Mistakes I made

MISTAKES I MADE


When I was a little girl, I used to think that if I couldn’t see something it couldn’t see me either. Kind of like an Ostrich, who bends its long neck, ducks its head and closes its eyes when a predator launches in to attack. If I ever heard sounds in the dark late at night, I would think that somebody was going to come and get me, so I simply covered myself with my blanket and pushed my eyes closed. Of course, nothing ever got me, because there was nothing after me, but I let myself think that my little trick had worked and that I had successfully rid myself of anything harmful. As time went on and I passed through phase after phase of my life, I learned that sometimes you couldn’t hide under your blanket and pretend that the world was right.

But lessons are often forgotten and ironically enough I have once again covered myself with a blanket that gives me the illusion of false security. I sit alone in this crammed apartment, without the company that I once wanted to escape; the company that I yearned for now. There is nobody to distract me from my thoughts by asking me to join a tea party or play doll dress-up. Nobody to ask me what happened at school and how my day was or if I wanted to go shopping. There is just this dreary silence and the echoes of my own sobs bouncing of the walls of this dank and dark room. The floor that I sit on is cold too, but the rug that is around me keeps me warm enough. I recall the comfort of my bed at home and the soft pillow stuffed with balls of cotton under my head. At this, another tear escapes from the corner of my eye and trickles down the length of my face, where it hangs on for a while before giving into the force of gravity and falling to the ground. I try to tune out the sobs that will not stop no matter how hard I try, but then the thoughts inside my head start getting louder and regret screams loud. It seems that whatever I do, I manage to fail at it and I am never satisfied with what I have.

My hand watch beeps and I realize that it’s already midnight. I know that I should be going to sleep because I have to get up early tomorrow and get to work on time, but like the previous nights, sleep evades me and instead my head is filled with memories. Despite the sobs I manage a low, cruel chuckle at my condition. I’d had everything that a person could want but instead of appreciating my life I’d hated it and desired a different life. I was given a home to sleep in, a family to talk to and feed me, a way of life that offered so much more than just freedom. That was what I had been searching for. Freedom was why I was here and why I had left home in the first place. I had felt so trapped by what my parents expected of me and what I wanted to do myself. I thought that maybe distancing myself from them would also solve the problems that they had caused. For them I was never quite good enough. I was smart but not intelligent. I was careful but not caring. I was patient but not understanding. I always forced myself to become all the things I wasn’t and my parents wanted me to be. But I was always conscious of the part of me that also wanted me to be myself. Still I pushed harder and every breath became a challenge to get through until I snapped.

At first I tried hard to enjoy this new lifestyle and there were certain moments when I did. No curfews, no critical remarks, no arguments over tasks left forgotten. It was a good change in the beginning, but slowly I started feeling the empty spaces that my family and friends had once filled. Then there was the issue of fending for myself and having no financial or emotional support to keep me going. Yes, I was free but like everything else in life, freedom came with a price and in my case the price was isolation. I once read in a book that “freedom has a way of destroying itself” and these days I often reflect on that thought. I’ve come to understand that a person cannot survive on freedom. You need food, water, shelter and familiar faces more than freedom. I managed to free myself from the luxuries of home and family, but I still cling to myself and hide under the rug now and then. I don’t think that I solved my problems; I think I chose to avoid them and even though I might not be expected to go to school tomorrow or get good marks in school, I will always feel trapped. I will feel trapped by this rug; obliged to seek its warmth. I will be trapped because of my failure to face my problems and learn to be happy with what I have. It’s a funny thing, freedom; the more you get of it the less appealing it becomes.

As the watch beeps again I curl myself into a ball and fold in on myself hugging my knees tightly. I realize that this could be my mom who I’m hugging if I choose to return, but at the same time I know I will not return. I have made a decision and no matter how painful or inconvenient it might get I will stick to it. For all I knew, I might regret returning and if I changed my mind again it would only hurt my parents more. I was tired of making mistakes and trying to do the right thing. I didn’t want to chase after things anymore because I knew that no matter what I achieved I would never be satisfied with myself because that’s what I was used to, its what I’d come to expect of myself. I would not think about the future anymore but I would always remember the past.

Maybe one day I’ll see them again. When I can face them and not have to feel guilty or see the disappointed look on their faces; maybe when I know that I can solve the problem instead of avoiding it. Someday I will be ready to explain myself but for now I just want to catch my breath. I choose this path not because I haven’t learned my lesson but because I now see that there is much I don’t know; there are many lessons I need to learn before I make anymore mistakes.