only the present is real and i’m not even there
Living in the present is a privilege that I want to be able to enjoy. So much of my happenings are spent on autopilot and remote control of this body I call mine. Years were spent mitigating the damages of a terrible past; more acknowledging that there were even damages, and now living with acceptance of the terrible stories that are tucked away in my mental archives.
Having grown up in a household that values emotional independence and toughness, showing weakness was not comfortable and often ridiculed even when I was just a kid. As much as I was taught to fight back in conflicts, I was also pressured to never speak of my mistakes, weaknesses, and failures. We laughed and jeered at silly mishaps as often as it was punished and chastised — often later shared as the topic of interest in the adults’ chikahan. How was I supposed to cope with a tragedy that sullied my soul when the thought of even getting dust on your knees was not welcomed?
The younger me simply erased it — The event and the years that came with it. How, then, does one live your days when there is another planet crushing down your world? When there is an hidden perpetuator chasing you down the halls? When the road tosanity is insanity at best?
The only way I could have not lost my mind the worst way possible is to lose it in the best way possible, I concluded. Happiness paradox became my saving grace — To achieve happiness, one must let go of the chase. Tragedies became comedic stories I tell for shock factors. Time is an abstract construct where my past is not real. My identity is fluid and always changing, hence influenced by anything I choose and never the past. The grip I have in reality becomes looser and looser each time I faced the big bad, but I didn’t mind as long as its grip on me also unlatched.
After tucking away so many bad memories often, this human’s brain started to tuck away other information as well. I don’t remember when I became aware of this fact, only that it is happening. These days I don’t remember the things that I do or don’t remember. Knowledge is a mental capability that I especially find so tricky to juggle. I recall being deemed as intelligent growing up however writing this piece, structure and definitions escape my grasp. There is a lot of friction in this attempt of writing — having to google what simple words mean; ‘mitigate’, ‘knowledge’, or googling ‘loosen synonyms’. There is no shame in not knowing but these are words I know I used to play with comfortably.
Writing endings is my tallest creative hurdle. The pieces I write starts from intense feelings but becomes disorganized towards conclusions. It feels as though anything that is not a happy and inspirational finale is something to be shameful of. I understand the importance of finding silver linings, but the reality is that some lives are just terrible. I can’t keep track of my thoughts anymore now. I can’t keep track of my days. I just have to write it down to remember it. I do not feel like I ever lived in the now but with pictures, videos, writings, and chats, there is a space in the universe where laughter and light were definitely once my present.
I dissociated in the middle of writing this piece. I think I still am. I don’t remember what prompted me to write but I always knew I had snippets of myself that I wanted to be down in writing. I don’t remember what its like to actively think anymore. Each window of clarity I experience are luxuries I cannot buy nor trigger voluntarily so while I know that there is something I want to say, I lay down the trail.
There are stories within me that needs to be told, and I shall have them down in writing when I remember what shape they need to take form.
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