I think—no, I believe I haven’t written in a very loooong time. This pandemic has fvcked up my sleeping cycle, my body clock, my little to less routines, and totally drained out whatever is left of the creative ink circulating in my brain. I started this back last year if I’m not mistaken? And I guess stories of certain events and bent up feelings of excitement coupled with a little anxiety finally finished it. Soooo, yeah, here haha.
One full year isolated from friends and loved ones.
One full year out of work, out of school.
One full year of faces hidden behind a collection of masks.
One full year of life as we know it, thrown into complete disarray.
Exactly a year ago when the world went into a standstill, locked down and boarded up as we were thrown into a wave of uncertainty, unprepared and caught off guard, spiraling into a state of disequilibrium, a life characterized by fear and anxiety.
One full year since the day everything changed and away from a reality we will never get back.
Can we ever grasp the new normalcy we struggle to live with?
Will we ever become comfortable in the daily uncertain?
Will we ever see through the shadows of a dream draped with looming obscurity?
Will freedom be less defined?
Endless questions with answers held by a future that remains dimly vague,
With tiny slivers of hope only few seem to recognize, rejected by most as distrust blind their discernment.
Out of this chaos, may we realize that everything can end in an instant so focus on what is important and always be grateful for somehow, we are still surviving.
I never imagined getting affected by the flimsiest of things but here I am, a chaotic mess of sad, angry and feeling bad. Yes, I felt bad.
It never crossed my mind that I would develop anxiety but the past 10 months of uncontrollable uncertainty has turned me into a silent wreck.
Isolation and confinement has pushed me to reach out to people, recklessly exposing myself to be emotionally vulnerable and I’ve been led on and left out.
I’ve never done any of these things before and it’s overwhelmingly new and suffocating. And as soon as someone paid attention, I easily forget that expectation is paired with disappointment.
I used to be so good at refocusing my thoughts, blocking out bad memories, or just not giving a care but somehow, it’s been getting really hard to hold it all together and not being able to control what runs through my head is taking its toll on me.
I’m still freaking curious.
There was a spark, I know there was a spark and I’m missing that spark.
I’ve been digging inside my head since that Thursday and I still can’t find you and your words and that smile.
I’ve no memory.
I did not dream of having kids. It was never part of the plan.
I wanted to write and live in different places, experience this diverse, expansive earth everyone keeps talking about.
At some point, I even wanted to go to outer space, discover aliens, leave footprints on the moon, trek Mars, name stars.
But you see, life has a sick sense of humor and who would have imagined I’d end up birthing 3 boys instead.
I wasn’t ready.
Stuck in the mundane.
I think I’ll never be ready.
Fine, joke’s on me.
But I kept on, even when my mind was in total chaos. I still keep on.
I had the choice to get away, to run away as I always do, but I stayed.
And trying to be a mother, keeping up a facade of this supposedly strong person and parenting alone while my heart shattered into infinite pieces, was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to endure.
But oh, the laughter of children, the sweetest songs, such beautiful music to my ears, I could listen to for a lifetime.
The course of our lives sometimes do not play out like how we pictured it in our heads but somehow, we always end up where we should be.
And most times, much happier.
When everyone is used to running towards you, expecting you to fix their cracks and you try to seal it, feigning wit and refreshing humor, to somehow complete whatever it is that they lack.
You have this way of making things better after you, it’s hard to explain. The sponge so they say.
But who extracts the water from the sponge when it is full?
The glass is overflowing but they still continue to pour, fumbling for your lifeboat as they drown in the turbulent seas they ceaselessly create. You also give away your life jacket.
When you are gagged to even feel broken and muted so as not to be judged, the words bleed out of your mouth and drain you empty.
The silence is almost, always deafening, amplified by the sickening reflection you see when you stare at yourself in the mirror and find that there is no one around but you.
The world could seem like a complete nightmare sometimes.
I asked if you were okay and you laughed a little too loud, smiled a little to hard and held a little too tight when you said “I’m perfectly fine.”
Life is full of sporadic facades and intermittent moments, bits and pieces tattered with every flip of a page. And sometimes the struggles forge you into this impetuous cynic, averted by the water that you keep to hydrate. They leave you shriveled, bare and almost dying. Almost.
I cannot even begin to describe the pain that burn from the weight that you suffer, from the little left sanity strapped hanging on your skin. But you see, everything is pulled to inspire your spirit, to overwhelm your soul, to post a some sort of peace that allows a moment of quiet in this otherwise indulged and over stimulated space.
I keep walking.
Damp hair smear my cheeks;
sweat trickle down my eyes;
soles sore and heavy neath a crumbling fantasy;
toes numb, lurching me to trip on scarred tracks;
dirt stain my face.
I wait for an audience to stare down at me, a smirk, stifled laughter,
but there is no one.
I am alone.
And I realize, how inconsequential I am in a world full of blank faces.
That the sun will continue to set and the moon will continue to rise, that the earth will continue to spin and the birds will continue to sing, that storms will continue to surge and flowers will continue to bloom.
And it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with me.
What a comfort to know how I am nothing but free.
If there is one thing I have learned from the past four years, is that pain inspires me more than anything. I could never really write about love or happiness, I just normally suck at it. But pain–oh pain is the ink that fuels the rambling chaos inside my head which randomly spill onto blank pages and they make such beautiful unconventional art. So to everyone who has caused me pain or shared with me their pain, thank you so much for injecting feelings and emotions to this numb heart.