Letters of Life


I was chatting with Andre over lunch in a cafe with bad food about how men and women bring baggage (the emotional kind) into relationships.

My husband, Andre, grew up in a happy, loving family with no violent quarrels, separations, or divorces.  Growing up, I witnessed all three and went through at least two relationships where my real self, tender and young as it was, was suppressed and did little for my self-esteem and identity in my early 20s.

I said, “It’s a good thing you didn’t have any baggage, ‘cuz I brought enough baggage into our relationship.”

He said, “I did have baggage.”

I said, “What baggage?”

“I don’t remember,” he shrugged.

And there perhaps lies the real definition of baggage: It’s all in the remembering.

Forgetfulness can be a good thing.

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