Notes from "Resident Exile" : My Chosen Poison

I guess this is something I have always known, buts it’s just that I never really looked it up.

Until now.

So, it happens that I have come to thinking, and realizing, that that which makes us sad are not those things we find distasteful, it is not those we deem as betrayals, or faults committed against us.

I have always been fascinated with people. I don’t know if this is something that usually happens to children, but as a child I have always been curious about how people go on with their lives, about how they interact with other people. You could say I found it all natural for I was there, surrounded by people I call family, each with their own distinct and varied characteristics, similarities and opposites, and yet they seem to get along well with each other.

And if there is something that could change life, then it would also be life itself, and that is a life of another’s.

It’s a whole different perspective when you open up to the possibilities of sharing life with someone else. As if not having the answers to the questions that we have in our own lives, letting someone inside could only make things even more complex, troublesome. And yet, with this complexities and troubles come the possibilities of something new, something that is not solely mine nor solely yours, but something we could call “ours”.

But as much as opening up life can be for good, there nevertheless is the possibility that it will end in misery and tragedy. And in this brief and human world, the possibilities become realities all too present until the last sunset of our eyes.

In the end of a life shared, they say there is the possibility for a new life to begin. I agree. But before these two separate and different lives, there is that space in between them. It does not belong to the past life or the future, but belongs only to itself.

There is so sadness like abandonment and betrayal. I have believed in this and lived with this kind of tragedy for so long. And to think that I was, somehow, wrong.

I have come to realize that it is not the abandonment or betrayal that is the reason for the concoction of different violent emotions swirling inside of me. It is not abandonment, nor betrayal nor faults committed against me that throbs like an invisible wound.

It is not abandonment or betrayal that is the cause of my sadness.

Rather, it is the persistent memory of all the good things there ever was, of all the laughter, of all the trials, of all those moments o knew that I was not alone. It was all those moments when I was happy, when life was not solely mine or solely of another’s, but a life that was ours that haunt me.

How ironic that it is happiness that is the source of my tears.

Because the memory of all those moments when my life was shared with another were the most fulfilling, and the truth of its coming to an end, of never being able to continue what was left off yesterday, of possibilities blown off, ahh, that is my poison.

Because even though things may go like the moons, the stars and the planets and comets all going through their orbit, and end does not always mean the possibility of something new being born, of something that would grow away from the ashes of yesterday.