A Pang of Epiphany

We are what we feel. We are what we hide away. We’re not what we appear to be; we are what we kept.


​May 13, 2016 • 11:47pm

And then I woke up to the cold truth that I can never go back to the way I was; and how I used to be anymore. I can never be the “me” I used to know…And I can never become the “old me” that I’ve always wanted back. It’s just that…we have to wake up to reality that life doesn’t always go for us…not always “with us”. Most of the time, it’s against us. And we can only continue leaving the things that were already behind us…including the old “us” because life goes on, and the world spins; everything change…it’s not all the same. 

We are not the same. We are not the same person we used to be. We are not the same person we used to know. We are not these people talking to each other, waving their hands and saying goodbye. Not anymore. We are who we are right now. Not yesterday, not tomorrow. We are who we are today. And we continue facing each other like the way we face the mirror everyday. Constantly seeing faces, knowing what to say, doing things we do… 

But on the parallel opposite things of what we do, what we say, and what we see…is the contrary of it all. We know exactly what we feel; but we are too mute to tell, and too dumb to speak and say it. Too weak to talk about it, and too deaf to be willing to hear it…even from our own. Too scared to hear about it even just on the inside; we are too scared to open up. We just simply dismiss it, before it even get started. We are afraid to talk about things that might destroy us. And all those feelings we put behind great walls that we built for ourselves, were left untouched, unseen, unheard of…

And unknown.

It remained unknown to us; to each other.. Especially ourselves. It remains unknown to ourselves that we come to a point where we don’t exactly know what it is. It becomes so hidden that we don’t know what it really is that we actually hide. What it is that we’re so afraid of. What it is that we do not want to appear.

Perhaps ourselves? The real you that’s been buried deep within you… In the deepest and darkest corners of your own being. Kept in the deepest chasm…Too far away, from the rest, and everyone of us where no one can see it. Buried, that it’s been enough for it to die. 

But it’s still not certain whether it’s “we” that we really hide, or “us” or the real “you” or “I”. Because I sure as hell know we shouldn’t be using “it” as a pronoun for it when we know exactly who it is. Nonetheless, whether it’s who, whom, or what, it’s not really much of a big deal, actually. It doesn’t really matter anymore. Because in the end, it’s still a mystery… That in the end, it remains a mystery; no matter how much we try to seek for answers. 

Unless we decide to go find it.

They were kept hidden and sealed off safe. But they were there. Undeniably there. And it would only become obvious when a tear finally falls down our cheek. We are what we feel. We are what we hide away. We’re not what we appear to be; we are what we kept.

And then we keep talking to each other like nothing’s wrong. Like everything’s normal and everything’s fine; and nothing’s changed. Like it’s just same way we also talk to ourselves when we’re alone. Like the way we smile to other people is the way we are when it comes to ourselves. Or, like how soft and warm we are to others is the same way we do to ourselves. We act like everything’s fine. But it’s not. Unfortunately, it’s not. 

We’re just trying to be nice to them because we know exactly how it feels like to be hard on ourselves. We keep trying. We keep on trying to be better, so we can continue to live. But in the end, it never satisfies. It will only cause more ache and pain to ourselves that what we are trying to do was just not enough. There’s always a need for something. Something else that we don’t quite understand. Something that we do not know if it would ever come… 

We smile, we laugh and we live like any other human beings. But when the night hits, and when the moment of truth finally comes around again…There you are, falling apart. Screaming inside. There’s always something strange inside of you that comes back alive. There’s this something that breaks, — or even dies. It’s something that automatically strikes you every night; and everytime the dark crepts in…as if by default. We don’t know how, we don’t know why. But it’s just there…coming along from the past…from behind us.. And it would be remembered when it’s time for them to be remembered.

It’s just that…we’re not really looking for answers. Not always. But we are looking for a reason. 
Perhaps a single reason would be enough? 

Perchance, even a single one would suffice our seeking soul, that’s been aching and dying of hunger for a food that won’t really come..

And it’s times like this, in the stillness of the night…where I realize that, it’s not actually “we” that I’m supposed to be using. Because, it was actually, utterly, and absolutely, just… “I”

It was just me, after all.

Not we, just I.

Author: The Realist in the Abyss

I feel like a freaking lunatic. Wandering around... not knowing who I am... or what I do. And I'm still trying to figure it all out, too. But perhaps I'll always be unknown to me; I'll always be that girl. The girl in the abyss.

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