Nobody has heard from me for a while. The past 3 months have been the most vapid of times, but I am ironically doing better than I ever was. It was the great escape—like seeing the sun for the first time after what feels like more than a decade in prison; both happy and annihilating, because you’re unsure if fresh starts are still there for you.
I am fine now. I live on my own. I have made up my mind. I am better off being alone. Most days, I implode on myself. I get so worried about being happy, that I end up missing out the experience of happiness altogether; missing out the feeling of Sunday brunch with friends who I have not seen in a while; missing out the pain I get in my stomach when I have laughed a little too hard; missing out the solo dance parties in my room at 2 am; missing out the sound of my mama, and what the sky looked like in Manila bay today.
Some days though, the sun hits my skin, and flowers blossom, and I wake up in the morning and see green grass along Taft Avenue. Some days, I switch off my phone and log off social media. Some days, I open my window or the blinds and let fresh air and sunlight into my room. Some days, I walk in the park, and try to keep my mind blank. Some days, I eat food I don’t treat myself to often. Some days, I look at all the photographs I took from my travels to make me feel good about my life. Some days, I make a list of things that make me happy. Things I would like to do in the future. Things I have done in the past and cannot forget.
One of the most important things I have learned in this lifetime is that life goes on. Things you loved doing back in high school become less fun. Parties end. Seasons end. Lives end. But good things happen too. You will make new friends. You will feel content and at peace on some days. You will miss home unlike what you thought after moving out… and you will want to come back. But I am so scared the rest of my life is going to feel like this.