I used to believe that everything would be okay when I reached adulthood. All those days of bitter fights, bullying, mistrust, and self-pity that used to linger when I was small would vanish. I used to believe that my weaknesses would fade away, only to be replaced by a stronger me. No one would come and knock me down again.
How wrong I was.
There are days abound when I am feeling like I’m being trampled on, and these days happen not just because of the acts of other people, but the worse impacts come from my own wearied, self, wearied heart, wearied mind.
Scars that are visible on the surface are still tame whet they are laid side by side with the cracks that tear open the heart and confuse the mind. Other people’s words are far dangerous missiles than fists or kicks. Words are invisible bullets piercing so deep, and sometimes get embedded for the rest of one’s life. Paralysing you, that may happen.
I just sometimes want to hide from everything. Fighting is not an option because in the end, I don’t care about the words anymore. I realize that being an adult doesn’t magically erect a barrier that stoppers me from faults, self-hatred.
We grow, and we got hurt. Oftentimes, too many hurtful things close our hearts and we start the cycle of hurt to other people. The days of childhood, when a fortress built with pillows seemed impenetrable from the enemies, when a field was an entire world. When colour pencils were the wands that change our thoughts into realities, those days are all but over, only to be bitterly replaced with something we all can live without.
Something that we could live without, or is it something that we can’t really live without? Maybe that depends on which side you’re going to: the left or the right. Maybe, those childhood days are still waiting to be alive again.