Mania

There aren't many things to do on repeat in this city. Nostalgia is a specter people chase here out of some silly Stockholm syndrome. That is, if you were allowed and fortunate enough to have lived those moments in their entirety.

Privilege doesn't always require materialistic denomination for fruition—you realize this as you come of age, in all your unwanted wisdom. Unwanted, just like the random silver hair saying hi from the mirror during your morning routine, one that you feel you're too young for.

Just like how, on your way home from the office, the homely restaurant you liked the grill from will abruptly shut down over a random weekend. Like how the old uncle at the corner store where you get your smokes will no longer be there. Maybe he died, or maybe he moved—you don’t want to find out either way. You're not going to like the answer anyway. Goodbyes were never your strongest suit.

Like how over a random weekend, your buddy moves away for some random job. First, it’s treats all around, but then their empty seat at the tea shop becomes a haunting reminder of nostalgia as you realize—people leave. Sometimes for their own answers. Sometimes just because. And somehow, the ones leaving for the farthest places, out of your reach, are the ones you held most dear.

And maybe just like how you don't feel excited anymore to get dressed for all the dates that never work out to any end. Tolerating all the awkward, shitty, unbearable silences, thinking—what am I even doing, and what little sense does all this make? The faces change, and you keep looking for the little things to get attracted to. Like how they smile with their lips, in a soft tone that makes you reminisce. Maybe the dimples that look a bit too familiar, even though it's a different face. Or maybe how they find your stupid jokes funny, like someone used to a couple of springs ago.

But it never adds up to the expectation—either from you or them. Zero-sum game comes out the winner, and you get back to square one. Tired. A little more hopeless as the initial dopamine rush subsides. Never again—you murmur under breath, but you know yourself a bit too well for simple lies.

Things you liked to do on repeat like these start to feel like undue chores life piles up on you. And you wonder if that's what growing up feels like—the little deaths of excitement for things you once loved doing repeatedly. Letting go of attachments because they seem too diplomatic for the heart to handle. Being wary of new avenues cause the path is lonlier this time around.