Back Here Again.

My late beloved husband and I spent every second weekend together during our dating years. The last day of each visit would become a bittersweet date, as we would try to cherish the hours we had left before we parted.

I would travel for an hour or more to get home, but not before being met with long taxi queues at the taxi rank, as most people made their way home from their weekend visits.

This seemed torturous then, but now it has become such a treasurable memory.

I travel a lot and mostly by taxi since I lost my car. There are days I find myself standing in the very spot I stood on years ago with my then boyfriend and now late husband. Everything around seems the same. There’s still shouting queue marshals and cheerful hawkers – but it isn’t the same for me. No matter how much I try to close my eyes and pretend Mbu is still standing next to me; truth is, he isn’t.

Instantly I’d feel the echoing void in my heart and if I have enough courage on that day, I simply let it rip by allowing my heart to be a fountain of a love never to exist again, until it overflows through my eyes as a flood of tears.

I have learned to appreciate each moment for what it is. Back then I wished my beloved had a car so I wouldn’t have to go through these long taxi queues. Today the value of the torturous time I spent standing with him in these long queues far surpasses the discomfort caused by his absence.

So in essence, every moment I spent with him, no matter how unpleasant or insignificant still had great value attached to it.