This afternoon, I visited one of my older diaries/journal, the one I used and abused three years ago, and boy have I changed so much.
I love revisiting my previous diaries and even some of my old blog entries because they make me smile at my silliness, at my constant attempt at substance and profoundness, or just some recorded moments of angst and rage. It’s also amusing to trace how my views in life have changed, including my writing style. For example, there are some entries which my writing was so vague I didn’t know what I was talking about! I think in those entries I forgot to introduce the topic to my unnamed reader, so a few years forward, even I cannot remember the incident from that date. I think now, I make sure I give an introduction before I jump to the heart of the matter.
Admittedly, I have an unreliable memory, and I’m a scatterbrain in expressing my ideas verbally. I think this is one of the reasons I write my thoughts. My experience and ideas do not translate as well when I hear my voice as to when I see words making sense of my head.
Anyway (this is the heart of the matter), two years ago, I was apparently still, probably, in love with someone.
Well, it was unrequited. It’s one of those feelings I chose to struggle alone with than risk what we already have as friends. As very good friends. According to that entry from the journal, I’ve confessed some months back, but I wasn’t over it. I felt the agony that enveloped me at that time of writing. The me two years ago, was probably hunched over the notebook, with a heavy heart spilling my innermost thoughts to an idea that has remained an idea till this day. That me that wondered the “what ifs”, that remained in pain.
Well, most fortunately, three years later, I’m glad to say, I have moved on completely, 200 percent definitely over that person. I don’t dream anymore of being us in and out of my subconscious. I would be happy to whomever that person’s heart lands on, and I’d expect that good person to be the same. I’m sure of it.
Three years ago, I couldn’t imagine how I’d ever be over that idea of us because we seemed perfect together, and I wasn’t ready to kill my hope, I guess, because I still thought about it. I guess it’s the same to any problematic situation we encounter, you know, when we’re in pain, we feel as if we’re victims trapped in a bubble that’s bound to pop and our lives will fall apart, but then sometimes things in our lives have to crumble for us to learn the skills of rebuilding ourselves again, creating a stronger self and surviving with whatever we find outside the bubble.
Time does heal wounds, just give it the chance to heal your wounds. Yeah, you’ll hurt a lot, maybe cry buckets (I never did, really), and feel very very alone, but really, once you’re out the pity party, life begins again. You’ll recover. The question is when and how. Don’t worry, you’d know. 🙂