Old Eden

On leaving when you really don't want to, but need to.

After almost two months of no contact, I was so sure that I’m finally over it. I went weeks and weeks without a single thought of regret or longing. Though I had to squint my eyes a little, I managed to cut all ties. I knew I had to give myself the “tough love” treatment and cut my own hands because I also know that if there was ever an opportunity for me to drop everything and start over with you, I actually really would. Even when I know damn well how it’ll end. It’s like the five stages of grief; denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I was always stuck at bargaining. Just one more day. Just one more call. Just one more moment. Sometimes, I wish it was possible to stay angry forever. Because when I’m angry, you’re the last thing I want to see. And that’s good. It’s good for the both of us. And I hate how that is the reality now.

I started playing music again. The last time a song ever left my lungs was two months ago, right before we part ways. All of my instruments are still in my car. Frozen in time. It feels funny to take it out. I don’t know where to place them. Taking things out of that car feels wrong. Like I’m messing with a timeline. Anyhow, life goes on. I still have to do something, anything, to keep going. Last night a friend mentioned your name. Talked about how you would play Norah Jones a certain way, and I couldn’t help my heart from sinking. It feels weird to play music without you. Now I understand how even a small drum fill could manipulate my ability to go from chorus to verse. I don’t know if I hate you or love you more for it. If it’s any consolation, thank you. I’m always grateful for all the contributions you made to make my life a tad bit easier.

I don’t know. I was terribly hurt. I couldn’t believe and accept the person you were slowly becoming. Or maybe it’s the person you have always been, but I was just too blinded to see. I never want to believe whoever you were the last time we saw each other. But I also have to acknowledge the fact that the person you were at that time, no longer cares about my well-being, my feelings, my dreams. I don’t know you, yet I do. Being in this limbo of in-betweens makes my stomach turn and I’m so sick of it. I’m so sick of not knowing what to believe.

In a desperate search, yet again, of what to believe, I went upstairs to my room and opened all the letters you wrote. I hate doing this to myself and I promised not to ever touch anything that had traces of you. But I was but a wounded heart, just looking for something nice from you, anything, anything at all. Something nice so I could delete all the disrespect. All the betrayal. Sometimes I wish you were a completely terrible a-hole from the beginning, so I’d never play all the nice things you did again and again, like a broken cassette tape. What is it about not being able to hate the person you love even though they’ve hurt you so much and proven time and time again that they don’t love you enough to respect you? What is it with having, needing, to pick yourself up piece by piece, glue them back together, all by yourself and leave? And what is it about the hurt that you carry, that lingers, the moment you decide to do the right thing and leave?

With each letter opened, each trinket traced, the urge to call you slowly seeps in. I know for a fact that even if I go back, I don’t belong there anymore. And I remember your last words so vividly. “I don’t want you to find me.” But tell me, how can I not? How can I not when you’re everywhere. So I’ll cry. I’ll cry and carve crescents on my palms before I could reach my phone. Because truthfully, deep down, I know for a fact that I would only hurt us both. If I truly love you, I’ll leave you alone, I convinced myself. What a selfish thing to reach out to you and expect you to show up the way I want you to when you yourself have already admitted the fact that you can’t. What a selfish thing to put you on a pedestal so vile.

We’re worlds apart now, I know. I hate what you did to me. I truly do. But I can never hate you. And I can’t help but send you a prayer each time you cross my mind. It’s the nicest thing I can do for you from afar. In a way, I guess, this is where I learn that love and hate can co-exist. But you know what I just realised? It’s all love actually. The only reason why I hate what you did to me was because I love myself. And the distance between us is not formed from hatred. It’s because we love each other enough to know that this is unhealthy. We could’ve been selfish and continue to wreck each other. But here we are, building our own lives.

I seek comfort in that.

This is me saying “I love you” for the last time, but for the longest time. By staying away. By cutting my hands before they ever reach out for you again. By letting you be.

Be nice to yourself. And wear more colours lah.

Sincerely,
S.H.