“You play the part of a soul missing home. Were you counting stars? Cause you packed your bags, had your heart set to roam.”
Over two weeks of refusing to leave this place has created some patterns. The autopilot mode kicks in to turn off the fan in the middle of the night, followed by a chill breeze and the rays of the sun hitting the windows. I’ll open the curtains once I’m fully dressed, ready to polish some lipstick before heading out. That destination is usually a place I’ve never been or a place that has become my sanctuary in this slow-paced city. Amidst the juggles, I know that I feel restless. The only thing that stops me from panicking is the fact that I’m living my old dream of being a young woman who lives alone.
In My Room by Chance Pena is always on repeat before I sleep or in the morning when I feel blue. It reminds me of February, before all the “chaos.” It reminds me of my past broken relationship. It reminds me of the empty rooms in my old house. It reminds me of the feeling of being abandoned.
Like the lyrics, I have stars in my room, but I never count them. I guess I’m too caught up in my head. But sometimes, when disappointment multiplies, I finally get a grip. I should move somewhere — mentally. It’s been months, and I’m still denying the fact by acting like none of the farewells matter. I’m still scared to believe that my ex was a jerk. I’m still scared to go back home. I’m still scared of hoping that there’ll be someone who actually stays.
I’m still scared of realizing the fact that I can do everything alone. Or the fact that even though I’m alone, I have the privilege to chose not to be alone when I want to. When I’m brave enough to ask for a help, or company.
The feeling of being left behind, the coward thoughts turns into a damn fear of being rejected.
I know it was never a simple breakup. It was never a simple act of accepting that your family split into pieces. All the big events happened at once. It was significant for me. I know it breaks and transforms something inside. I don’t know what or which, but the transformation is painful, like a pupa being forced out of its cocoon.
Maybe all the answers and thoughts in my head are true. Maybe instead of feeling anxious or left behind, I should work on believing that even if it’s true, it’ll be okay. The thought of the universe, the thought that everything resembles. The water cycle. Everything is replaced; everything will come back, sometimes in different forms. Maybe I lost a lover for good, but I found great comfort in my friends, both new and old. Maybe I feel like I’m being left alone, but honestly, none of us are ever really alone. Everything comes and goes — never just comes, but also never just goes.
