She is one of the most graceful person I knew. The way she walks, the way she dances, her smile. Beautiful. Quite frankly I feel rather small when I walk next to her. She grabbed attention as if life depends on her and I’m jealous of not having the same effect. We used to walk together coming back from the office, chitchatting while I marvel on how did she manage to walk in that tight dress and 5 inch shoes.
“I’m blessed,” she said.
“Why?” I was drawn back from my wicked daydream of pushing her to the busy street.
“I’m opening another class in Hartamas. We’re moving to another house next week and my mother is coming to visit me for Christmas. I am so happy I’m going to explode!” She smiled from ear to ear.
It seemed at everything was going her way. Magnificent! There I was, sunk with my hopeless job, hating myself for not knowing how to belly dance and being single forever. I wished she could have exploded. Mind you, with happiness. Not with grenade or something. I don’t know if I knew myself anymore. Should you nurture the monster inside your head? The evil, slimy one that wanted to bite lucky people’s head off?
But I’m a civilized person. While we said our goodbyes at the train station I told her that I was happy for her. I hope that her mother would safely arrived here and get use to the humidity and maybe she could bring me to her new, big, exclusive apartment so that I could die more inside.
That was 6 months before.
Fast forward to April the following year, I was truly shocked of what had happened. She resigned from her job. Apparently the husband had an affair and divorce proceedings followed. She’s moving back to her country. She had to cancel her class, left her students and the luxurious house of her dreams.
And what stupid thing to wish; to trade my own life with hers.