Wednesday, March 21, 2018
I am reading a book in my favorite spot at my house. I lie on my back then on my stomach, when I raise head as I realize that this is the last week of school. Ever. I don't know why. Perhaps its my mom's music playing in the back. Music that breathed alive through me reminiscent of a childhood I am not sure of. I wonder why nostalgia for something I've never had hurts. I ask it to never stop and it obeys. Or perhaps its my book: The last meeting of two lovers who cant erase their memories. But Im yearning. I'm yearning for the person that I used to be. In other words, I am yearning for words. I write in my head as I look quickly for anything to engrave it on before its forever lost and here you are my beloved. I miss you.
Familiarity is safety. This is last few weeks of familiarity and afterwards I will be flung into the adult world where I very much might fail. I have encountered this once two years ago when I almost enrolled in a boarding school half an hour away. At that moment my whole body was tearing up as a response to the messages of my heart while my dry eyes responded to my brain's commands. I remember there was a song that was stuck in my head for weeks. It talked about the times when it was alright for moms to tuck us in bed and love us. How I wished it was fine to be feeble again. Because thats who I am. Vulnerable. In some need of the familiarity of the warm hug of my mother. I knew that if I were to come back home I wont detach the cement that has stuck skin on to skin.
I am there again. I look around and I am dead scared. Is it wrong that I can't move on like you? I cant imagine myself anywhere else other than stuck in between 45 sessions of walls. In a room where my smell is yours and your voice is mine. You're my own familiarity. And I know that you hate me only because I'm unfamiliar to you. I gently shake my head as you leave me because no one should see that I'm scared of the cold.
But maybe life has been a bit kind towards me. Seven months ago I have been flung into the cold when my own idea of a father died. The walls that have governed my safety from the outside where more than destroyed and i haven't articulated anything that matters every since. My sudden trauma defied my voice and so my younger self started dying knowing all too well that the true end is coming soon.
My years haven't been perfect. Quite the contrary. But they were appreciated and still are. I wonder why Specific events and people represent this journey. Why I can still remember that specific moment of my first day at school when I hid my imaginary Cinderella dancing in the dark of my arms from the kid who'd become my best friend later on only to leave me missing what I once had. Why the guy sitting next to me is my childhood. He is the same kid that I haven't paid attention to but know like the back of my hand. Why it took me so long to know that you are my everyday. That you've seen it all therefore you know me better than me.
Familiarity is all that I have and all that I will lose. Am I to act normal as if Im used to the tiny goodbyes ? Ones I steal as I pass by the stairs, the doors, the janitor, the darkness of the hallways, the cold of the church, the traces of rubber the floor, the mystery of all that I don't know, his desk and the yellow light of the green rooms. Ones that I do on a small scale every day so that the last one isn't as hurtful. I convince my self that familiarity with pain is its own remedy to its effect.