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  • Writer's pictureRachael Chau

Loose Garment

One of the best feelings in the world, I think, is when a song feels like it was written for you.

And another is when something that once made you sad, makes you feel…

different than before.




The other night, I was reflecting on some memories–ones I hadn’t touched in a long time because it was far too painful and confusing to do so. But I happened upon them in my mind, and played back the tape. I remembered the excitement and uncertainty, the little sensations in my body, the moments I took snapshots of in my head. All of these bits melded together to create a texture I can’t fully describe. 



Soft, in the way that skin is soft. Gentle but weighty, like the air on a late spring night. Electric, quietly, like when you’re on the precipice of something. And giddy, in a way I never thought I could be again. 


And yet, here I am, reliving it all by myself from my four walls. I’ve conjured up a ghost that feels as real as can be, the texture of memory and what once was and what won’t be. And in ways it feels sorrowful and nostalgic and distant–a blissful unknowing before storms upon storms. Still, more tangibly, there is some joy in it. I can feel. I can breathe. I can remember what was and know that what came to pass, though terrible, has served me for the best and brought me to infinitely greener fields. I try on the beloved old coat or worn sweater or rediscovered scarf or forgotten pair of jeans, and I find that… it doesn’t fit anymore. I have outgrown it. It’s no longer tight or fitted, it no longer elicits as strong a reaction from me, for better or for worse.

And it’s all a blessing of sorts.

It was all a blessing. Of sorts.


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