Bittersweet

I wrote this last Friday and just decided that I’m comfortable with posting it today, so here we go…

It’s Friday, January 20th. I sit here, in Puerto Rico, staring out of my window looking at the sky before sunrise. Taking in the beauty, I’m not accustomed to waking up to, and I start to cry. No this isn’t about the inauguration, that’s honestly a topic I’m tired of discussing. This day meant something entirely different for me.

Bittersweet.

In 1992 on this day, my best friend was born (hence me being in Puerto Rico.) One would assume I’d arise with glee ready to enjoy the weekend, but that wasn’t the first thought on my mind. Instead, I thought of 2015, the day my grandfather died. Yup, my grandfather died on my best friend’s birthday.

Bittersweet.

A day I’d celebrated during the years of our friendship is now a day I’d rather skip. Of course, I couldn’t tell anyone that, right? That’s selfish. For Christ’s sake, it’s my best friend’s birthday; I can’t bring that up today. And yet, here I am upset and trying to hide it.

Bittersweet.

So, I begin to reflect back to times of sitting at my grandfather’s house filled with the smell of cats and cigarettes as I sit on the couch watching some old movie that I’d rather not watch. Then my Grandma Cesa would come in the room, asking if we’d eaten. We’d say no, but we weren’t hungry. She’d then go on to heat up hot dogs and her infamous pancit with eggs and chicken (an awkward combination, I know.) We’d sit and eat then my Grandfather would bring me a stuffed animal way bigger than me that I’d be elated to cuddle. An experience honestly only my family would love, enjoy, and deeply miss.

Bittersweet.

Then in an instant, I reflect on 2010 when I met my best friend and started to think about all of the fun times we’ve had and have yet to create. I immediately realize I have to make January 20th a different kind of day from now on; that’s the only way I’ll be able to cope with two very polarizing events occurring on the same day.

Bittersweet.

You’re gonna be the death of me; I don’t want you, but I need you; I love you and hate you at the very same time.

Bittersweet.

The beauty of the arrangement of the word “bittersweet” is how we should truly deal with moments that we would call such. Honestly, that’s how I deal with a lot of things in life; bad news first, then good news—at least I get to end on a good note. So, that’s how I’ll handle January 20th, wake up remember the good and bad around memories of my grandfather, blame myself momentarily for moving away from home and not getting to see him in the months before he passed, and reading the card I never gave him for Christmas.

Bittersweet.

And I was too proud to admit that it was hurting me

Bittersweet.

Then, celebrate life. The life that my grandfather enjoyed and would’ve wanted me to appreciate and the life of my best friend that I can still revel. So, that’s exactly what I did, climbed rocks in the rainforest, ate more than I should’ve, and swam with fish I’ve never seen before.

Bittersweet.

But Imma be the bigger man, Big Pimpin’ like Jiggaman
Oh, I guess I figure it’s…

Bittersweet.

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