On the day I found out my dad had a year to live, I was standing at work, typing away stupidly about something I can’t remember now. And in an instant, I was catapulted into a terrible grief I knew nothing about. Like a dark room I’d never entered, feeling my way around. Gemma called my boss, my colleagues, and my best friends. Ordering one to give me time off, to get coffee, and to buy moving boxes. In the apartment, I couldn’t even remember my own name. Gemma found my passport, called my sister and arranged a pick up, and booked my flight for the next morning. Early but not too early, because she said I needed sleep. How do I even begin to pack right now? Gemma told everyone what to do. She put on my favourite songs, Taylor Swift, whom she didn’t particularly care for, and made the executive decision to toss my near-empty shampoo bottles. We walked through a handful of outfits I’d need - certainly comfy ones - as Gemma proposed. And when I’d come back to collect my t...
I never believed in the whole waiting to tell someone you loved them. Or having to wait to make sure you’re in love. I feel like I love everyone I’ve ever really met in some way. Not to sound like an award-winning Netflix special, but this one’s for all of the people I’ve ever loved. There was the first “I love you.” I loved loving you. But this was the you who only showed me what love was by taking it away from me. There was the you who held the door for me, the you I saw at the red light. The you who taught me microeconomics. The you who was a girl. There’s the you who I wonder about every couple years, and I wonder if I should’ve told you I loved you way back then. There’s you who said you loved me and I didn’t love you back, (I hope you’re still doing good). And I liked you but you weren’t a very good conversationalist and then there was you and I wasn’t sure about the way you dressed. There was you, who had the sketchy friends, and you who I’d prob...