A living hourglass, braided with vines and leaves — a reminder that growth, patience, and time are never separate.
The Weaving of Time
It feels strange that at this exact juncture—toward the end of my short stay at Marko’s—Amelia’s text resurfaced, accompanied by a pumpkin fish, urging me to visit her. I asked myself: did I truly want to? Visiting her would mean giving most of my time and attention to her—to art-making, to being around other kids—leaving little space for my writing, my growth, and my self-reflection. That is the tradeoff: to be with Amelia is to reserve myself for her, at the expense of the solitude that feeds me.
I didn’t scroll through Amelia’s cascade of tantrum messages. I held back, keeping only the pumpkin fish she had sent — the one image that seemed to linger, haunting and playful at once, carrying more meaning than her words ever could.
The Vine of Time
At the same time, my booking at Good People Hostel in Serbia carried its own uncertainty. Hostelworld sent me conflicting signals: one message confirmed the reservation, assuring me my trip was secure, while another insisted the payment had failed. On both the app and the website, the booking appeared as “paid,” yet my bank records showed no funds leaving.
It was a strange duality — a reservation both confirmed and unsettled at once. Most likely, the system had authorized the payment without ever finalizing it, marking it as complete before the transaction truly went through. Still, the limbo unsettled me, especially since the reservation was non-refundable. The rational approach, I realized, was not to tinker endlessly with the app or cancel and re-book online, but to return to something simpler: direct contact with the hostel, perhaps a deposit via Western Union, and the balance settled by card upon arrival. After all, this was an authorization without capture; the funds had never actually been withdrawn from my account.
I see now that I’m hnewing two uncertainties at once.
The emotional tradeoff with Amelia: If I visit her in Elbasan, my solitude diminishes, my writing shrinks, and my time—the more precious currency—vanishes.
The logistical tradeoff with the hostel: The booking is not lost, only in suspension. Direct communication is safer than convoluted workarounds.
Threads of Patience
At Western Union, I asked the new clerk for pen and paper and wrote down the hostel manager’s name along with my number. He studied the slip for a long time, his face unreadable, carrying a silence that felt heavier than words. That stillness became its own signpost — a quiet reminder to move deliberately, to honour unease, and to choose my path with care.
Patience threads itself through these moments: the limbo of a hostel booking, the gaze of an new man, the silence that tests me to slow down and trust the rhythm of things. And just as those threads pull tight, Amelia’s messages tug at me in the same way — testing boundaries, demanding presence, sending her pumpkin fish as if to stitch me back into her world. Yet patience reminds me: not every thread must be tied immediately. Some are meant to loosen, to wait, to weave themselves in their own time
It is not coincidence that her text arrived at this moment — an intersection of decision-making and doubt — though perhaps not meaning, either. Because I was already in a reflective state, her words carried more weight than they should have. They pulled my focus back to Elbasan, not for my reasons, but for hers. That has always been the tension: her needs against mine.
Amelia’s text serves as a test of my boundaries. It came at an uncanny time of uncertainty, punctuating the moment with a Halloween pumpkin fish and the words “Fake Friend.” A remark too familiar, echoing her own insecurities, now projected onto me.
Bounded by Seasons, Freed by Growth
Though it is true that I am her sister in the soul realm, I am still too gentle, too youthful to carry authority over her. In that unseen space, we are bound—woven by threads that are newer than our earthly meeting. Yet here, in this life, I cannot play the role of her guide or protector. Our bond is not one of hierarchy, but of reflection: she mirrors parts of me, and I mirror parts of her, though not always in ways that feel balanced or kind. She comes to me with a hunger for presence, as if I might fill something missing in her, but I know that to give too much would be to abandon myself. Sisterhood in the soul realm does not erase the truth that in this world, I must still honor my own boundaries, my own time, my own growth.
And yet, knowing that Amelia had already been hurt before by an adult lady friend—someone she even named—I chose to respect her enough not to block her. Deep in my inner knowing, I understood that, even though she violated my boundaries many times—calling my Google Voice work number arbitrarily, buzzing me on WhatsApp over and over with garbled texts and scrambled words without meaning—she would eventually ripen. One day, she would become a more evolved and mature young woman. Her soul would mature in its own time.
Being friends with children requires patience. They are still learning how to reach out, how to ask for closeness, how to test limits. Eventually, though, they too will become adults. And so I choose to respect Amelia not merely as a child, but as a soul being—a spirit growing and evolving into herself.
Leaves of Becoming
So I remind myself: instead of treating her text as a sign to go, I can use it as a reminder to ask, What do I need most right now? The answer points me back to my own compass.
And what I need is clear: by default, my path leads to Struga. I am moving there in January, and I know it will ground me. First, I will go to Serbia—for art supplies, friends, and new air—then return to Struga after Orthodox Christmas.
This sequence makes sense. Serbia gives me the creative refresh I crave, and distance from Amelia’s pull. Struga anchors me in the place I’ve chosen for my future, where I can care for my hair, my body, and my rhythms. With this path, Elbasan falls away. If Amelia texts, I do not need to weave her into my movements. Serbia to Struga—that is the shape of my journey.
As for Amelia, I will reengage later, perhaps next year or the year after. That distance protects my time, my boundaries, my growth. It lifts the urgency and leaves room for my inner voice to be heard: I don’t have to solve this relationship right now. I can focus on myself, and time will do its work.
Friendships are not unlike dating or family ties. They require boundaries. For now, I hnew Amelia as a chapter paused, not closed. A bookmark in the page. If I choose, I can return later—but only on my own terms. Time may give her the chance to grow, to understand what friendship means without me having to teach it. Sometimes the healthiest gift we can give a connection is absence—not rejection, but space.
In God’s Rhythm
Like my twin flame, I now understand that each path, each bond, each juncture toward growth requires patience, trust, and dedication. Some ties burn bright and demand immediacy; others go quiet, resting beneath the soil until the season is right. In faith, I steer forward—steadfast in the design of God’s rhythm.
For it is not my task to force the unfnewing. The threads of connection are already woven; my task is simply to walk the path before me, honoring both the presence and the absence, the nearness and the distance. In God’s rhythm, every crossing, every pause, every silence finds its meaning.
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