Suffocation after Departure
You can be this wild independent child.
You can be someone with a shadow lurking behind preventing you from asking for help, to get lost, to be a vagabond, anything but joining a community with so many individuals that may have the same intentions as yours. You can make your own cult that exist only for you, and yet with all these curses and blessings of tragic independency and lonesome and still feel like you are on the edge of falling toward emptiness without a purpose, without a cause.
You can study somewhere abroad, find yourself half in half, separated between what you left behind and what your university’s campus provides from social life and entities that you refuse to fit in and go with the misfits at the outskirts.
Then you find yourself buying a ticket to a promising land where opportunities are raining down without minding the thunder. You might find your friends, family, significant others and partners in crime crying and waving desperately, begging you with tears streaming down their cheeks to come and visit as much as you can. And you promise that you will. If not soon then as soon as possible, and how soon is now?
You might be following your dreams and inviting yourself to a life you not once had dreaded but actually wished for it to happen. The preferable company of your introvert-self, of your soul and the calmness of your mind once you unlock the door to your new territory, a space that is rented just for you. Temporarily or not, it is yours for now.
Later on, you might question your dry eyes, how come you lack tears when it was appropriate for you to cry and heave? How come you are not listing what you are going to miss back home and are you in denial or what?
Throughout your life, you come across heartaches and period pains, losing a loved one for death or for odder circumstances, you have lost many friends and you have lost yourself and for that you cried yourself to sleep through aches and nightmares, you cried and felt sad when it was taboo and shame that projected this kind of suffering and yet…
When the day had finally come, when the situation was opened up for teary goodbyes and consideration to back off, you didn’t do so, you didn’t hesitate and you just packed and watched yourself driving to the airport. You just… let it all go.
Were those promises ever real? Were these emotions and sentiments that built up toward these people, this land, these streets and coffee shops ever enough?
You start squeezing your heart out and think about those good happy memories so you can inflict some pain upon your coldhearted self but still, nothing is out. Everything is still shut inside. Maybe nothing exists inside you. You ask yourself again, am I still in denial? Am I not processing this all too well?
You start questioning if your priorties were ever that important, more vital than all these other priorities that made you who you are.
Are you evil? Are you numb? Is this denial or you just have some syndrome where once you leave your home timezone, your emotions gets frosted until you hit that land again?
You are laying on your bed, head in the clouds, real clouds that resulted from exhaling toxic fumes out of your lungs, one cigarette flamed after the other, one cigarette represents a person you are burning out of your life for another.
Another question hits you, are you a hypocrite? A grenade waiting to blow up once it all sinks in? The lost and found then got lost again to find better things? better people? better hope?
Nothing can ease your doubts nor it can calm your thoughts about what humane part was left behind as well. If your head is above water then that means you are drowning in your own numbness and falseness.
But one might say, you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, its the golden advice of anti-self-guiltiness. And maybe you should for all the pain you inflicted upon those you left crying at your departure. But again maybe you shouldn’t since you are out there, still growing up, still building your relations and avoiding self-incriminations to identify your brand new identity.
Maybe its a reaction from all the bottled up pressure back there, where you needed your space but wasn’t able to attain it for social duties. Maybe it’s this personal space that finally broke into million tiny galaxies within you and poured into these four-walls and into your inevitable destiny.
And the final question is, what if you went back? what if you made it and was able to visit because you can’t deny other from their rights, that wouldn’t be empathetically wise, will you still be in that state? Will you fake your hugs and embraces or finally give in to suffocation after the departure of that day?