You could taste it coming back to you like it’s a distant away; the memories I thought were long gone continued to linger on. My heart, torn between two places at once, seems to be enjoying the tug of war. I am in desperate need of a momentum and too early as it is to tell, I am fighting for the parts, pieces and fragments that I’ve left in a city I once called and will always call home.
I don’t understand how memories can and will continue to stamp beneath the façade of what I call, my life. As much as I try to move on from it, there is always a little gesture, a small poke telling me that a little part of this something longs for me as I long for it. It’s mutual and it hurts to forever compel to the compromise our paths. I feel pain, I’m saddened and I don’t think I can fully understand how this particular part of my life meant and will always mean so much for me. Draining and exhausted, I manage to shove the memories away; I tried to cram them into my piled archives. The more I managed to forcefully shove it aside, the more it comes alive.
I like to pretend most of the times that maybe the transit part was never the two years I was abroad. The transiting is happening now. What if I was never really meant to be here, for good? What if home never really was an address or a particular location? Some days I’m saddened, most days I grieve. Maybe I'm just good at strangling and fighting against the feeling for too long not realizing the almost yearlong stifling causes more distress and disappointments.
I like to imagine breathing through life and gracing through the days the way it was before, not because of the school not because of the memories but maybe the way everything made me feel. I grew to be enamored of life, to taste a little bit of freedom but taking full responsibility of myself. I continued to enjoy the random flukes, the near misses, and the surprises that seem to color every part of my life. There were much more to begin with – I made mistakes out of my own reckless decisions, I made memories out of my own will and I grew closer to my families and in faith.
Can I fall back in love with a memory and make it a reality once more? I heard living in your tiny, little memories can be dangerous but what danger would it cause to live it up again, knowing that it did change your for the better? What if all I'm living up right now are just mere expectations, standards, for good service, and just plain feigned contentedness? What if I was never meant to do all, what if I outgrew all those expectations, and the standard that was set upon me?
I want to stop dreaming and stop imagining it as though it was the last goodbye. I want to stop crying day and night for feeling so lost and displaced. There’s a part of me that is fully determined to grace through a different kind of life and make those memories a reality once more.