It’s midway till dawn, quiet, with only the hum of air-conditioners reverberating through the concrete walls and wooden floors, interrupted by the soft pattering of the rain on the roof of the back kitchen where I do one of the things in life I love most, laundry. Yes, laundry.
I have the house all to myself, or so it seems. There is no one sleeping on the living room floor, there is no one guarding the main door, there is no one walking around the house in this godforsaken time of the night except me, and I like it.
In the main bedroom, the little one and the big man sleep on the soft bed, cradled by pillows, stuffed toys with names like Happy (I think I’m happeeee!) and Doug.
I sit here, illuminated only by the light coming from the screen of my laptop, and close my eyes and think: All I wanna be is outside, laying on a hammock, with the breeze blowing strands of hair across my tired face, lined prematurely by nearly three years of… of I don’t know what.
Do I regret the things I did? Yes, of course. But all the things I did, I did only because I loved, and if that’s the case, is it true that love finds a way to flow back to me?
All the things I thought was dear then are now meaningless, lost in the cold winds, rain and snow. Snow!.
When I sleep, I’m always grateful, no matter where it is, because wherever that may be, it is still better than the bleachers I slept on for hours on stretch on busy airports in countries where I knew no one and no one knew me.
If you think you can make me feel alone, alienate me, ignore me, say all kinds of things about me, at me – you can’t, for the simple reason that I know exactly how it is to be truly alone.
If you think I’m cold, you don’t know cold. The kind that seeps through your bones, through five layers of sweaters, each one as useless as the next, the kind that seeps through your skin, to the core of your being, to your very soul.
Danger, courting danger. What if I had not been able to make it out of that city safe? There was absolutely no one there but me. Just me, cold yet resolute. Take me home, my tired, sore feet.
Death, courting death. I had looked at that man’s face smashed against the concrete, how many times in that night did I wish that that was me instead? Whose wail was that heard echoing through the night? Was that mine? Dazed and shaking to the core, yet alive – with fine shattered glass all over my head.
Pain, enduring pain. The pain of pretending that everything is alright, that things do not hurt. Smile, smile away. Come, let’s hold each other through the night. And forget me as you go. Did I ever really matter to you? The way you slipped in the night, quietly, with hardly a whisper, what did that mean? When its my turn to go, would I remember to pass by the people who wish I would or would I go straight into the warmth of the one I loved the most in this world? I wonder who that would be then.
It rains and rains and I imagine myself holding out the tip of my forefinger out into the rain to catch a drop. Longing for the sound of impact as a water drop collides against skin.
This is my 29th birthday post. And I had thought, and perhaps nearly wished, that the birthday blues would not get me this year, but it has, it always does.