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The first rays of sunlight come through my window and playfully tickle my cheek, inviting me to wake up. The moment I step on the cool white floor of my bedroom, and look out the windowpane, I see a dazzling cyan sky, with a cumulus here and there, bamboos rustling with the breeze . . . The same little birds in my windowsill, building the nest my mom shook away the last weekend. It is February 12.
I go to the bathroom, look at myself in the mirror, and for the first time in years, I like what I see. A small-framed girl, with tanned skin, straight black hair, ample chocolate brown eyes, and bow shaped lips. Her skin looks clean and her head is cocked to the right, her hand smoothing her bangs. That girl is different from what she used to be. That girl understands and knows the transition I've gone through, because she has done it with me.
Last spring, I was stuck in REM. I was in a long dream, with the chance to wake up, with the chance to speak up, with the chance to live up. But I didn't. I was tired, worn out, blue. Loosing Joy was like loosing 3/4 of my life, or so it seemed at the moment. He taught me so much; he was all I ever wanted to see. He was the air I breathed, he was the song I endlessly sang, he was the music I played, he was my muse, my adored friend and confident. I always wished he could see me as more. To him, apparently I was nothing, since he left without a word, and now lives thousands of miles away from me.
His leaving was like a kick in the face, like being woken up with a bucket full of iced water; but instead of being awakened, I was hit with the bucket and sent right into coma. My first love left me abandoned in Puerto Rico, while he explored new "Torontan", "Nova Scotian" and "Raleighan" lands; never to come back for me. This loss was worse than him dying, because he is still out there somewhere, and I asked myself all the time if he thought about me, and I hated the pang of sadness I felt in my whole body when that inside voice told me he didn't. This loss might seem stupid to you, but to me, and to that girl in the mirror was the greatest hurt we've ever known.
Now, I still love him. I can't deny anyone that; but time healed my wounds, so now they're just another scar for the collection. Whenever someone says his name, I don't feel that aching of my heart, and I no longer hear the imaginary ripping sounds that my heart used to make as it broke into millions of pieces. I love him still, and always will. But I have learned to let him go. If he's happy out there and without me, then so be it.
I feel so liberated now. I can love again, and I have loved again. Last spring, I was a mess, but now, as I look at myself in the mirror and recognize the girl looking back at me, I realize that the sky, the bamboos, the birds building their nests, the warm rays of sunlight and all of the wonders of this place have never been so striking. My face, my body, my soul and my mind have never been so peaceful, and my heart has never been so ready to love. This time has never been this idyllic; and just about time; I have awakened.
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