Philip Da Silva

Because more than a year later, you've left me with so many deeply seeded insecurities, I don't know how to be myself anymore. It's been more than a year since it ended, since our final words to each other, but I still can't forget you. The way it hurt, the way it strung, it still hurts. It still rings so loudly and so clearly in every relationship I have today. I'm scared.

We don't talk anymore so you'll never know how much you hurt me. You'll never know how you destroyed me, how you managed to cement my insecurities. How even though those text messages are gone, the tone still sinks into my memory, into my current reality.

It doesn't, you don't hurt me the same way anymore, but it still does. I'm still not OK. The way you hurt me, it is still echoed in every relationship I have, in every missing trust, in every frightened jolt and defence. I'm defensive, always ready to bolt, to arm myself against something else. I don't know how to enjoy myself without waiting for the other shoe to drop. I'm scared. I feel like an animal waiting to be caught to be slaughtered.

I don't know how to forget you. I don't know how to stop letting you haunt me today. You destroyed me. I drifted for so long, I was so lost after you. I was hurt. I didn't know what I was doing, and for much of it, I didn't care. I just wanted to forget you. Any way I could convince myself, even for a second, that you were forgotten, that was good. I wanted another one of you. You, who once brought me so much peace and then brought me so much chaos and struggle. You haunt me. I look for you and I see you everywhere. Every time I seem to have forgotten you, you come back to me in another way. Tonight, I have an issue with a guy and you are what clutches at my heart, you are what punches me in the gut, leaves me for dead. You are why I am crying again. You are why I feel hurt, in pain, abandoned. You've been gone for so long, but the way you haunt me, it's like you never left. Your hurt still rings loudly, clearly, deeply.

You destroyed me, but you'll never know that. 

An excerpt from Murakami - A "Poor Aunt" Story

All names fade away, of course. We can say that much for sure.

But there are many ways for this to happen. First there are those whose names fade the moment they die. They're the easy ones. We mourn their deaths: "The river ran dry and the fish died out," or "Flames covered the forest, roasting every bird within it." Next there are those who go out like an old television, leaving white flickers that play over the face of the tube until suddenly, one day, it burns out completely. These aren't bad, either: sort of like the footprints of an Indian elephant that's lost its way. No, definitely not bad. And finally there's the type whose names fade even before they die- the poor aunts.

I myself fall into this poor aunt state of namelessness now and then. Suddenly, in the bustle of a terminal, my destination, my name, my address will no longer be there in my brain. But this never lasts long: five or ten seconds at most.

And then you have this:
"For the life of me, I can't remember your name," someone says.

"Never mind. Don't let it bother you. It's not much of a name, anyway."

Stolen Moments of Peace

I call this my stolen moment of peace. I don't have work till 12:30pm today. I skipped volunteering, I skipped yoga. I stayed in bed till 10AM and even after, I slowly started my day. A homemade black Americano, toast with almond butter and bananas, slowing putting together my face. Maybe later I will pick up some sushi before heading into work. Maybe even a vegan donut.

I only work a part time job but these 30-something hours that can go from five in the morning till seven in the evening, seem to dictate everything in my life. Between these sporadic hours, I try to make yoga classes, see friends, and volunteer. My body is exhausted. My mind is exhausted. It seems like running around from spot to spot has become the norm now. There's no stop sign in sight.

A video I watch a few days ago calls this generation "hustlers" because we are constantly moving from place to place, job to job, one event to the next, trying to maximize what we can do with the hours we are given. We are working multiple jobs, adding in volunteer experience, trying to look our best, and maintaining a web of connections and relationships. The author of this video calls us "hustlers", but only because we are forced to be.

This past weekend, I meet with Richard. I haven't seen him since last November. We still talk but we stopped dating a while ago. I always had a problem with never seeing him enough. I'm not sure how many hours he logs into work per week. He works at home too. He's studying now for a finance exam in June. When we meet, he says he wants to travel more. He's taking August off to travel and then he wants to move. Maybe Asia or the US for work. Yesterday we're talking and he tells me there's maybe a 10% chance I will ever see him again. He always says he's too busy. I tell him he's wrong.

I always thought of myself as someone who can't sit still. I am a restless one, legs meant to run more than they are to be stable. I wonder if this is just true of me though, or if we are a generation forced to run. Constantly needing to move to survive, constantly hustling. This morning, I sit with myself in peace though.

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