Chapter 3:
It was in those years of school and self-discovery that I met Josephine, a girl whose kindness and gentle spirit would leave an indelible mark on my heart. She was younger than me by a few years—a gap that, back then, felt significant. I remember how she looked at me with a quiet admiration, her presence always calm and warm, like a steady heartbeat in the background of my life. For the longest time, I saw her as just a friend, or maybe even a younger sister. I was the popular one, the DJ who brought life to school events, too busy with friends and music to notice the quiet girl who always seemed to be there, waiting.
But life has a way of making us see things in a new light, especially when love is involved. It was my father who unknowingly nudged me in her direction. He would tell me stories of how he met my mother, of the persistence and patience it took to win her over. His words lingered in my mind, and one day, I looked at Josephine and saw her differently. I saw her for who she truly was—kind, patient, and steadfast. It was like a veil had lifted, and I realized that this girl had become the person I wanted by my side.
The love that grew between us was simple and pure, marked by shy glances, long conversations, and shared dreams. In Josephine, I found a confidante and a friend, someone who understood me beyond the persona I had created as a DJ. She loved me for who I was, not for the popularity or the excitement that came with my music. She saw the parts of me that no one else cared to look at—the boy who carried the weight of his family’s struggles, the son who wanted to make his father proud, the dreamer who hoped to create something lasting.
Those years were a whirlwind of emotions, a delicate dance between youth and adulthood. I was drawn to her more and more, discovering a kind of happiness I hadn’t known before. With her, life felt hopeful, filled with possibility. We shared countless moments that, looking back, seem simple but were everything to us back then—walking through the neighborhood, talking about our dreams, imagining a future that, in our minds, seemed as close as the next day.
But love, especially young love, is often fragile. When I graduated, my path led me toward new opportunities, and with them, new responsibilities. I took a job installing network systems at SOGESOL bank, hoping to follow in my father’s footsteps, though I quickly learned that my heart wasn’t in it. I tried to balance work, my growing ambitions, and my relationship with Josephine, but the more I focused on my career, the more I felt the distance growing between us.
When I moved to Santiago de los Caballeros to attend university, that distance became all too real. It was the first time I had truly left Haiti, the first time I had to face life without the safety net of family, friends, and Josephine’s steady presence. At first, we tried to keep our love alive through letters, phone calls, and the occasional visit. But as days turned to weeks and weeks to months, the reality of our situation began to sink in. We were worlds apart, each of us on a path that seemed to lead in different directions.
On my birthday, a month after arriving in the Dominican Republic, I waited for her call, hoping that somehow, despite the distance, she would reach out. But the call never came. I remember sitting alone that night, feeling the weight of the silence between us, the realization that our love, as strong as it had been, might not survive the miles between us. It wasn’t a lack of love that caused the rift, but rather the strain of being apart, the inevitable changes that come when people grow in separate directions.
Josephine went on to work for a cigarette company in Port-au-Prince, a job that worried me. She didn’t smoke, but I knew the challenges women faced in environments like that. And although my heart still held on to the hope of seeing her again, I began to understand that she was fighting her own battles, that perhaps she had grown weary of waiting, of wondering what life in the Dominican Republic was doing to me. The doubt, the fears, the unanswered questions—they all took their toll, and eventually, we both knew it was time to let go.
Letting go of Josephine was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. She was the first person who had seen me completely, who had loved me without conditions. Her absence left a void, a lingering ache that seemed to follow me into every relationship that came after. But in losing her, I learned something invaluable—that love is not always meant to last forever, but its impact can shape who we become.
In the years that followed, I carried the memory of Josephine with me. She was the one who taught me that love requires patience, that it is not always easy, but it is always worth the journey. Her kindness, her strength, and her willingness to love me at my most vulnerable became a benchmark for the kind of person I wanted to be, both in love and in life.
That first heartbreak marked the end of one chapter but paved the way for another. It drove me to pursue my dreams with even greater intensity, to build something of my own, and to find a sense of purpose that would eventually lead me to the shores of Punta Cana. As much as it hurt, that experience taught me resilience and gave me a deeper understanding of love—a lesson that would guide me in the years to come.
Loss and Resilience
Chapter 2: The loss of my mother left an irreplaceable void in our lives. She had been the heart of our family, the one who held us together, her warmth and gentleness providing the love and stability we needed. With her passing, it felt as though our world had fractured, [...]| Play | Cover | Release Label |
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