I hope you remember me. Even if you don’t, it’s fine. It’s a part of our coping mechanism to gradually forget people who hate us before their hatred destroys us. It’s only fair that you forget me. After all, I hated you.
I hated you when I first met you. You were this sprawling, big city with people speaking in a language alien to me, with vehicles not wanting to pause for two seconds on the road to let a scared newbie like me go from one side of the road to another and with a sense of superiority over the other cities I have been in.
Yes, I hated you. I hated you because I thought you kept me far from the people I loved then. I hated you because there was this distance which had to be bridged with phone calls and by monitoring the flight fares. You knew all that, didn’t you?
You knew my hatred for you all along. I knew nothing would change. So, when I found a hub for those pretty, tiny trinkets that I love to hold on to, I was wary. Was it you holding out an olive branch to sort things between us? Did you want to be a friend to me? Would you be my friend and break my trust like people have done in the past? But then, those were people; you are a place.
I gradually found your beauty quite picturesque. I fell in love with the elan and nuances of the old part of you and the sophistication of the new part of you. You knew I was a sucker for lights, right? So, when I was feeling low and I wanted to be left alone, with a traffic jam, you offered me pretty lights lined up all the way on the road which I could see from my terrace.
You could see that I was struggling to hide the puffiness of my eyes after crying behind my glasses. So even in the scorching heat of summer, you brought in the rains and there I was, smiling at the rains, making paper-boats of my woes and making them sail away. Either it’s too easy to make me smile or you know me too well.
You always were there, just like Baymax, hugging all the pain out of me when I was in pain, giving me a high-five when I was happy and giving me my space when I thought it wasn’t a good time for me to talk to people.
I haven’t told you yet, but I am sure that you know I’ll be leaving you in two weeks. Remember how I had said everyone that I hated you when I had first met you? Two days back, during a cab ride with two of my friends, I said what I thought I would never say. I told that I would miss you.
That’s true. I will miss you; you and your surprises. Many might have bid adieu to you over the years; I am no one special. But I had to tell this to you because it hurts to leave my friends, especially when I make a few.
Nevertheless, keep being the Baymax for everyone out there. I will keep visiting you and maybe on some other night on the terrace, we will talk too. Till then, take care.
Thanks for the memories.
One who no longer hates you.