Forget Me Not

“Forget Me Not” is the name of a flower. I don’t know why it’s named into one so easy to remember yet almost poetic, but the moment you hear it, you won’t forget it. Of course, I heard the name in Chinese first: Wu Wang Wo.

Even though it’s an unforgettable name, I never knew what it looked like until 2005.

I was fresh and new in the country of Canada. I had a boyfriend who I had met back in China. He is a French. My early years of new immigrant life were spent between Canada and China, and France and Switzerland, where he had homes. On top of our mutual interest in travelling which had originally brought us together, in those early years of my new immigrant life when I was supposed to be physically more in Canada (1095 days out of 4 years in Canada to apply for citizenship), we met up in Burma, Vietnam, Nepal, Bhutan, Mexico, and Peru. You may wonder why I had bothered to immigrate to Canada when I was developing a stable relationship with a French person.

I don’t know how to answer that question. Rationally it didn’t make sense. I was not geographically attracted to Canada. No job or other opportunity was waiting for me. I have said to people it was my lifelong desire to live “elsewhere” rather than my birth country, and a Canadian passport was the most appealing, as it could provide me with the possibility of visiting many countries in the world without a visa. But my boyfriend was already talking about marriage, so that could settle both of those desires, as I assumed a French passport would be just as powerful as a Canadian passport compared with one from the Chinese.

Looking back, it was an inner knowing that I had to do this, without knowing where “this” was going to take me.

So, in the summer of 2005, I flew to Province to stay in his beautiful hillside house for a month. The house has large grounds which contain pine trees, fruit trees, a swimming pool and flower and vegetable gardens. I brought a pack of seeds with me, not by plan, but randomly. When I opened my first bank account in Canada, they had pouches of flower seeds to give away. Maybe that was because it was the Springtime. I don’t remember the details. I had very limited living space back then, so I thought, my boyfriend was the one with a garden.

It was not until I was planting them in Andre’s garden that I realized the seeds I brought over were called “Forget Me Not.”

How appropriate!

Very soon, Andre and I drifted apart. Some of my unmet needs didn’t know how to be expressed, or there were too many self-imposed inhibitions for them to be expressed. We never had an official break-up. I simply had a sad private thought, “Maybe this is it. There is nothing I can do now, therefore I won’t do anything anymore for this relationship.”

Maybe my private quiet thought was too loud, that he heard it? Or maybe finally we were on the same wavelength and he felt the same way? For the next 17 years, I wouldn’t know.

Last year in July and August, I was visiting Bordeaux for about four weeks. Andre drove all the way from the South to meet up with me. 17 years later, we sat together and talked. He said he was angry that I had decided to move to Canada without consulting him. He said back then I was so headstrong, and I didn’t believe him when he told me about our future. “…, or did you?” Andre looked at me, waiting for confirmation.

“No,” after a quick reflection, I said, “I didn’t believe you.” And I wanted to say, I had reasons and proof not to believe you… but I dropped them… They were not that important anymore.

He popped up a picture on his phone screen. Between some Southern French rocks were some small deep blue flowers growing along the earth bed. “Still coming out every summer,” Andre said softly. I remembered over the years, seeing such a picture he emailed me from time to time. It felt nice. It feels that the little unspeakable connection between him and me needs no reason or urge to speak. The deep blue small flowers trembling in the slightest breeze says it all.

I imagine, year after year, these flowers come back to his garden, reminding him not to forget Kemila, the girl who planted them there. He took photos, every year, in the same spot, yet fresh and new again, and sent them to me, gently reminding me of the same message.

Forget-Me-Not.

Our love is like those flowers: tender, modest, humble, quiet, real, delicate, fresh.

There was no need to really ruminate who said what or did what wrong. Looking back, no matter who participated in what and how it was done, the path that I ended up taking was absolutely the path that was meant for me to take. I am now a very proud Canadian, and this is my place to be, even though I immigrated to this country for its passport and the freedom to travel.

I met my current partner Tim in the same year that Andre and I drifted apart. Looking back, it was time to meet Tim.

Many years had passed but, that late night chatting with Andre in the warm Southwest French summer, I didn’t notice it. I still felt very close to him, but it was so peaceful to know that I had no need to explain this closeness, even to myself. I can just enjoy it. We hugged. The love I felt in my heart was very pure. On this Valentine’s Day, I’m wondering how life plays everything out in a twisted but perfect way. My life has taken me in another direction which has allowed me to become more of myself in unimaginable ways, but strangely, without being with Andre, I was able to love him and appreciate him more fully. Yes, I can now allow myself to feel him freely, like he is an ocean, and I love swimming.

Tim noticed our interactions and gently commented that Andre must mean a lot to me. Yes, it is so and that’s a sweet thing, even though sometimes the heart aches. But then Andre is now saying that there is no “chance” or “luck” or “accident,” that everything in life is somewhat orchestrated.

Andre, between you and your story about me, and me and my story about you, life has happened. I cannot reason about it, but I can allow myself to accept it. So, I can set myself free, to love you without any worldly meaning attached to it.

Everything else, let’s leave to those little pretty and precious flowers.