The Accidental Olympian

REMEMBER. REMEMBER. REMEMBER.

Each time I return it feels like I've stepped back in time.

I'm 18, 19, 20. My weekends are spent with friends, exploring the streets at night, creating memories too hazy to remember fully the next morning, spending the daylight hours recovering and laughing. I was young here, wild here, learning and growing and understanding myself here. This was home. Adulthood. Identity.

Each street contains a memory. Each neighborhood a gem, a moment, a time. Even a commute is special. We once had dinner there. Met there. Spent the day there. Fell in love there. Broke there. Pictures. Moments. Anniversaries. Growth. This city watched me mature from a child into a woman.

I feel like we still know one another, Seattle and I, but we're growing estranged. I'm trying so desperately to hold each moment close, yet I feel myself struggling to hold on. New memories cloud over the old, and no matter how strong my love, my desire to be here, I know I no longer belong. I'm a stranger in those memories, in those moments, and although my new memories and moments sparkle they never seem to push away the old.

At times I wish the longing would cease, the way one knows after heartache that with time the pain will pass, and yet, who am I without this place, those memories? The twinge of longing is my connection to this place, my anchor to the past, to be strangers would hurt more than to miss one another when we're apart.

So I breathe deep. Invite the memories to come close. Remember. Remember. Remember.  

I WALKED THE STREETS, SAW THE SIGHTS

IN SEATTLE, THE TREES ARE BLUE

IN SEATTLE. AGAIN. BECAUSE, WELL WE LOVE EACH OTHER.

RIP DIEGO

I'm sure it seems silly to be sad that my fish died, but you know what, I am. 

This September the little orange dude above would have been five years old. FIVE! A five year old fish! My first "pet" in college, these two fancy goldfish moved from apartment to apartment. From college to adulthood. From Seattle to Olympia, and Olympia to Alaska. 

Something about Alaska though hasn't been kind to them. I've nearly killed them both off a few times over this last year and for the life of me I don't know why. Maybe they never wanted to come to Alaska. Maybe they would have rather I took them to the local pet store in Olympia before we left and found a new home. But I couldn't. They're my office companions, and when I look at them in their bright blue tank I think of college. I think of painting that silly stand I got on Craigslist. I think of picking them out for a whopping $0.99. I think about all the moves I lugged them through, I think about the 5 day road trip they survived in a 5 gallon bucket. 

Today I took Diego, too big to flush and deposited his slimy body in the trash. Nearly five years old. 

Now only one fish remains. For all I know he's sick too. And I can't seem to figure out why. I'm the reason Diego died. I think that's why this feels worse than, "Shoot, the fish died." All fish need is clean water, and a healthy tank to live. Fancy goldfish like these can live 20 or more years in the right conditions. For some reason I just couldn't get them right. 

So long Diego. You were always my favorite with your shockingly orange coloring, your feisty attitude and that amazing tail. Sorry I couldn't get it right.