a person that I used to hate

At this point, life feels nothing more than just existing. Probably started questioning about the word "living" itself. To enjoy, to cherish, or anything, you name it. It's a familiar word. It may seem easy to say, but few people truly understand the meaning. I thought, to live is to enjoy and to cherish every moment that comes across my path. Is it, though?

Because what do you mean by the emptiness that came right after I felt the most alive? That, after all these plans and clues, I'm still lost. Anticipation at its finest, only to fall into the same rabbit hole. I wonder if life ever stops dragging the smell of death. Not physically. And not literally. Yet it's there. Scars, tears, disappointment, anger, and every shape of darkness. Was it ever exists in a bright persona? Something warm. Something that describes the meaning of sunset sky. In a hint of orange, the world feels safer and easier. While pink offers love, purple screams peace. 

It's just life, probably. Where both are supposed to come in a balanced portion. But have you been paying attention? Lately, it's not less than cold, dark, gloomy days. Sometimes with the rain outside the window. Sometimes with blurred and watery eyes. Which one is your fighter?

I mean, how can someone be so sure of a decision, but still have to get through a chest-heavy kind of a cry session? So, was it the right one, or the wrong one? Will it be good, or bad? Too cheap for mysteries, but it's enough for a second-guess.

For the past few months, I've kind of been loving this journey. It brings some parts of me that I've never known existed. Who would've thought that I have a fun, brave, and strong all within this poor soul? It has been hiding, and it's now floating effortlessly. It's fresh and strange. It feels weird. All these new colors, and I don't think I'm seeing myself clearly. Somehow, I feel unworthy of these changes. And maybe that is the reason why I could never claim the word "happy". 

It feels light, soft, warm, and easy. Am I happy? 

If I am, why do I feel some type of loss? Parts of me are gone. I have no idea of the shapes, nor the colors. But I know it lingers, strongly like a perfume. It feels like guilt. I think I feel bad because too many people care about the old me. And now, I'm not just someone's favorite story. I looked back in a glance and realised that I have changed. With changes that are seen as different pictures in each pair of eyes. Some are proud, and some pass. 

I've never thought that growth could feel so much like grief. Letting go of who I was is both loss and discovery. Is this what it feels like to find a new version of myself? Is it relief or grief? 

Truth be told, I do love myself more. I seek less attention than I used to. And I realised, nobody ever really needs to know my stories, not even my closest ones. By that being said, I give up. I finally stopped trying to be seen. To be heard. I have been simply existing. Sometimes living. Sometimes dying. Farewell to the soul who loves to share fun, unimportant details of her days. I am now becoming a person that I used to hate. Someone who keeps their stories. Someone who never shares their feelings. Someone who chooses silence amidst discomfort. I finally learned how to survive. I swallowed the bitter pills. I am not worthy enough for someone to spend time with, only to listen to my stories. It's not heroic, let alone inspiring.

I am less than a good book, a good movie. I am just a crumpled paper torn out of your favorite novel. A kind of thing that would waste the time of the readers. To unfold, re-read, and never be perfectly re-attached to the original page. 

I know, everyone has stories that are painful enough to be told. But how could someone get punched thousands of times and manage to stand still? I want to reach that point. I want to be strong enough not to fall when the storm comes. I want to be brave enough not to step back when the world doubts. I want to be calm and warm. I want to be reliable. I want to cheer even in my gloomy days. I want to be a safe space even in my weakest state. I want to be everything.. everything that I am not. 

Will I get there? What if, in the middle of this journey, I could no longer swallow my own pills? To whom should I share? You?