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At the end of the hallway.

Places that make me wish I should’ve known better are reminders of what I wouldn’t be if I’d never visited.

“grayscale photography of opened door” by Denny Müller on Unsplash

I wrote an article recently about how I quit my job and the events that followed leading me to where I am today.

On most certain days now, I’m often too busy to ponder about the past and decisions that led me to where I am today.

It’s come to a point that to truly get over something is not to forget about it and let it rest in my subconscious, only to be dusted off every once in a while as a cruel reminder of why I went through it in the first place.

I’m not exactly sure if it’s coincidence or destiny; which ever may apply.

From what I have come to understand is nothing good ever comes of reflecting on a past decision and letting it have more control over me than I should.

Rather it’s the opposite that I find provides me with more healing and comfort at where I am today.

There’s no denying that things happen, we make bad judgements, and all too often blame ourselves for the circumstances.

Running away from a responsibility or what could’ve, should’ve, and would’ve been done at the time is not an approach I take to life anymore.

I look back at write down all the things that I could’ve, should’ve, or would’ve done differently. But acknowledge that it’s done — and all that I can learn from it is find silver lining. Of how a devastating event made me stronger and humble.

A beautiful ceramic piece crashed into pieces put back together in the most eloquent of ways, covering up all the cracks, refined to perfection is still a piece that has cracks in it.

Only that in life, those cracks are less visible to others but they remain there.

On letting go of what I can’t change but rather learn how to not let the anger and hatred shape me, I choose to exercise my energy on how I can remedy the situation to the point that I can take a negative experience and make it a positive one. Of not looking back in hatred of those that wronged me.

Learning the importance of indifference.

A strange reminder of a much more severe encounter from ages ago that I hadn’t reflected upon for quite some time took control of me recently and I felt the urge to figure out why it had to be that way.

My approach was not to seek revenge or cause any harm to the person that wronged me, but rather seek to understand what caused the problem to escalate to catastrophe.

I sent an email to an old teacher of mine, who I felt had kept me back and abused my right to be understood — of why I was considered an outcast when there were others who were behaving in ways that I considered despicable.

The response I received was that the teacher had no memory of it and that sometimes things just happen — asking me to just move on, because clearly I’m much better off now.

I didn’t find the response to be of adequacy or even a justification to reaching a peaceful resolution to the problem.

I found that once I contacted the teacher who abused me, it opened up old scars to them too.

They weren’t proud of what they’d done and they weren’t really happy with their lives; but for some reason it brought them a sense of clarity that I’d somehow made it out just fine.

It wasn’t a victim blaming game nor was it a cry for help.

It was cathartic to learn that my abuser had suffered more than I did.

I couldn’t help but feel sorry and decided to leave it at that.

Thought better of the situation and formed the opinion that people are not in any way shape or form perfect, that it was a different time and a different culture.

I probably did not fit the description of a normal student and my abuser discarded me as such.

As I do reflect upon the situation today I do realise that had it not happened, maybe I would not have pursued my goals as chose to do so.

Of how it all shaped me.

Was it justifiable that the teacher went too far?

Or was it that they were just too blind to see that a young child did not deserve to suffer that way that I did.

I sent the teacher a copy of the movie “Whiplash”, making it clear that there would not be any further communication on the matter from my part; but if they ever wished to make amends they could do so knowing that all had been forgiven. That I’d moved on. That I’d come to realise I was now indifferent to them and for what it’s worth I made it out just fine.

Happier for it.

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