Destination
It was a strange feeling to run into my last ex suddenly. It was during halftime of the 2026 World Cup match between Spain and Argentina. I knew it would last half an hour, so I went out onto the street for a short walk. I thought: I’ll walk around the block—turn right at the end of my street, right again, one more time, and after the fourth time, I’d be home.
Near the end of my street, there’s a little library where people can drop off their books and pick up some nice ones.
A woman was standing there, wearing long skirts that might have made her look sturdier than she was; she had a thick coat on and a hat on her head.
“A homeless woman,” I thought, “picking out a book here.”
The woman looked up, and I recognized my ex.
That woman in the long skirts, with a tilak on her forehead—the one I’d thought was a vagrant—was my ex.
My ex, bundled up in the summer, wearing a hat, her hair in a ponytail.
What a difference from the woman I met twenty years ago in the Vondelpark, standing there in blue denim overalls, holding a dripping popsicle in each hand, with short blonde hair, blue eyeshadow, pink lips, and pink cheeks.
We ate our popsicles, and she told me about her life; she spoke with her hands, which won me over. I don’t think I fell in love right away, but she seemed to have.
When we said goodbye, I hugged her.
For five years, we shared the good times and the bad.
Or maybe it’s better to say, we shared the good times.
Sharing the sorrows was a bit harder, and I don’t feel like going over how it all ended and how we broke up again.
What I can share is that when it became clear, my heart broke.
I remember how we were standing at Station Zuid, and she finally said “yes” to my question, and I felt this terrible pain between my breasts, right in the middle of my left breast—right where my heart is.
We tried to make it work for a little while longer, but it was over.
For years I cried; I didn’t understand it, and every time I thought about it, I felt that pain all over again.
For two years, I didn’t want to see her.
After that, we saw each other again, and it was always fun—just like it always was when we were in a relationship. She told me about the women who had come into her life and left again, or whom she was chasing after, and I told her about my crushes that led nowhere.
Until I couldn’t take it anymore, and on a St. Nicholas Day, some years ago, I cut off contact and blocked her.
And then I see her, on that Sunday—the woman who broke my heart and who now looks like a homeless person.
Confusion.
Resignation.
This is who she’s meant to be and who she is.
A devotee. A follower of Krishna.
I was just a blip on her path—a brief interlude.
deeply resonant