I have been listening to Xoduzz’s Artificially Flavored Breaks - Mystery Celebreak The Summer 3 DJ set on repeat for weeks now. About 23 minutes into the set, a specific track takes over, and I can’t get enough of it. It’s a remix of "Here Comes the Rain Again" by the Eurythmics.
I experience my life through these kinds of temporal markers. When I looked up the history of the song, I discovered that the original track debuted on my birthday, January 13th. I recently found myself searching online to see if people view it as a romantic song or a sad one. Listening to it now, I realize it is both. There is a dreamy, bittersweet yearning to it—a deep desire for connection paired with the sharp awareness that when you open yourself up to someone, you open yourself up to everything they bring with them. No one is perfect. People rarely intend to hurt us consciously, but the risk is always there.
That exact bittersweet frequency followed me into a dream recently—one that also mirrored my birthday.
In the dream, I was with an old friend, navigating a space that felt simultaneously like a house and a shopping mall. It was my birthday in the dream, and she had just baked several loaves of pandan coconut milk bread, their sweet, fragrant aroma filling the air. Because of the day, her intention to give felt somewhat tied to a social obligation. Looking at the counter, I told her I would happily take the half-cut loaf, adding that I’d be glad to take any more she was willing to give.
She handed me the half loaf, and nothing more. She met the obligation, but she didn't exceed it.
Inside, I felt a sudden, quiet sting. My immediate thought was to describe the feeling as being "chuffed," but that isn't the right word. It wasn't quite hurt or bitter disappointment either. It was the specific emotional residue of realizing: Oh, I wanted more than I got.
It was the sudden, sharp realization of someone else's capacity for you, measured out on a day meant for celebration.
I woke up thinking about that moment, and I actually think it is incredibly healthy that my subconscious showed it to me. So often, we try to intellectualize our feelings away to protect our egos. We tell ourselves we don't care, or that we shouldn't care because so much of human connection operates on proximity and duty. You don’t have to pretend to be completely indifferent just to maintain good boundaries.
You are allowed to want the second loaf.
The trick is learning how to hold that desire without making the other person responsible for the disappointment of not receiving it. My friend has a whole ecosystem of people in her life. She has others who, naturally, hold a different place in her world than I do, and I understand that.
Accepting someone's boundaries—and their capacity for you—doesn't mean you have to numb your own desires. It just means learning to appreciate the half loaf for exactly what it is: a sweet, deliberate offering, even if the timing leaves you just a little bit hungry for more.
