I’ve been writing. In my journal. In private spaces.
Ironically, i’ve been encouraged to write. And to take it seriously. To perhaps do something about the ‘long, long, thoughts’ in my head rather than just sit around and ‘wish for something to happen’. So i read this and was somehow encouraged to do my own version of it. And in a way, heal.
Organising and being at a friend’s bridal shower reminded me so much of all the things i dreamt off. All the things i lost hope in. All the ‘oh-fuzzies’ that you caused and have now stripped away. Sometimes i forgive you and would imagine telling you that i’m OK. That what you did was right for the time. Sometimes i just want to slap you real hard in the face. Because that’s how i felt. Like i was slapped in the face. How words became so cheap. And actions meant nothing.
I think of things i could do to forget. I could fill my days with hobbies, i happen to know that unrequited love swallows free time like it’s air. I began running, learning how to get away, and fast. The only problem with that was we used to run together. I read a few good Christian books, one of which told me blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. I’m still learning that verse, probably because i’m still mourning.
I’ve been so involved administratively both at work and ministry just to keep my fingers busy and away from the phone; trying to keep my mind less idle because that’s when i start remembering. I finally went swimming again, because it’s not that time of the month and there’s nothing else to do. Besides, i’m so good at holding my breath, anyway.
I remind myself that i am other things, besides out of love and hopeless and sort of sad in the saddest way possible. Like, i am also a friend, a daughter, an employee and also a thinker, a doer, a person who’s living and has lived before this sad, sad mess came to pass.
I think about when i was a seven-year-old in the middle of a small garden at school, trying to catch pretty red and orange ladybugs; tearing off to play catch at every ‘masa rehat’ or when the teacher comes in late, just because we could. I remember when i was a 10-year-old who wanted to wear everything in pink; pink skirt, pink tee, pink shoes, pink bag, pink hairband and when i was a 13-year-old who was ashamed for having done so. That was so not cool when the fav color was blue.
I remember when i was 17 and began to break curfews, having an affinity to Bailey’s with the besties. I remember when i turned 21 and spent the night dinner-ing with the best friends i’ll ever have and you were there. I remember whatever age i was the first time i had my heart broken and how the pain felt endless until it ended and then it was like i’d imagined it all, a fever dream of a romance. Uncountable things to define who i am, and the only one i toil over is the one i’m not permitted to have~silly, silly…
I could, do whatever i want. Stop whatever i’m doing and just run away to wherever with a few girlfriends. Have no responsibility of the things that are placed under my care or let things run loose. Let the people do what THEY want and tell them that ‘yep, you hold no consequences to your actions’.Maybe i could pretend i like someone else, when i don’t..or just maybe, i could. Maybe i could find someone else who’d think i was funny, and amusing and easily delighted. Maybe that person could be just as funny, and smart and so good with words, he’ll give me butterflies in the tummy.
Maybe in a moment, that person could say something that would make me go wow, and feel so deliciously thrilled, making me smile in spite of me. Maybe i’m unsure and over-analyse things because i’ve already invested my thoughts and feelings elsewhere without yielding any profit or interest; maybe i feel safer holding on to what’s already failed because that failure is familiar and comfortable and i wear it so well. But maybe — just maybe i can try again, instead of caring about someone that doesn’t care about me.