Moloko came home from Moscow for Christmas with an air of humility and shame. He was ashamed to not have had the time to find a nicer gift, and had come across Moloko at a Christmas market. In that moment I felt disappointment too, fully knowing that he was a highly capable person who could have put in more effort toward this gift. At least, that’s what I believed. But I also practiced great empathy for the chaotic, tiring, and beleaguered life he lived abroad. I graciously accepted dinky Moloko with a bright smile and eagerly pinned her to my jacket. This morning I put on my old blue jacket, only to discover Moloko still perched on its lapel. Since that Christmas, my relationship with the person who gifted me Moloko turned deeply sour. He changed into a demonic figure who leeched my ability to trust and to love. To find sweet Moloko again is a gentle reminder of the person I once loved and the fondness we once shared. But I don’t need Moloko anymore. I don’t need to wear her to prove that I liked her, and I don’t need to wear her to prove that I liked him.