The ash of the cigarette slowly crumbles off the joint, every second is ticking off the clock of my time being home.
It’s as if each time you come home, you come back to that sweet sweet dream that you have to eventually wake up from.
It’s only 1.5 years, some people has not went back home for 5 years, 10 years, some even 20 years. Grateful I am, yet it never get easy.
It’s been almost one whole month since I placed my foot into the beautiful land I call home. It was a decision that I was blessed with, with the generosity of a close friend I have back in the states (Nicholas). As I sit on this plastic chair, waiting for my Maggi Goreng, which would probably be my one last late night mamak session this year, I’m overwhelmed by many feeling, amongst all: Fear.
The feeling of accomplishment from graduation and the surreal-ness of being back home has slowly faded. Coming home was supposed to be a roller-coaster of joy, yet it became a safety net. A safety net that has delayed the harsh punch that is of reality. Reality is still reality, and there is no way for us to keep it out. No matter how strong your shield is, it will creep back in, reminding you of all the obstacles that you will have to face.
The meager flare on the cigarette slowly comes closer to the brownish joint. I never really liked smoking, nor the smell of the smoke, especially not when I’m alone. Yet the idea of smoking somehow brings me away from that overwhelming feeling of fear and emptiness. It takes my mind off the things that I am worried of. It’s like a safety net.
I smother that dying light, and started driving myself back home as the radio started playing…
Why don’t you just meet me in the middle? I’m losing my mind just a little.
Why did I chose a place in the other side of Earth? Why does the flight home has to be so freaking expensive and so long? Why can’t I be wealthy enough to afford plane tickets so that I and all my loved ones can just meet in the middle?
Being overseas, the only way to see your loved ones is through a piece of glass that is attached to your phone. To make it worst, the time difference shortens the time frame for both parties to be awake and free simultaneously. Not to mention the crazy hours that work is about to consume from the precious 24-hours we have in a day.
As a child in a traditional Chinese family, I was not taught to express love. Love was about action. It’s not about being nice towards each other. It’s about being there for each other, through the toughest times, and through the littlest things like preparing breakfast every morning for the ones you love. I was not the best at that either, but I told myself I wanted to change that before I came back. I wanted to show the people around me that I truly love them. Yet old habits never change. How is it that I am able to make great conversations with random strangers, yet unable to have a decent conversation with the ones I love. There is always a voice telling me to hold back, that being expressive, or holding a conversation with my love ones is not me. As the time ticks away, I am reminded of all the opportunities to show love to them that I have let go of.
It’s really easy to fall into the trap of fear, emptiness and grief. After all, feeling bad about oneself somehow allows us to put the blame on the past, and telling ourselves that it’s not our fault, but our past’s fault.
Death. It’s the topic of the article that I was about to write. The unclosed tab bar that is right next to this one that I am writing. Death is the end of life, the 0 to the 1. Flying back to the States is the end of my trip back home, or is it?
Since young, we were taught about the 1’s and 0’s. We are the Kind or the Evil, the Beautiful or the Ugly, at the Start or the End. But life is not about the 1’s and 0’s, it’s about everything in between. Just because my time of being at home is coming to an end does not mean it is the end. It is part of the process, and because we are not at the end that it should fuel me to work harder.
Don’t have time? Figure ways to make work less and personal time more. Can’t afford a plane ticket? Work harder and think of ways to make money. Ain’t able to express your love fully? Love harder and try again.
The End is not always a bad thing. The End allows us to appreciate all the little moments that happened. There might not be great conversations, but I spent as much time as I can with my parents. I might not have spent as much time with my best friends, yet I put in all my effort to love them. I might not be home for a long time, but at least I was home. We always see the end as a bad thing, yet we never realized that, it is the existence of the End that makes every single moment of life beautiful.
Maybe the End is not as bad as it seems after all.
Love,
Keith
