I had a romance with the bottle once.
Never a doubt in my mind that mistakes form part of our experience. We probably saw them fit at the time but then the lessons learned would help us avoid similar errors in judgment in the future.
The summer capital’s enticing cold climate attracted me upon my arrival from abroad. Frequent power outages and overpowering heat in the main capital made the decision for the evacuation easier. In my mid twenties, I was quick to the draw.
The plan to become a full-pledged farmer was already instilled. Taking The Beatles’ song Strawberry Fields Forever as an inspiration, I hoped to acquire a piece of land and be the lover of nature at the same time.
The project could have been initiated earlier if I did not meet fellow souls who treated everyday as a holiday. A few days of non-stop merry-making were probably enough to give me a monumental headache that could have forced me to rethink my priorities. I was wrong.
One time, I woke up, arms splayed in the sidewalk of the main road, while passersby sidestepped so as not to disturb my slumber. The smell of newspaper convinced me that a good Samaritan covered my whole body to protect me from the cold. I looked like a crime victim, waiting for investigators to process evidence.
Sitting up to balance myself, the intoxication from the night before would not leave. My vision was blurred that all I saw were legs walking around, their owners probably pitying me as a homeless beggar. Someone even dropped several coins in front of me, confirming the image I projected.
I was thankful that no harm befell on me. The embarrassment was more than enough to punish my reckless behavior.
To tell you the truth, it took several months more before I finally jilted my lover. The doctor made it very clear: “Your kidneys will kill you.”
Bye! Bye! Strawberry Fields. Forever.