At the end of the road.
At the end of year, when everybody else is celebrating; I find myself pondering if anything was good enough.
Questioning every decision, every action, every course that I’ve taken in this journey I’ve embarked upon.
Revelations come to mind, and I tend to make a list of all the good and bad; never listing down a “To Do List”, but rather what I’ve learnt this year.
I’ve learnt to be kinder, to be patient, to acknowledge my mistakes, and most of all learnt how to listen rather than offering up the inkling to speak.
I promised myself I’d write every day, some times I wrote multiple times each day — several times maybe often too much. As I look through the list of every passage that found its way onto this commemoration of digital pixels, I am reminded of how they’re all pieces of me somehow.
They’re all a sense of what I felt at the time and the urge to write about it was endless — hence the journey continued.
In looking back, I realise they’re each memories — worth imagining.
Little pieces, that maybe didn’t make sense or resonate; but were worth writing, worth talking about — even if at times it was all gibberish.
I read my very first post today, and how dark it was — how it all began when I had no other place to express myself and came to believe that it was worth doing.
How my pieces got better, and began to resonate with a community I grew found of.
I still deal with the issues I did when I first began reflecting, but little did I realise it would lead me down a path further than my imagination had ever dared to endure.
I could get knocked down, easily; never hoping to get back up.
Some how, the urge to continue would find its way back into my spine and I’d get back up again.
Rambling on about how I see things, and the joy it brought me when someone agreed that they too felt the same way; and suddenly it wasn’t so lonely anymore.
It is befitting that I find myself writing this piece at the exact same place I first began my journey, and how so very different it feels.
Alone, yet no longer lonely.
A glimmer of hope appears, and I think to myself — I guess it was all worth doing.
All it took was the courage to write the first sentence, and never letting a full-stop define the end of it.
A beginning to what once seemed a hopeless endeavour, one where I wouldn’t find anything fulfilling; now seems a much more peaceful glance of fresh air.
Buried underneath an ocean, finally finding my voice as I swim back ashore and find myself standing exactly where I stood — letting my past self know, be gone now; we made it, we did what we hoped to accomplish.
Promises were kept, and we’ve come a long way; dear friend.
You’ve learnt how to finally swim, I guess we can take off the floats.