Closure at 21.

Pain. The ever growing head ache resonating underneath my fingertips, pressing into my forehead. I was not too sure whether it hurt more because of the growing pressure within or that I caused from the pressure of my fingers. It always hurts. Then the memories come flooding in. All of them like a million different versions of myself in every moment throughout the time I have lived, as well as the worries of a future I imagine. I feel all of it at once. The pain. The anguish. The hurt. Not only in my head but also my heart.

Then my mind always returns to that instance. The kitchen. I was twelve. Alone. A kitchen knife in one hand and a choice in another.

It was a beautiful day outside. ‘If there was such a day to do this, this would be the best time…’ I thought at that moment.

It seemed like the world held a long breath. The wind paused for a moment. There was no traffic passing by. Quieting of the usually creaking house. Everything was still for this moment like it was the most important choice that would change the world. Maybe that was true to some extent. Even though I had not died that day… apart of myself did. I lost something that I am trying to regain now.

It was not until recently I realised what it was.

Hope.

The drive to live that exists in everyone around me.

I remember the years that followed. It seemed like a blur. Not truly existing but just there. My dreams back then were filled with chaos, destruction and death. My family dying around me in flames to dreams of suddenly waking up one day to find I was the only person on earth. Maybe through those dreams, you could say, I regretted not taking my life. Many times I felt jealous, even envious or those who had the ‘courage’ to do so even if it was in my dreams.

Though truly in my heart, I did not believe any of it. I knew there was so much more than the feelings of that moment, any moment. Whether it was that time I took the knife to every moment I felt the pain resonating from my head or heart, I knew there was so much more. Though you could say I hoped… That in the end, I never lost hope. I never lost an integral part of my humanity. I never became anything else but myself. I never lost the truth of what I was. I just chose to not see. Whilst as much as I was born into the circumstances of suffering, I chose to suffer even more so afterwards.

So many have said I am too harsh on myself. Strangers. Friends. Family. Psychologists.

It is who I am.

I am who I am.

The things that happen would have always happened as I am who I am and no one else. I say this with acceptance this time and not with regret, conceit or hatred for myself. An acceptance perhaps also frustration, sadness, a longing to connect with myself a long time ago and even now.

The relationship with myself has never been the best.

I chose to look outwards into the relations I had with others and blamed myself for every shortcoming whether my own or not. It was a misunderstanding, lack of acceptance of who I am that caused hatred. A sense of wanting to be perfect. Also, I had to learn it the hard way that no matter how the best of intentions one may have, the best outcome might not always occur. There is no perfect choice to create a fairy tale ending. I have to move beyond the boundaries of myself, the vision of perfection and accept all the imperfections myself as a human being.

Most importantly acknowledge the essence of myself – the innocent, idealistic part of myself which has never been tarnished by my own hands or others. It is this part of myself that believes conflicts that happen between now and a utopia that will eventually comes, is only the stepping stones of what naturally will occur without anyone’s influence. It has kept me sane all these years. It is a part of me as I am who I am.

I am beginning to understand and accept myself, in the hopes that improving my relationship with myself will help others as well. Though that does sound a bit arrogant. I wish there was a better way of writing about myself with using ‘I’, personally I do not prefer writing this way. (Insert grumpy face).

Anyways, cheers to achieve inner peace and all that.

Hm, it is indeed a life long journey that is filled with many challenges and influences.

Glimpse.

A little girl of hip height peered out from the crack of her bedroom door. The bright sunshine shone brightly that very day through the lace curtains of every window, lighting up the white interior of the hallway and yet she was scared.

She never heard silence before, at least not like this. She always woke to hear the shuffling of footsteps, murmurs of conversations and the occasional laughter of her older brothers – even rarer maybe even mum or a chuckle from dad.  It was usually after these sounds slowly dissipated towards the late nights – when her eyes are heavily with the temptation to close them again for a much needed and undisturbed sleep – that she basked in this moments of silence. For her, it was so comfortable as being wrapped in a warm blanket and being tuck into bed with her favorite rose embroidered handkerchief and a bottle of milk. It lulled her to sleep as she knew that even within the shadows and quiet, she was never alone; the sun (her family) would make it all go away when she woke again.

Yet unlike the other days, for some reason, this day was different. She felt alone in the big house that she called home.