Trying to the last

Trip Start Sep 28, 2011
Trip End Ongoing

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Flag of Colombia  ,
Saturday, March 24, 2012

The Pit Stop hostel is once again full for a Saturday night.  There is the usual hub and bustle of excitement as guests arrive in numbers, all anticipating the club scene ahead.  Raised voices discussing tactics, plans, options, and pub crawls echo through the dorms, bar and court yard.  Where the girls are, the best night clubs and how to buy their drugs of choice.  Through all this I sit on my bed with a bottle of water and my well thumbed Lonely Planet guide to South America.  It's time to move on.

Despite the obvious temptation and protests from Nick, Jim and other friends, I'm not going anywhere tonight.  I know myself that if even one beer touches my lips, the cigarettes will follow, and so will the early morning sun.  Of course with that, there would be no leaving of any kind.  The routine would continue, the wheel would go around.  A wheel that doesn't go anywhere.

The crowd flows through the doors, taxi's waiting, dressed for the dancing.  I remain in shorts and a hooded top, this time a statement of intent for staying in.  I'm both proud and pained as everyone leaves, until only I'm left to watch a film, save a snoring passed out man on the comfy sofa.

And Hana.

She works the bar until close, occasionally popping her head round the corner to see if I'm still in my spot, watching a movie and writing this in real time.  I've said my goodbyes to everyone else, and sat strumming the first few chords to Leavin' on a Jet Plane.  There's only one left.  The T.V room is dark as she finishes her shift, and asks if I'm alone.  The sleeping guy snores his response.  I tentatively inquire if she wants to watch a film, but she's already made plans to meet friends.  She stands to hug her farewell and the moment has gone.  It slips away so easily and although I hear a chorus of encouragement from the guys ringing in my ears, I just can't force myself to try and kiss her.  I've forgotten how to.

I watch her walk away, wave from the door, open and close the gate and disappear into the taxi.  The hostel falls silent.  Sitting in the dark, writing as it happens, I feel a sudden urge to give chase, the Hollywood moment, the embrace at the vehicle door.  Yet it doesn't come.  I can't move.  The thought of the inevitable rejection is a little too much and I've lost all my confidence.  I'm not ashamed to admit I heave a sigh and fight back a tear.  I suddenly feel alone again.

It's really hard to leave this behind, but the promise of new adventure and new friendships await when I walk out that door, for the first time in seven weeks carrying two back packs, a guitar, and a wealth of unforgettable memories.  I'm sure it won't be long before that little break in my heart is ready to try again.

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jtothedee on

stu do it man
you should have kissed her, in foreign land what excatlay is there to lose ?

aphro's bro on

she doesn't have a heart, don't worry about it

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