If you were given a chance to sleep and wake up 500 million years into the future, would you do it? Would you wish to wake up to a world where humanity, and perhaps the whole of the planet, is entirely annihilated? Where the memory of a former life is so distant and out of reach that it almost feels like you are waking up to an entirely different lifetime? Where the faces and the places surrounding you are no longer tinged with an acute sense of warmth and familiarity? Would you be glad to know that you are alone now, no longer surrounded by the people you once knew, no longer in the presence of every living being you once associated with your own dear life, the memories of them woven in the lonely background of your own, finally becoming one and intertwined.
If you were given a chance to sleep and wake up 500 million years into the future, would you still wish to be alive or would you rather slip briskly into a deeper state of slumber, and no longer wake up as a human or anything close to a conscious thinking subject cursed with every kind of agony, memory, and recollection, but most of all, of a heart that feels feels feels until every inch of a feeling wound itself and retrograde into the source of its pain.
I would like to dive into that deep sleep and wake up no longer remembering you.
This has been quite a tough year.
The first quarter was a thunderstorm, as B met a fatal road accident that nearly cost his and his sister’s lives. I had to skip work for a week in order to assist the family through the draining course of legal documentation. I had to put up with the long hours and the messy ordeal of hospitalization (and god knows how much I hate hospitals no matter how illogical it may sound). But most of all, I had to wake up to the fragile realization that in this life, no one is ever truly with someone; that one day we just find ourselves completely alone, completely removed from the refuge of the safe and the familiar.
I stood beside him, stood until I could no longer feel my feet standing — the tiled hospital floors melting in the heat of my apprehension, the faint lights of the emergency room crashing in upon me like ten million lightning bolts. It was a moment of awakening. It was then that I realized how I gave too much, loved too much, to a certain extent that it was no longer possible for me to love myself because I had none of the love to give.
The second quarter was a hurricane, stronger than history (at least my own) has ever known. The aftermath still had me at a loss for words, still had me pegged on all my casualties. I said all I wanted to say. I wrote down all I wanted to write down. But at the end of it all, I am still left with a million and one words to tell: one million words for all the senseless articulation about what is really inside my head, and one word for my apology.
Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.
The third quarter is an ocean. I was, and still am, smashed by these waves of lessons and realizations that I know I could never learn and realize the easy way. So I embraced my misery and clung into it like I would clung onto the people I wish had stayed in my life. I lived through those long sleepless nights, terrified to death by the unfamiliar exterior of my brand new apartment and the brand new life that was waiting for me. I talked myself through the motions of being alone, living alone, and fighting alone. I sat through my pain, carried it in my pocket, and learned how to transform the pain into love: self-love.
The past month also brought me into the hard truth that I had to seek medical assistance for my condition, so I did. I am under the care of a psychiatrist now, under a couple of medications and therapy, none of them as grand or as glamorous as other people would say. But at the very least, it helps me. And I think that is the most important thing above all.
Seeking professional help was not an easy feat for someone like me who used to hate myself so much and repel any form of self-preservation. But in the midst of this grand mess of things, I realized just how much I deserve to live — to live for myself, to dedicate my life into the art of self-love and self-care, but most of all, to finally be human.
Some days are forgettable, easy. But most days, I feel like I am sleepwalking through life, sleepwalking through these misty avenues with no end in sight, sleepwalking through this dead end of a road where both hope and reason fails.
But still, like that proverbial passage we know so well it almost sounds like a cliche, we continue to carry on. Armed with only our battle scars, we tread through this singular point like little toy soldiers, and fight and forgive and fight and forgive, as human as we can ever be.
So this is me, breathing, heaving. I am ready for the rest of the year to punch and pound me harder. After all, what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.