Seven years. It took me seven years to earn a college degree. That’s a full Hogwarts education right there. That’s as long as Carson’s college life and unrequited love for Dio in I’m Drunk, I Love You.
Still. It has been seven years of grace for me. True, it took me a long time compared to my classmates in high school—but, more than anything, these past seven years have been formative. I have learned to look at the bigger picture: that there is a world out there lacking sorely in justice and compassion, but this world is where my true calling lies. To help, to serve.
When I was younger, the words came to me more freely than they do now. I could write about the most mundane of things, like a trip to the library or a day spent cleaning my room. I was too eager to write about anything, about everything, that I lacked filter and the words just poured through my fingertips like drops of water.
Now they pour out like drops of blood. These days, writing about things feels somehow like slicing my flesh open so that I can extract what’s within me: the joy, the ache, the fear and thrill. It is more difficult now than I’ve been accustomed to, and everytime I try—and goodness, do I try—I end up getting frustrated because the roaring thing inside couldn’t get out in peace. A big fraction of this year has been spent facing the glow of my laptop, two to three lines in, and then blank. Perhaps this is one reason I’ve been so erratic this year: I lacked my one vital outlet, my saving grace.
And so, for the last time this year, I scratch and claw and dig for all the words that I’ve kept caged for so long. For the last day of 2015, I open up the prison of my mind.
I will miss putting on my white uniform, preparing for another day in the college. It’s a pain to wear, especially during the rainy days, when Pedro Gil is more often than not submerged in murky water―the Leptospira spp. swimming freely―and yet I will miss it.
This post will sound negative at first but I hope you plod on after the first paragraph. I have to be honest, and that means I have to take the good with the bad.
The year 2013 was like coffee gone cold; it woke you up but you didn’t feel comforted. It was like the bitter, metallic aftertaste of antibiotics; you knew it would cure you though your taste buds felt like writhing. It was like a clock with dead batteries, to which you still glanced up to check the time; it made everything slower by perspective, including the bad days. It was like a candle wick burnt to its end too soon, and you found yourself groping in the dark for a new one, except you had no spare candle and daylight felt like months away instead of just hours.
When did it start―the unraveling, like an accordion or a previously coiled ribbon? When did the unfolding commence? When did you explode, the universe within you hurtling into its own big bang?
There were signs: the perennial sleepiness, the exhaustion which wouldn’t be cured by rest, the infrequent laughter, the frequent bouts of sadness. You felt the change in your bones, and you tried so hard to fight it. You tried so hard not to become the failure you’ve always feared.
Relationships are messy and feelings get hurt. Who needs that?
Time and time again, I am reminded of the fact that relationships are messy. Such a time is this, as I have just watched Allison Cameron (Jennifer Morrison) and Robert Chase (Jesse Spencer) divorce in House MD 6×16 “Lockdown”. Alright, it’s just a show, but that doesn’t mean that it couldn’t happen in real life. And what I just saw in this episode felt very real.
I’m still groping in the dark. Often, I have no idea what to do. Some days are alright. Still, most days pass by when nothing seems to make any sense. It’s such an awful feeling—losing track of everything. You feel so empty, so stagnant. I’d trade it for anger, madness, for anything that is in motion. Even the things I love doing, like reading, writing, or watching, exude such a lifeless appeal to me at the present that it’s maddening. The emptiness is maddening.