My eyes open, meeting floor-to-ceiling windows that let in the gloominess of the grey sky. For a minute, I wonder where I am, then I realize I’m far from home, snuggled in a Sherpa blanket, protecting myself from the dull chill in the air. It’s not daybreak yet, and the bleak sky dulls my mood further. I came to a place from my past. The atmosphere did a grand job of painting the picture for me. Need I say more, but it is how I left it, gray, a little morbid, uninviting.
The anxiety that was building up over the last few days beckoned me into a form of alignment. Like the picture frame that sits on the floor here, waiting to be hung. It tells me it’s not your time yet; you still need to heal. You’re not quite ready to be displayed. And so I reflect, will these visits get easier for me? Will I, at some point, come back and feel nothing? I managed to disconnect, or should I say, distance myself so as to recover mentally. But do you ever become a younger version, one that wasn’t so tarnished? The same streets I knew like the back of my hand seem almost foreign now. They lead to no place I want to be.
The chill surrounds me like an unfamiliar ocean. Some nights I do feel as if I will drown. It’s that sense of not belonging. This same feeling arose when I walked into my parents’ house without them; it’s not where I belong anymore. For fear of losing any connection with the ones I loved, I wander back here, yet I feel like a wanderer who has no home.
I have built a home elsewhere now, that is my home, and this used to be. I’m alone, and loneliness offers nothing to the one who has mastered solitude. I find myself in deeper thought here, thoughts that I spent so long eliminating. They came back one by one. Now my mind is confused, the new me was happier where I rebuilt my life, oh, how I worked on myself to bring out the best in me. I still search for pieces of my past, so here, the old me travels back. I don’t want to resonate with that version of me anymore, but the more I fight it, the more it leads.
It is here, as I lie and watch the gloominess transform into dawn, that I understand that you cannot let go of your past. It’s a part of who you are. It’s how you became the current version of yourself. Your past is history, good or bad; it is just a memory. We need to learn to dissect them, put the painful ones to rest, and be thankful you have happy memories to hold on to. This process is what has to be practiced.
My present and future should not be impacted by my past, but rather remembered as lessons that made me resilient. I was given a chance to make this change in my life, and this new phase was used to rebuild my future. It’s only I who can choose what part of my past I want to revisit. I get to choose the happy memories that travel with me.
I stare at the picture frame a moment longer, and it looks different now. The daylight shines on it, and I conclude that, like me, it’s a work in progress; someday it will hang like a piece that belongs in a gallery. One that will tell a story of bygones, and when the eyes that set on it see the version that transpired into something beautiful, may they not overlook the work that went into creating this masterpiece.
