Lately, I find myself clinging on to my friends as if my life depended on it. Maybe, in some twisted sort of way, it does.
I was lonely but I didn’t want to feel this loneliness alone. Driven by impulse and the desperate desire to get out of the city, my friends and I decided to take a trip up north. To the beach. Where we can enjoy the vastness of the ocean and the solitude and tranquility of provincial life.
Somehow, each of us is running away from the things that hurt us the most. There is a certain comfort in attempting to forget, even just for a while.
I just came from an intense confrontation with someone I used to go out with and I finally had the courage to talk about my feelings with the person concerned. Mind you, it was not through Facebook statuses, subliminal messages, and writing. We talked. It took me almost a year to finally say the things I wanted to say.
It took me almost a year to accept that this is how it’s going to end: with secrets unraveled, bottled up feelings exposed, and me investing more.
In truth, I never saw myself as someone brave. When the worst is looming, I try to detach. I try not to feel too much because I know the extent of my own feelings: if left open, it’s like an overflowing dam that knows no end. So I close my eyes.
I think that whether we like it or not, we bleed when we love. No amount of self-control will prepare you with the sudden outburst of emotions.
But I still kept my eyes open.
Because maybe this time, as I pay attention, I will learn my lesson: that there is beauty in the goodbye; that no matter how hard I try, we were simply not meant to be. That I finally learn to accept things for what it was rather than what it could be. Maybe this time, I will grow up.
The brevity of the relationship taught me a multitude of life lessons.
You can’t let go in an instant. All you can do for now is to acknowledge and honor the past. Slowly loosen your grip—finger by finger, memory by memory. Some things will eventually slip away. As for the rest? You learn to embrace and live with it.
As I hear the ocean waves and feel the sand on my toes, I see my friends smiling and waving at me. And then it hit me: I don’t have to do this alone. In this moment I feel real, alive.
For this painful episode, brevity I say. This too shall pass.
Words: Frances Damazo