Empty Boxes

No signal.

It has been that way since the rain started. It wasn’t that bad though, the weather: dark clouds loomed over but you can still see some silver linings. People are going in and out of the coffee shop where I’m at, drying themselves and cursing the rain.

I have my favorite spot at the front of the door so I could see everyone who goes in. There was one bald guy who just wiped his head while also trying to close his umbrella. After telling the barista that he wants his americano A.S.A.P, he sat at the table beside me and started to rummage inside his bag. I was answering my almost-finished crossword, trying to mind my own business - apparently not an easy thing to do inside a small coffee shop. I noticed he stood up again, with his eyes frantically darting from floor tile to another. I was about to ask him what he’s looking for when he slumped down on his seat and said to no one in particular, “Great, I lost the watch.” I could see the sadness in his eyes before I asked, “Was it a gift?”

“Not really”, he sighed and added, “just the only thing that reminds me of my dad. He used to borrow them from me. He thought it made him look cool”. He chuckled at the thought. “Well, I guess it’s time to let that thing go. It wasn’t working anyway.” Before I could response, the barista came with his coffee - and we went back to being strangers.

At that moment, another dripping soul was just outside the door, trying to pull it even though the sign clearly says “Push”. The medical student with her white uniform and tons of book struggled to fit herself in the space the door made, oblivious of her mistake of not reading the signs. She has her right foot inside while the other is still getting soaked. Realizing that her desperation to get in as if there was a zombie apocalyse outside blinded her from the logic that doors aren’t supposed to have that narrow of an opening, the barista quickly aided her. She laughed at herself and quickly came in, leaving a trail of water as she went at the back. She went to the counter to place her order while also talking to someone on the phone. Ordering an iced americano in this weather was surprising, but I guess people have their own preferences. I was busy thinking of what could be a four-letter word which is a witch’s concoction when she raised her voice enough for everyone to hear, “I can’t just find a new one! He gave me that pen!”. Finally aware that she just made everyone stop on whatever they were doing, she tried to argue in hushed tones to avoid eavesdroppers - which, again, is impossible to do because every sound can be heard in this tiny space. Before she could get back to her table, I heard her say, “It doesn’t matter that he broke up with me, that pen was the only thing I kept in memory of our time together.” Wow, that story just became interesting, I thought.

The door kept swinging after that. People rushed in, ordered coffee, and talked. The conversations overlapped one another, and soon the once quiet coffee house was buzzing with life. Being a regular customer here, I could say that this moment was probably the busiest time for the barista.

I just finished my crossword and looked around. Some tables were full of empty cups and plates but showed no sign of leaving. I looked outside and realized the weather was more intense than it was an hour ago.

Having nothing to do, I browsed my phone’s contents - a very rare task for me since I don’t use my phone except for using the net, reading e-books, taking photos, and answering calls and chats. Without the luxury of an internet connection right now, it was such a strange feeling to go through my gallery and inbox.

There were things that were over five years old: pictures and messages from old friends I have lost connection with for over a year now. I have this habit of holding on to things - which I didn’t know has consequences: both good and bad. After all, the past isn’t an easy thing to let go - especially if it held a lot of happiness than the present time. I have boxes in my room that contain little things - or whatever is left of bigger things - that I’ve given value because of the memory they held or just because I thought I might still need them. Rocks, shells, and even colored glass shards, occupy the inside of a shoe box that once held my first high-heels. The box would get filled up as time passed by. Later on, it held diary notes of my highschool days and prom nights; of red love letters and rose petals turning into a shade of brown.

At some point in my life, I tried to kick this habit out. Not because there were no more boxes to fill up, but because I found it tiring and painful to keep memories alive. I fought the urge to store and will every muscle of my hands to throw stuff away. I can say it was going well enough: the boxes aren’t piling up and the things I tend to keep became fewer.

However, there would always be a moment where my eye would get a glimpse of one those boxes; and out of curiosity, I’d open it - which later on I wished I didn’t. The memories that came with it were like huge waves hitting the seashore: loud and painful, dragging me back to that bottomless pit; like trees and windows being slapped by the wind and rain. Pictures of a past lover of whom you thought and sure was the one, of friends whom you’ve lost, of smiles and laughter you thought were going to last.

I thought I have let it go.

I thought I was already healed.

My room may seem organized, tidy, and spacious, but there are still skeletons hidden inside a box under my bed, haunting me.

If the guy before hadn’t lost his watch, would he even let it go?

That medical student wouldn’t even let that pen go even though she knows it just reminds her of a painful heartbreak.

How do you let go of a joyous past even if it now tastes bitter?

How do you throw away the things that held a happy memory, that remind you of a life you once had? Of a love you once had? Of a smile you once had?

Or a person you once had?

How do you empty the boxes?

Before I could linger on that thought, the bald guy beside me stood up. Though it may seem brief, I saw in the corner of my eye how he rolled up his sleeve and looked at the spot that once held a watch he dearly loved. He put his hands in his pocket and walked past me. The rain had finally stopped.

People were starting to get up, exclaiming their relief that the downpour was over. The pavement outside glistens as a ray of light peeked out behind the clouds. The coffee shop was soon empty, except for me and the other students who clearly have notes to finish. The quiet came back. It was as if nothing happened.

The coffee cup resting on my table had gone cold. So far, my gallery went from 800 pictures to 200. The dates weren’t recent. Others were dated back from 5 years ago, others a year ago. The pictures of my cat who died last year were still there; but on the same day, the picture of a list of students who got into medschool, without my name on it, was not there anymore. Cliche as it is, the past is never coming back. You can’t relive it and expect a different present and future. It’s untouchable. A thing to learn from, but not a thing to hold on to. Cliche bells are ringing everywhere, but I guess it’s a universal realization and agrrement: you can’t stay in the past, you can’t bring the past with you. To quote a snow queen: Let it go.

However, there are things worth keeping - ones that remind you of love more than pain, of hope more than loss. Memories are not all bad, sometimes they can turn a seemingly dull day into a bright one.

There will always be a box; no matter how hard you try, a box of memories will be found under your bed. And the box would never remain empty, but it would not also remain full. A day will come when it’s time to empty it: to make way for new things, new memories, new moments. And when that day comes, a gush of fresh air will fill your lungs as if it was the first time the door opened.

I took a sip of that lukewarm coffee - which I regretted the moment the liquid touched my lips. The light that was unseen a while ago penetrated the glass walls effortlessly and made its way to my table; but it was a different kind that touched me: it wasn’t a blinding one - it was a rainbow. Funny how the universe likes coincidence sometimes. I looked up my phone - still no signal, not even a bar. I guess there’s nothing else to do here. I stood up and opened the door. The wind that carressed my face was cold. I tok a deep breath and stepped out: wondering with glee as to what this year awaits me, of what kinds of things I’ll be putting in my empty boxes.