A Letter to You as You Leave to Return
When I look at you, you remind me of two people. One I love dearly, and one I loved immensely. One broke me, the other cradled my infant heart.
My Aunty, who I loved dearly, visited once in a while. Her visits were short; they would last for a month at most, but these visits were surreal. They felt like an escape to paradise; she’d sit me down on her bed to tell me stories. She would buy me sweets and other goodies. I got lost in those moments and forgot a day would come when she would pack and leave. When the day came; I cried, yelled, and pleaded for her to stay. She’d kiss my forehead and tell me she’d be back.
When she was gone, I’d weep for a week or two before everything faded back to normal. I was 8, you wouldn’t blame me for moving on fast, my mind was easily preoccupied with cartoons from Silverbird and the KKB show on Saturday mornings. But at that age, I realized I had a tendency to love deeply people who made my heart sing songs my lips didn’t know the lyrics to.
When I was 16, I had my first heartbreak. I would lay on my bed on most nights and listen to songs about lost lovers. On my playlist was ‘jar of hearts,’ ‘how to hate,’ and a few others. They were calming, and enraging at the same time, but those songs made me feel like I wasn’t alone. I could tell maybe sometimes in the artist's life, they felt what I was feeling. I’d hope, and pray even, asking God to touch her heart to see why I was the one.
In a desperate attempt not to lose her, I lost myself. I’d ask her, “can’t you see I love you?” And she’d reply, “ I love you too, but love is not enough.” I’d search through the shelf of my teenage mind to find out why it was never enough. I figured it years later, but the havoc she caused left my heart crippled and my mind second-guessing everything. The question I kept asking to fill the well of my insecurity was, “ Is this enough to make you stay?”
It took me about 365 days, one major illness, a failed course, and a bruised esteem to move on. The price you pay for a failed love makes you wonder if you’re ever going to get the right one. Or whether you are just not wired that way. Maybe it is the maker’s way of telling me this experience wasn’t an ingredient in my fate.
When my Aunty left the first time, I thought it was the end, but she came back. It happened again and again. I trusted that no matter where she went, she’d always return to me. But when my lover left, I realized that people would always tell you how they feel even with their mouths shut. I was surprised I could still breathe when she called it to quit. Because when I slept and my world was at peace, she’d creep into my mind and cause unbearable pains in my dreams. I’d wake up with a heart, heavy like a bag of stones, beating like war drums, and sad like a widowed mum.
When you leave, you remind me of both realities.
When you leave, I know you’d return. I know you have to find yourself like my Aunty often did. Also, I miss you with the same intensity I did my first love, just without the pain, but with the worry. I know some paths are meant to be walked alone, but I wish you’d sometimes send a raven to tell me how far you’ve gone. I miss you like tomorrow: with anticipation of your arrival and hopes of something better for you.
