the end is nowhere in sight
one day i looked around and realized that life was moving without me.
edits: this was originally posted on APJ (my old blog). since then, my feelings have changed.
This is my love letter, breakup letter, and coming-of-age letter all rolled into one — a letter that I never had the courage to write before but now feels important. Maybe I've reached a point in my life where the flow of words for my nostalgia comes naturally. Maybe this time it can all rest on paper.
I can be dramatic and overly sensitive- these two traits I don’t classify as a flaw. I appreciate how I interpret the world around me and have stopped feeling guilty. Lately, I’ve noticed that grieving occupies my thoughts frequently, especially since I was told that my inability to grieve or my preoccupation with understanding the proper way to grieve keeps me tethered to old patterns of perception and suffering.
Naturally, this leads me down a path of constant scarcity, leaving little room for abundance or grace. For the longest time, I carried shame for the pain I experienced at such a young age. Then anger took hold, witnessing others who had the support systems they needed and were openly granted the space to grieve. I channeled all my anger into a desire to surpass them and to succeed. This was supposed to bring me pride and a sense of accomplishment. But when the sun sets, and I find myself alone, all that remains are my fears and the suppressed grief — and I crumble.
I started to question whether I should have opened up earlier and why I didn't. I dwell on the lack of support and the sense of betrayal when my pleas for help were denied, dismissed as if they had come out of nowhere. It seemed that only when I wasn't being rebellious, my cries for assistance would be heard. So, I closed myself off. I convinced myself that no one deserved to hear my pain because being so vulnerable hurt too much. (edit: it’s wonderful to admit that no one cares).
Coming-of-age films are celebrated but rarely mourned; instead, they are excessively romanticized. "The good old days," someone says, right before being thrust into a life crisis, reminiscing about past crushes and missed opportunities, all because they were too busy conforming to the perceptions thrown at them by the people in their lives. Yes, we could discuss the pressure and resistance that arise when attempting to encapsulate an entire existence with a single decision we're uncertain of.
Do we mourn that? Are we even allowed to mourn that? Is it too easy to forget, excusing the hollowness we feel? Is our coming of age the moment when our perceptions begin or end?
Thank you so much for reading! Until next time <3