I have made choices and decisions I’m not proud of. I have lost tiny of self-love and cared too much of every circumstances rather than what’s white-headed. I ripped myself to keep others whole. I gave everything and left nothing but self pity. I denied and mistrusted what other people are willing to renounce for my own sake of unworthy self-sacrifice. I can’t go back. I have lived to this ideal of what someone should be and push them away when they turn out to be something different. But the truth is, no one could ever live up to that ideal. I have said this to myself many times. My heart is sympathetic and soft. I forgive with a free hand and without reservation. Even those who have shattered me, intentionally or unintentionally. Including those who have done it numerous times, I bury the hatchet and feel no resentment towards them. My doors are never closed. Without pretence, I welcome people back in my life and fix what’s broken even the things that are beyond repair. In all honesty, my best-loved declaration of faith from someone else’s tongue is when I hear them say, “let’s talk..” Precisely. A bit much for others, worrisome and gut wrenching for many. Some would think it’s good for nothing. But for me, this is a compelling appeal, quintessential and bread and butter to secure amity and sometimes, reconciliation.
Very recently, I have this missing a puzzle piece. Which I knew I can always complete easily or fix unmistakably. Questions came out of my troubled mind. Now that the rain has finally fallen, am I now in control of the possibilities and outcomes that constitute of being free from any afflictions, empty promises and letdowns? Could this be a time to give myself of a very worthy chance from the things I have previously neglected my self with? A chance to grasp every moment with butterflies and heartbeat and not with fear or anticipation of failure? To voluntarily embrace a new fate and a situation favouring a purpose for myself and not only for others? To unguard the door I have been keeping closed from someone’s right of entry?
I unexpectedly heard a knock at the door. The door that I have always kept locked, where no one is capable of infiltrating but me. Built with the highest walls to protect myself from any unwarranted entry of this hostile territory. I stood closely and strangely felt the same distinctive atmosphere I had 4 or 5 years ago. I was scared to unlock it but my hands were hopeful, but at the same time, rebellious and has given up to a resisting control. There was this light, gentle wind that draws into my face but my eyes were blinded by an earnest gaze. It was a rare but troubled sight. The anonymity began to subside but we both didn’t know when and how to begin.
The moment of deliberation came when you said ‘’hi” and it sounded very lowly and uncomplicated. My mind cruises with doubts and questions, bubbles of confusion but I started to become wordless and lip-tied. Deep down inside, there was one question I wanted to ask. Just one question. If you remember the last time I asked you to wipe your hands after you shut the same door you are about to set foot in. That didn’t happen. Because you also became voiceless and standstill but you immediately wanted to show me your hands after you read my mind. The bloody hands that used to wrap me in my defense but with strong inward desire. The hands that pulled me without deterrence. The hands that stained me.
I still can’t say anything but I knew that this was something familiar but you said it’s totally not the same this time. You asked me nothing but to trust you. But you know that trust for me is like a beautifully-knit sweater. Pull one loose thread and the entire sweater is likely to untangle, rapidly. And it’s difficult to put the threads back.
I was in disarray but a quick vivid recurrence in my mind of a past event came. The day when I had to choose between what was easy and what was right. And I was left to choose with what was right. It was hard and heavy. I had to start learning and choosing to love the sea where I could reel freely and without being rescued instead of choosing to flee in a field of weeds. I had to stop breathing the same air you breathe. It was devastating. It’s my fault. I put myself on that situation when I should have not. The air that was too shallow, enough to suffocate and desolate me. I had to step away from the same surfaces you move in. I made a choice to settle on what was right. But it’s destroying me.
I have put everything down to experience but today, your eyes are suddenly begging me to choose what is easy. That your hands will be in between mine and will no longer have to be concealed for protection but will now be free from judgments and convicting eyes. You wanted to show me that the sky is now boundless, clear and untroubled. Enough for me enjoy a freedom that is not subject to the control and domination of others. Enough for me to know that I will no longer be a seed of weed but a seed that will be sowed with hopes and wishes. I should know that you’re trying to play with me and get into my head again. I’m taken by surprise when you said you do really know me. But you don’t really know everything about me. I know myself more than you know me. You call me a teller of lies. Yes, that’s true. I can’t deny. Doors may be open and I could let someone in but my doubts and apprehensions of accepting a soul to stay with me for the rest of my life is still with me inside without fail. I have lied to myself. And I’m sorry for being dishonest to other people too. The fear is contained in me that even if I say it’s time, I guess I just love the idea of it.
My hands were like acids, ionising only slightly in solution of your enduring cold, sweaty palms. Mine was shaky, yours were steady. I am scared that you will slowly make me cling onto something that will be hard again for me to let go. But how can I be so sure that it’s not the same hands that stained me? How can I trust that these are the hands that will no longer let my feeble hands cusp and blow the dandelion I have nurtured? What are the chances that the blemishes in my hands will not be replaced with blood? I’m in big trouble. I’m crying for help from the inside. I’m drowning. Can somebody please save me? Again, I’m sorry, I lied to myself. They are all tired. Story of my life.
I guess that’s the horror of it. I’m always attracted to things that are uncertain and cloudy. And when I cry for help, no one will ever listen. I give everything I have. I am always left with nothing. I’m not complaining, I’m okay with that. No matter how I have always painted my door in white. Even if I have always covered and guarded my hands from cuts and debauches. My hands are frail but can become submissive. Or maybe my hands are also bloody but I was just trying to conceal it. But you said it’s going to be washed and cleaned by your untroubled hands this time. And you withstand any scrutiny and only want my acceptance, willing to wait, willing to go wherever I decide. That you are now bringing yourself back to an uncomplicated life. I wish all people have this frame of thinking. But what if what’s ahead of me is even more terrifying than what I have been through?
The door is open but I am standing right in front of you. My hands are feeble and my mind can easily command and control these hands to push the button. Yes, it’s just one button away to open or ultimately close my guarded door to you. Long ago, I chose what was right. And then I chose what was easy. But can I choose both now? I hope I just love the idea about you. But beyond everything, if people can’t hear me, I hope I can hear myself and save my own from someone who keeps breaking into my breathing space. Otherwise, this chaos remains. I’m not gonna find my way out of this unending maze.
The Untold Roaming Spirit 