Love and Pain (also known as Vampire)
Edvard Munch, 1895.
I must admit that I’ve experienced a moment of weakness yesterday. Perhaps I have an allergy to opening up at times. Out of fear, out of insecurity, or simply because it’s hard to expose myself – even to the people closest to my heart.
I know – extremely ironic, since I share different facets of myself here. All I know is that no matter how anyone tries to piece those up (and really, why would anyone?), they still do not amount to the full picture. Not even remotely close.
So here I am, trying something new today, because I’m obviously older and wiser than who I was yesterday. There was a saying I heard somewhere, which is: “Today is the oldest you’ve ever been, and the youngest you’ll ever be again”. It’s allegedly from Eleanor Roosevelt, but there are no accurate sources backing that. I’m leaving it anonymous.
I asked my friends, three, in fact, the same question. In hindsight, it wasn’t even a question. It was more like a melancholic sentiment of how I could capture attention without effort, but most, if not all of them are ephemeral. At least, seemingly short-lived.
I don’t think I’ve ever asked anyone who has left or decided to leave that question before their departures, even though it was burning me every single time. I didn’t and don’t know why I want to know the reasoning behind it, and I’m more than aware that someone can easily lie. I still wanted to know why. Morbid curiosity, perhaps.
It’s funny, because it used to trigger (fine, I still occasionally fall back) my insecurity that flared up a whole closet full of self-doubt, self-blame, and guilt. I was the consistent denominator in all of these equations.
One day, after yet another fortunate? unfortunate? lesson, I stopped. I screeched to a halt in an abrupt manner. Maybe I bumped and crashed a little, I don’t recall. I suppose these learning opportunities always seem unfortunate at first sight. Then as I pick myself up once again, I eventually become grateful for these experiences.
One day, I decided to close all of my past doors and made sure that I shut each and every single one of them firmly. I broke the unspoken spell of silence for the last time. I said what was needed: no more, no less. I was never obligated to do so, but I had that urge, partially out of selfish intents to kill off all of the potential weeds of curiosity. I needed that. They were the last words from me, and they were for no one else but me.
Sometimes (and you can bet that I don’t use this word lightly) I really hate being inquisitive, even when it boils down to the most insignificant subjects that belong solely in the past. It’s more than just unnecessary to pick the scabs to prove that I’m still capable of bleeding and hurting.
And to dear you, who might be going through the same situation:
The most important lesson here that I’ve learned is: Some words should be left unsaid. Some questions are better when they remain unanswered. That is how they have always been, and shall remain the same. Not all the questions come with answers (at least, not the ones you’re going to be happy with anyway – been there and done that, it usually never changes). Oh and – the right people will never, ever make you wonder.
Stay with them, because nothing stays unanswered.