It was a warm autumn afternoon, we were barely teenagers back then. The warm breeze of the southern Mexican city called Oaxaca was soothing to even the loneliest of souls.
I was with a friend, who shall remain unnamed. We were sitting under the trees outside the Temple of Saint Domingo. What we were discussing has escaped me at this point, but I recall we were speaking in English, as we so often did so.
Even back then, I was somewhat of a gloomy person. Harassed while at school, sexually frustrated elsewhere, and apathetic to most, an average troubled teenager. It's due to the following that I was surprised about what happened on that fateful autumn evening.
A Canadian girl approached us, only slighter shorter than I, with long copper blonde hair, hazel eyes and slightly tanned skin. She was a bit cross-eyed, but that only made her all the more intriguing. She was a bit shy about it so she had her hair covering her right eye, which did little to hide her slightly crooked eye.
"You speak English!", she told us. I was very surprised at her friendly behavior towards two strangers in a foreign land. I learned of where she was from as we started talking to her, when she introduced herself she said she was "Vanessa from Vancouver!" which I always found humorous. She asked that we call her "Vanstai" as a nickname. After our brief introductions, she asked me to show her around the area, as she was going to be staying around for a few months. I complied.
I showed her what I knew of the town, as I didn't go out much. She seemed to catch up pretty quick as she seemed to know more about I on certain landmarks or historical trivia. For a moment I considered that she was going to walk off due to my ignorance of the place I was currently residing in, but to my surprise she was interested in what I had to say about the city and it's history. Every now and then she'd ask me about myself, and I would do the same. She'd tell me tales of Vancouver Canada and how much she loved growing up there. I was already interested in visiting as I saw a documentary on Vancouver as a kid, which intrigued me, but at that moment I knew it was a place I HAD to visit at some point in my life. It was a day I'm yet to forget. We exchanged numbers, and went our own ways for a short while.
The next day, she gave me a call at night, which again, surprised me, as I wasn't the type to get phone calls from others. She asked me to see her the next day, at the same place we had met (Saint Domingo), to which I complied. We spend another day roaming the area, got to know each-other a bit more. I learned that she was very playful, sarcastic, and logically inclined. I recall saying something negative about my appearance, as I had bad self esteem even back then. She told me that I was thin, and therefore should be more like a stick. I was quite confused. She continued (and I paraphrase): "Sticks float. They're flexible and can be built into many things! Rocks, however, are hardened and heavy. So they sink. Don't be a rock." Looking back, I find the quote quite silly and humorous, but I found it cute none the less. At this point I started to develop feelings for Vanstai.
For the following months we would go out around Oaxaca, but I would never tell my folks or anyone about her, as I feared my local "bullies" would either attempt to hurt her or push her away from me. As we spend time together, my feelings for her grew. She would continuously push me into being more critical of the world around me by constantly questioning my beliefs and prejudices. She would do so in a very empathetic and kind way, as to prevent an angry response. She would push me out of my comfort zone, and she'd constantly debate with me. She'd always grab my hand whenever she sensed fear in me. This would make my fear instantly banish. We never really took it beyond holding hands, however. The most we ever did was a kiss on the cheek, I guess this was due to how she respected my claims that I was asexual.
We'd share music, watch movies, Japanese cartoons and the occasional documentary. I remember her being very fond of Enigma, whom I wasn't too fond with at the time. New Age in general, was not something I was into until later in life. Her favorite was "Ask the Mountains" by Vangelis.
We would often talk about the future. I remember us talking about moving over to Vancouver, where I would set up my studio and she'd live out her dream of being a piano instructor and a journalist. We talked about traveling across the American roads, and the Canadian mountains and prairies. We spoke of going to Europe, Australia, and China. I remember falling asleep imagining the days we'd spend together, traveling. I guess, one could say, these were the happiest days of my life.
There was something off about her, though. She always seemed to be very secretive about her family, as she would refuse to talk about them, so much so that she wouldn't give me their name. While she knew I didn't want her to meet my own folks, she knew of their names, and what they were to me. She was very secretive about her life, and would often get somewhat upset if I would attempt to pry. "You are not entitled to my past." She said at one point. It took me years to understand the concept of entitlement, but now that I do, I have to say, she was right.
It wasn't until February 2004 that I found out why she was so secretive.
The past few weeks she'd been acting a bit strange. She wouldn't speak to me for days at a time, but she'd eventually call me up to go hang out or just talk on the phone. I knew not to pry, as I respected her privacy.
There was a place she always wanted to visit, called Hierve el Agua. I would always postpone our trip as I wasn't sure how'd we get there, and it was quite a ways away. Eventually I caved in, and decided to agree to go with her. It was February 20th, 2004. I remember waiting for her call to verify where we'd meet that day, but I grew worried when she never called. I waited until night time to give her a call.
I remember hearing a man's weak, trembling voice pick up the phone. It was Vansatai's father. When I asked for her, the words that came from the phone will forever echo in my mind.
"Vanessa's dead, kid. She had an aneurysm. Please don't call us again."
I stood there, with what could only be described as shock. It had to be a joke. So I called again. I was told to stop calling.
For a few moments, I thought it was a sick joke. But still, something hit me. Something broke within the very essence of my soul. Something within me died that day.
I had a mental breakdown, and I didn't sleep. I played "Ask the Mountains" again, and again, hoping that what I had heard was but a sick, twisted joke.
After a week I tried to call again, to which her father finally allowed me to come see them to make sure.
When I got to them, it was confirmed. Vanstai was dead. She was being sent back to Vancouver where she was going to be buried. After talking to her parents about who I was, we said our goodbyes, and since then, I haven't seen them.
My mind became a haze ever since. I gave up on school, and my dreams of having a studio. I gave up on Vancouver, and I gave up on myself. I stopped speaking to my friends. I became extremely attached to a friend online, as she was the closest that thing to remind me of Vanstai that I had, which only caused a divide between us.
I became emotionally numb.
Ten years after her death, I came to Vancouver. I searched for her grave, and I searched for her family, but I never yielded any results. To this day, I havent had the same ability to love. To this day, I'm yet to feel the same warmth. To this day, I hear her voice. To this day, I dream of her. To this day, I'm searching for her.
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