hold onto every little memory point that we've made and left in Sacramento.

I don't know how I could ever think of Sacramento without thinking of you. Before you, I don't think Sacramento held any meaning to me. Two years of memories in Sacramento, living and breathing together. Making a home together. Growing together, through times of frustration and times of laughter.

There are too many memories to recall. But I think I'll write about each one of them that comes to my mind. I want to remember everything, to keep the memory alive and cherish it forever.

I will always remember driving home to you on Folsom Blvd. Past the quiet homes of Elmhurst, past the Save Mart and Taco Bell. Oh how we would always love to stop by that Taco Bell. Past the Taichi Ramen bar where we would get our poke salad bowls and your beloved unagi rice bowls. It was always at 5 or 6 o'clock, with the sun steadily going down, casting a beautiful color to the early evening sky. As the days drew close to the time I didn't have left, I was sadly counting down these final days of driving home to you.

... the small red backpack you wore when snowboarding. You would wear your black jacket over the light grey pants. But it was the red backpack that always let me find you in the snow and mass of people.

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