A monologue dedicated to someone I love.
I can remember walking in the abyss, sabotaging my every step just to be ready for what I’ll be seeing. I wanted to stop. I wanted to just curl down in the middle of that suffocating trail. I wanted to freeze time to stop me from mourning, from screaming, from crying, from breaking, even just for a second. In that very moment, I want to feel nothing.
Sweet sweats were falling from my temples, the cold breeze of air embraced my lonesomeness as the agonizing debacle knocked me down. Years of living with peace and contentment, then life hits back. As I took my last step, I felt my body tensed. I don’t need to lean closer because just by the sight of it from where I was, just by the sight of you lying in that surely uncomfortable small bed with a green blanket that covers sent me the amount of pain no one in this world can interfere.
I thought I readied myself enough, but I was wrong. Yes, the torment of having to endure all the pain alone was my constant stress. But I had to be strong. I had to act strong, not for me, but for the rest of the family. That’s when I mastered faking it, the smile that everyone loves. The smile that I personally decorated myself to look tough, to avoid them from asking how I am feeling.
I’ve been wishing to the stars, I’ve been praying every 11:11 at night, hoping the whole universe will conspire and listen to my cry of wanting you back. I don’t want people to see me weak, but I am tired of acting strong. Do you now hear me? Well, I hope you do because talking to you is what keeps me fighting. As you lie in that bed completely unaware, memories came rushing in me. The day of my Grade 6 graduation when you were so proud because I was the class valedictorian, we, going to church every Sunday, your 47th birthday, every bit of the memory reminded me of how perfect life was with you around.
Fate placed me in a deep hole, throwing me hard stones that are blocking me from going back up, but I got used to it and I’d probably be hating myself if I didn’t. Then I remember sitting outside the funeral house, breathing hard, looking at the piece of stone I picked. I must’ve looked pretty crazy that time, but I just can’t help it. Eventually, I got up and welcomed all the visitors coming to see him. Welcoming’s all right– it makes me do something aside from crying– but it’ll never make me feel better. It’ll never bring me and my father back together.
Now that I am 2 years older, maybe things can go normal again. Yes, of course, I hope. In the end, acting strong made me strong. The smile that I mastered, has become my shield. And my tragic experience is now my weapon.
But I’ll continue missing you till the end of forever.