Tides || jack gilinsky

prologue

Most girls pick up a journal to start writing about their life and immediately start calling it their dairy—

I call it—a story.

A collection of events that go on which I guess we just have to put down on paper. Why? I don't know?
But I guess it helps with whatever you're dealing with.

No, I'm not lonely, and no I'm not depressed—At least, I don't think so?

I guess I'm just not that good when it comes to publicly expressing my feelings. Hence—The notebook.

I don't know, it might sound dumb and some might even say childish. But it's my safe haven.

My comfort zone.

My distraction.

In exactly one week from today, I'll be going back home.

Its weird. I didn't see myself going back there for at least a few more years. But this was an opportunity I couldn't let my mom pass. She's been through, and lost so much already. When I saw the excited look on her face as she told us how she got chosen by her boss to take a trip to Madrid, it simply became hard to deny this from her.

Ever since the accident, we all sorta drifted apart. Mom was one of the lucky ones and found some healing through her art work. She always loved to paint, but did it as a hobby. After losing Will, she decided to quit her job as a receptionist for a local doctor and followed her passion.

We moved to New York and an old college roommate of hers scored my mom an internship with a local artist with aspirations as big as hers. Together, they want to open art shops and schools around the country. Their first step, Madrid.

I was happy for my mom, I really was. And I'm so proud to see her finally chase her dreams.

The conversation was difficult, because she didn't want to go. Dylan was still in high school, he'll be entering his senior year now. And me, well, I just figured out not too long ago what I wanted to pursue... A teacher... Just like what my brother, Will, always envisioned me as.

The timing wasn't right to pack up and move all the way across the world, where the language was different and everything ran on the opposite side of the road... Literally.

Dylan didn't need it, and I'm sure he couldn't go through a major move like that again. So, after many, many phone calls, it was finally decided that Dylan and I would be moving back to Bay Bridge in our old home where dad still lives.

Three years wasn't enough, I'm afraid of what I'll be coming into. I adore my family, I really do... And Bay Bridge will always be home—But within that home, there are memories to which I don't dare to come back to. Memories so painful and tragic that I don't believe I'm yet ready for.

I keep telling myself this will be good for us, especially for Dylan who is in desperate need of another male figure in his life. Although my father hasn't been very present lately, my mother never fails to remind us that he still loves us. It'll be something new to look forward to, I guess?

All I know is that this year, it's all about change. It had to.

Change of homes, change of weather, and change of attitude. So maybe it is time to go back—Face my fears once and for all. This teaching opportunity is something I know he'll be proud of, something I know he always encouraged for me to go through. If anything, I'm doing this for him... My brother.

I sat in my bedroom... What's left of it.

This move to Madrid and Bay Bridge means furniture is gone too. We sold all our furniture for some extra cash to have for the trips. It seems so empty... My room.

All the little memories I've made in my time being here... They were all gone. Stored and packed away for me to take with me. It's silly... To have such a connection to those little "memories."

The way I see it, in the end that's all we really have. Memories. Memories of the moments. Good and Bad, they're all there and they impact us whether we like it or not.

I liked the girl I became while we lived here in New York. I was easy going, didn't care much of what anyone thought of me because in a city this big—You can commit murder and it'll go unnoticed.

Okay, maybe that wasn't the best example... But you get the idea?

No one cares here. And I grew to become like the people here. Free and able to be who I wanted. That's the way I want to return to Bay Bridge.

I'd be leaving my cozy little life in Manhattan to go back to the one place where nothing seemed to feel right anymore... It was a lot to take in.. But mom needed this. So I couldn't give my chance to overflow myself with worry. With fear of what others may say. I wasn't going to let that happen... Not again.

And the only way I seemed to get through this transition was this. Writing in this journal.

It belonged to him, my brother... Had his initials engraved in the front cover of it too. I remember the day he got it, it was a gift from my father—Both who enjoyed the quality time of creative writing. It was quite old now, but I found it just before I left home for the first time two years ago. I can't count how many times I wanted to write on it, but nothing seemed better than now... The full transition of me coming back home.

It's been almost 3 years since my brother's passing. I've spent more than enough time dwelling over Will. Only now it's when it hit me—No matter how much I dwell upon it, he won't be coming back. I've tried to do things to make it feel as if he was still here with us, but nothing has come close to the feeling... Until now. Until I picked up one of his old untouched journals and began to write.

It helped. In a way, it feels like I'm talking to Will again. Like he's right here looking over my shoulder, laughing at the fact that I'm writing in this. Besides that, it might not be such a bad idea to look back at this one day and say.. Wow, what the hell was I doing?

It's not going as well as I thought but I'm hoping it'll get better as the days go by... For Will.

It'll be my little secret.

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