I stayed one day more than I originally planned, but at the end of the day, it felt short. I think if I stayed there for as long as I live it would still feel short.
What has an end is short.
I have read that the last step of growth is accepting your mistakes, and I might have grown. If I didn’t do every mistake that I have done, I wouldn’t be me. Even if I was reincarnated many times, I will still commit every one of them again. This self, this entity, it could only exist here today as a result of exactly the life that I have lived.
Maybe I think I have grown because I visit home every few months. To them, nothing in the house changes. But to me, I am able to see how they all keep growing, and I am also reminded of how I grew.
The walls. The dusty books that I have once read. My trophies and awards that stopped as a certain date as if I disappeared.
And, though I try, I cannot ignore noticing our growth in our faces and bodies.
Growth, or getting closer to ending the short journey, is the only reason I think I should come back here to stay. But I also remember every reason I had as a teenager to be independent. Many of those reasons are still valid today.
At the end of this short day, I think I have to apologize to just one person. My dear sister, of two years or younger. I’ve been away for so long that I recognize you better from your picture. I have no excuse but to say that I wish the future would be long, and that I hope you will live long and know that I love you.
After spending many summer vacations meeting either relatives who I can only see in the summer or new people, I detected some pattern to the general structure of those meetings. I noticed that the first quarter feels the longest and the hardest. It generally has the most effect on the whole experience. The second quarter, on the other hand, is the complete opposite; everyone seems to be in agreement and proud of having survived the difficult beginning. The third quarter is where the most conflicts are seen, the homesickness is felt, and the flaws of others are apparent. The fourth and final week is a mixture of the first two weeks. It is both sad and happy at the same times which creates confusion.
For as long as I can remember, holidays are when I am in the most of sorrow. It is then that I want to be furthest away from people, for my sorrow has no place in their well-timed happiness. It is a capital punishment to be reminded of how the years go by, and how the boys become men and elderly, or of how life balances my deteriorating mental capacity with the minds of brighter youngs. Minds that have not been littered with the filth of every thought that passed my old forgetful mind.
Yes, I realize that I have conceded. I no longer wish to fight nature, I only ask from it to leave me in peace. My grandest goal is to live as far away from people and disasters as I can, interrogated by the harshest and most knowledgeable interrogators everyday to admit weakness and humility, trying to save a sensing body that is gradually slowing down as if to prepare for its ultimate end.
This bravery, in admitting helplessness, is the most I can salvage on my deathbed. They produced happiness all these years in every holiday, but I was brave enough to cry, surrender, and run away.