December is a month full of enthusiasm for celebrating Christmas and New Year’s Eve. We can feel its spirit enough because of the cold breeze of the night humming its melody, the decorations that were scattered in every street light and house, and conversations of kids planning to enjoy Christmas caroling or the gifts they were looking forward to receiving. Everything around me feels so warm and golden.
Yet again, I found myself staring blankly at the wall questioning the battered life I have that’s gut-wrenching enough to envision next year as a motionless and dull path to pursue.
The heavy sighs don’t just indicate my whole family is tired — but it’s the immense weight we’re carrying struggling to survive every day. It’s the same routine waking up and being welcome by loads of problems again.
Hearing my parents argue about financial burdens makes me feel I don’t deserve to just focus on studying. I can feel the large lump in my throat hard enough to swallow because I know I’m the eldest daughter and should be thinking of ways on how to make this family escape this situation.
It feels like a sin to rest, because I don’t think our hard work is sufficient for opportunities to come; we should be the ones looking for it. And it’s very tiring, to be honest. I have visualize that if I make the wrong decisions I would still end up living this life again.
I keep asking about when will be our perfect timing? When will we make it out alive? Because for me, this life seems to be a curse already. Through my twenty years of living we’re still in the same situation; locked up and consumed by pitch darkness. I’m starting to believe that there’s no light at all. There’s no savior nor salvation to save us from this torture. Even if I had begged a thousand times, no one heard my endless cries. I always gasp for air and can feel my throat excruciating in pain pleading just to be seen — I wanted my prayers to echo. Only to end up voiceless and enclosed by the bottomless void and brutal silence.
I’m always freezing to death because I don’t feel optimistic about anything anymore. I wish I was a kid again clueless about the situation we’re in; being naive and innocent. Because the moment I saw life from a different perspective — my point of view changed — it was more anguish and ruthless.
Lately, I have always tended to pretend that my mask was all laughter and sunshine. I look alive but I’m slowly rotting inside — the phoenix in me is slowly dying.
I mourn for the things that I could have done if it weren’t for this life. Every day felt like hell when all I wanted was to find heaven; to discover the signs that all of my dreams aren’t just full of imaginary and illusory.
The gentle reminders and motivational words aren’t adequate to cure my bleeding soul — it’s an endless journey of pain and suffering.
Were we fated to be here?
I wanted to crawl out and scream helplessly from the depths of it. So please, give me the signs that there’s more ahead of me. And unconsciously, I’m still clinging to the rope on the verge of breaking — hoping there is more tomorrow than yesterday.
