Honouring Time.

Young adult old soul magic realism writing anna macht art
Art by Anna Macht

I’m sorry.

I apologise for all the minutes I laid to waste, all the hours I let slip through my fingers. I apologise for all the days I ignored adventure’s call, when I chose fear over living and let precious youth waste away. I apologise for all the days I stayed in—not to sink in the warm comforts of home, not to enjoy restful solitude, but to lose myself in a nameless void that leaves me with burning eyes and the sinking feeling that I have done nothing for myself. Like I’ve done nothing with the time that, everyday, is loaned to me.

I’m sorry for not going to cafés alone for fear of judgement, for not spontaneously slipping into old, cobbled roads when I wanted to because I let myself be afraid of what could be out there.

Most of all, I apologise for all the people I never met because I did not reach out. I couldn’t bring myself to speak past the lump in my throat, past the bad experiences that make it hard to talk to people. I apologise for all the wonderful lives I’m not living. I’m sorry for not picking up the phone, for not dialling up that number. I’m sorry for not taking up that scholarship offer.

Truly I apologise for all the time I did not honour. I apologise for all the times I believed fear was more important than life, not realising that life is only passing and fear is its death sentence.

I now believe that you stop living when you let fear take over. When you would rather exist in safety than take one step out of bounds. I’ve done that. For years, I let all manners of fear rule my life. Well, guess what? I’ve traversed to the other side of fear. I’ve been through some of my deepest, darkest fears and still I live.

I can hide all I want. The worst will still happen. The day will come when fear barges in through my door, shatters all my walls. And I will not hide.

The Garden On The Other Side

 

gardenyellow
Art by: Unknown Artist

I hope that one day, you get to look on the other side of fear.

I hope that the weight of all the lives you are not living comes smacking you in the face and startles you from your numbness. I hope it shakes your bed made of the bitter comforts of days that are all the same. I hope you realise someday that the emptiness you feel cannot be filled with just anything. No matter how much you eat or how many things you buy, the hole will still be gaping. The only moment when it is filled is the split second when all these things pass through, only to be dumped on the other side.

I hope that one day, you no longer have to hide. I hope that you learn to not fear loss. That, instead, you find it’s something to be accepted. Because I don’t want to see you clutching what you love so close to you it bruises, anymore. I don’t want to see you telling yourself that this is fine. That this kind of life is okay, when you have dreams bigger than the world. I hope you will no longer be chained to the past. I hope, I hope that you can learn to trust the world a little more. Trust that, on the other side of that rough, heavy wall, there is a garden awaiting. And freedom.

Freedom from fear.

I hope, one day, to see you running down these plains, laughing like a younger version of you you never got to be. I hope to see you grow like wildflowers by the riverbank, defying the currents and dancing with the wind.

I hope you can be as free as the child who jumps running out of the water only to splash in it again, her laughter like the breeze in between the dangling pieces of a wind chime.

 

A Smooth Sea…(1/2)

“Some people choose to walk until they no longer feel the wood beneath them. They walk until the only other option is to fall. But some take up the chance to build up speed, to run and launch themselves ahead, into the night, into the unknown. “

Huebucket bicycle5
Art by: Huebucket

On the cusp of adulthood, at the end of the paved road, standing before a cliff with nowhere else to go, a silhouette strangely like mine. A person who keeps looking back to where she came from. You would think, with how much that poor soul is trembling, that there was a pirate’s sword being pushed into her back and merciless waters at her feet. And between them, only a feeble wooden plank soon to be pulled from under her feet if she doesn’t jump first.

I just try to imagine that moment. The lead sinking down in the stomach, stretching it so it reaches even the feet. The roar in the ears, the voices chanting to jump! jump! Being pushed out of a ship that has kept you safe from many a storm before, as you hid deep inside the ship’s belly and listened to Nature wreaking havoc, feeling the sudden, jerky undertow rocking the vessel. But now, on a stormy night, it is your turn. Tonight, you face the storm.

…jump! jump! jump!

Finally, a breath, sharp and something you feel even amidst all the fear and screams.

…jump! jump! jump!

Weightlessness, a brief moment of apnea, of bracing yourself, closing up all you can.

Some people choose to walk until they no longer feel the wood beneath them. They walk until the only other option is to fall. But some take up the chance to build up speed, to run and launch themselves ahead, into the night, into the unknown.

And when you finally hit the water and the first drop splashes, everything around you dies down. The screams and chants fade, there is only freezing water sloshing around, clamping around you like a fist, and a depth underneath you that keeps sucking you in. Your heart is beating so hard and fast it feels like a fish caught in a net, trying to fight its way out.

At this point, you either black out or you…

TO BE CONTINUED


Note: This is Day 23 (!!!!!!) of my little NaNoWriMo Writing Challenge. This story is a two-part one (Although actually, maybe it’ll turn into a three-part thing, who knows). You can also read my entry for Day 22 here. And if you liked this story, I’ve also written about this kind of ocean theme before, which you can find here, here and also here. (What can I say, I like the ocean). 

 

 

At 18 (Disillusioned Dreamer)

365-days-of-doodles-gabriel-picolo-9
Illustration Credits: Gabriel Picolo picolo-kun.deviantart.com

You are 18. An adult. You have begged not to be. But you realise that you either get old, or you die.

So now you are 18 and the world you have known for 18 years minus one day is crumbling down. It feels as though not just adults, but the world in general, have been plotting against you and planting explosives all over the place, waiting for 18 years to pass.

And now, you’re having to escape that exploding world, your exploding world, and leap into another foreign, hostile land, all the while unsure you’ll make it or die trying.

And you can’t even look back.

You can’t look back to take in, one last time, the sight of your favourite teddy bear, or the worn copy of “The Little Prince” that you keep — kept. Because it’s all debris now. If you turn to look, you’ll blind yourself.

So you jump.

Not with much of a choice, afraid of the leap, afraid of falling and afraid of reaching the ‘new world’ all at once. And you’re so afraid that you wish that someone would take your hand. But now, you’re afraid of trusting too. Now, it seems that all you trust is yourself, but even then, not really.

You make it to the new world.

Bruised. Battered. Ugly. Crying. Numb.
Suits, ties and grim expressions abound. The world is grey, and no one cares. People bustle around and they don’t seem to want to notice that you’re weak and lying on the sidewalk.

The only happy ones are the drunks. But even then, not for long.

Someone reaches out for you and reflexively, you think it is a helping hand. But it’s not. Hands, you learn from then on, are either for stealing or harming.

But still, as desperate and dreadful as you feel, you think 20.
At 20, you’ll do it.
20.