A good cry

I need, not only want, but need, a good cry. One day, a senior told me -the occasion was a farewell lunch before I embarked on my current journey-, find a partner, life will only get lonelier from now on, you need a friend. I need a good cry as I start to see it coming. As usual, at that time I was just chuckling. I never took this kind of stuff seriously, at least that is how I think it is seen to people. I keep denying, acting nonchalant and childish, bro-ing boys around me. In front of everyone, I refuse to grow up since I was 13, when romantic love first introducing itself to me in a horrifying form. 

At that time, suddenly, out of nowhere, there was this powerful feeling that attached me to some boy so strongly, even if it only happened in my head. It tortured me physically and mentally with racing heartbeat, difficult breathing, stirring stomach, immense worry and awful pessimism whenever I catch a glimpse of that boy in a crowd. Yet, at the same tormenting situation, I felt a surge of happiness like never before. It was a dangerous drug for sure and I am well-trained to avoid danger and distraction.

Year by year, I grew up a witness of people's love life. Some are bitter some are sickeningly sweet. Some people are fierce fighters, some lucky, and some extremely unfortunate. One thing bind them together is they took the chance while I almost never. Up to today, I still can't stop to think of it as some sort of expensive toy I could never own.

Yet, God bring me to live by myself again after always living with people for almost five years. One sure thing is that the world looks totally different when you lived in it by yourself as a 23 years old and 28 years old. I was a machine back then, or a kid, for a gentler language. Myself wasn't a multidimensional human being. I know well the only person I was at that time, the one I have recognized since my adolescence. The over-achieving girl whose quest in life is only to win in term that she defined herself. I learned a great lesson of defeat and overcome it. It was one hell of an redemption arc, but only when I thought I was near to the turn into the calming slice-of-life part, around the time when I turned 25, my world came crashing down. 

Due to all kinds of circumstances inside of me, in my surrounding, in the past, in my country, and even globally, my worldview shattered, including my understanding of myself. Gradually, while my eyesight worsen, my senses sharpen. From the girl who strives to win, I turn into someone who just want to live a meaningful life. Yet, while it sounds exciting at first, I slowly came to understand that my life is not only about what I do, what I dedicated most of my time into. It is also about the long evening hours, when I got intercepted by a feeling of longing for something I don't understand. I used to simmer them down into a pot of stew or sing them away so easily when I was younger, but these days, this emptiness lingers -stubborn and unmoving, even after I crafted a whole three course exquisite dinner for myself.

Oh evening hours, when it's pitch dark midnight back home. Tea is not tea-ing and One Piece is less funny but the sad part getting sadder. A bag of my favorite truffle chips tasted like empty air and chocolate milk bitter. Will we get better after a good cry?

My heart feels like a crumbling flaky cracker amidst a strong wind. I wish I have a pocket big enough to envelope it in, but I don't. The wind doesn't seem like it will subside soon as well. I am still wondering where the clenching sensation in my heart came from, what kind of invisible hand squeezing it? Can they stop? Can't they see that I perhaps bleed an invisible blood down there?

I can't help but yearn for hands bigger and warmer than mine to hold my cracker, but the sky is too dark to see anything. If I can't see the light, I have to believe in it, right? But you know, the task of believing is never an easy one.