Bye, Jan
June 8. “Man loses his wife, he’s a widower. Child loses a parent, they’re an orphan. But losing a child… there is no word for this. And it shouldn’t be.” So a sad Jake Gyllenhaal movie plays on the TV. It’s fascinating, how the saddest parts of the movie plays out whenever I dine at Josh and Matthew. As if I’m cursed. Trapped in a sad-movie continuum. I’ve been eating there, dinner for a month. Stopped ordering food at work. Or trying to catch dinner at home. At first, it was the coffee, how it keeps me awake throughout my 8 PM-to-5 AM shift. Or how the food keeps me full, I hardly craved for anything else. The list goes on and on. Until now.
This is me, practicing. Trying to get used to the feeling of eating all by myself.
June 11. She tells me to do as she says. Because he’s angry. I smiled a sad smile, one she couldn’t see. I didn’t tell her what I knew (that he never stopped, that I was and remain to be the subject of his wrath). And if he didn’t stopped before, what hopes do I have that he’d ever stop?
July 10. I don’t hold a luggage. No rolling bags there. I don’t even hear myself saying “goodbye,” I just disappear. Slowly.
- Some clothes
- Home zines (because interior design is always my second favorite)
- Novel collection
- Action figures
- Bags and whatnots
I’m shedding the me who is home. Shedding the me who clung onto the comforts of my room. Shed the me who always, always wanted to stay.
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