Some days I just felt my life was like a black wall, so plain and boring. This day was not one of those days: the days I would go out and go on with my ‘black wall’ life- I always found it boring, so boring; those were the days I was too lazy to write. Today I woke up with an urge, a desire, to write something, anything. I lay in bed thinking, reflecting, trying to immerse myself in old memories, asking for help from my subconscious. The voice in my head kept reminding me of the Literature essay I had not yet completed. I tried so hard to silence it, push it into nothingness. I tried to feel. I had not felt in a while. It felt foreign.
“Focus”, I told myself. Several pictures played in my head, I could not pick one. I tried to, to feel. I didn’t. What exactly did I want to feel? Emotion. To immerse myself in the memories, I had to feel the emotion, at least that’s what the Writing Workshop had taught me. I had to picture how I felt in that particular event I wanted to write on. I felt, but it was fleeting. As the several pictures danced in my head, Mr Brain sent different signals: joy, pain, sadness, embarrassment. It was a flood.
I could not take it anymore. As much as I tried to focus on one, another would come and distract it. It was like all the memories were fighting for my attention, but this time I did not like it. Frustrated, I got out, no, dragged myself, out of bed and trudged, rather unenthusiastically, to the bathroom. I was going to be late for school.
The cold drops of water raced down my naked body as I stood in the shower. I had grown to love cold showers, even in the dry season when it was really cold in the mornings. I guess it was just that chilly feeling which made me think of the cold days during my holidays in London. I would always remark about how I loved the weather, compared to the hot climate we had here in the tropics. My cousin would laugh and wish I was there to witness the really bad winter days, then I would not love the weather so much anymore. I missed her, my cousin. She had been there, in most of my childhood memories. Now I hardly saw her, well because she lived in another continent. I had always admired her, I still do. I squirted some body wash on my sponge and began to scrub my body in perfected motions. The scent reminded me of her, lavender, her lavender perfume that I used sometimes without her consent. That smell still lingered in my memory, I missed her so much.
I stared at the puddle of water that had formed at my feet and watched the drops of water fall into it, making it ripple. It made me remember jumping in puddles, which had formed when it rained, while walking home from school as a little girl. I always got my socks dirty and my mom would scold me for that. After the scolding, I would still do the same thing the next day, not caring. I missed that feeling, wanting to live in the moment, not caring about what people would think. I was careful of my actions now, too careful, overthinking things.
As I turned off the shower and grabbed my towel, it hit me. How I despised stressful school life, the frustration of not being able to feel, how I loved cold showers, how I missed my cousin so much, how I hated how I changed from being a carefree child to this overly sensitive teenager, these were all things I had felt this morning, things I could write about. All that time, I thought I couldn’t feel, but I had felt more than I wanted to.
I’m sorry for leaving for so long.
Sugar cookie kisses,