The house I left

Two weeks ago, one early evening on my way home, the bus I was riding on, passed by Delma Street. I saw the previous villa that was my former living quarters, before I transferred to Khalidiya.  From approximately a block away, it still looked the same to me.  Only the tree by the gate was a bit different.  It has grown shabby over the years.

That picture took me back to the time when I had to come home to it, heart full of ache and about to burst. 

My partition was small and expensive, but I stayed there for almost a year.  I recall how everything was in a clutter.  I guess I can say, the mess was a reflection of what I was feeling inside.  

It was then that I started losing interest in cooking.  Sometimes I tried, but my heart was just not into it. This is aside from the fact that the kitchen conditions were horrible.  It was so dirty (sorry, my housemates were majorly composed of careless free men, and the ladies, not so neat and tidy either).  That time I did not have much appetite too. I was not the me, who loved eating more than anything in the world.  

I would rather sleep than eat.  The pain that I had to bear, was too much.  I was a newbie at work, and I was still adjusting. I have not made a lot of friends.  The idea of coming home to that cramped space was not really comforting, but I had nowhere to go.  It was the only personal space I own. The only place I can breakdown everyday after getting home.  I would cry myself to sleep.  The faster I fell asleep, the better, because I did not want to feel anything anymore.  My mantra was: "Matulog na lang, para walang maramdaman." I would sleep the whole day during weekends (rest days).  I would not eat, drink, nor pee.  I would wake up after seven in the evening, take a bath and go to sleep again. 

I recalled how every morning, when I left the house, heart not feeling any lighter, I would cross the intersection, and try to find what little courage I could, to face one more day.  I would instinctively think of him, and my heart would endlessly hurt again.  I needed to listen to music all the time so I could get by.  The memories I had of Delma, and my former home situated there, only brought me unpleasant feelings. 

Although it served as my humble abode for many months, I do not want to go back there.  I did not like the way I have been when I was living in there.  I do not want to find myself in the same state... like the world was falling apart.  Every night, I would die in pain, only to find myself in the morning, alive and awake.  Most of all, I do not like the fact that I can associate the place with him.  

As the bus drew further and further away from that familiar block, I felt more reassured that it was all in the past.  Thank God for that.  I felt renewed hope, that despite my current hardships in life, I was heading some place, where I picked up the pieces, and recovered. It is a place, where my heart expanded, after it had become full because of breaking.  Once in a while, he would make his presence felt through a dream, a message,  missed video calls... but I stopped hurting a long time ago.  Thus, my present home cannot be tainted by anything that has to do with him.  

He lost that power.. and what truly amazes me, is that I did not notice it while it was happening.  It just came to be.  Or maybe... it was all me. :)