Flower by The Cracked Pavement

Photo Credit: Pixabay

I don't really know where to start so I decided  to tell you a story instead. A proper introduction in case you need to know how I got here.

As you can see on the title above, a flower by the crack pavement. Have you seen one? I know I have and for sure it is the most beautiful of all. It made it's way out into the world where there seem no hope for it to survive and yet there it is. Yellow, bright and bloom as it arises from the earth beneath that cold hard stone which made it's way out of the littlest crack of light. 

I know how it felt like to try to fight and rise like that little yellow flower.

Three years ago, I faced the most difficult moment in my life of which seems like so hard to tell.  It's not exactly easy to talk about hardship to anyone, even when they all say, they will always be there for you. I have family and friends yet things like this isn't something you want to share with anyone because nobody can relate to it as much as you wish they were. 

I tried to share it once but then, it feels like opening those wound where you've stitched a few time so you'll stop bleeding. That pain and agony you've gone through is unbearable. It is indeed difficult so for a change, I hide it. I say I'm fine and just shake it off because I just couldn't bother retelling the same tale all over again and hearing people pitying me. 

I know their intention are mostly good but there's just something about those words of "comfort" seem so tiring to hear. In order to shut it down, I choose to never bring it up again.

Yet this is the thing about pain, it demands to be felt. (quote : The Fault in Our Star - John Green)

For those whom still at daze with what I am trying to talk about, here it goes. My story of stone hard pavement.

Early 2016, I was busy working as a waitress. It was a job of which was a definite no as future career but I was trying to save enough money for college. It was a year after graduation from my senior year. I was applying for a degree in Bachelor of Art and Design, on a local University. 

I went to the interview for the position because that was what the requirement said for me to do. They asked for me to draw for them, shifting object into different image according to my own imagination. Then, it carry on to one on one interview where they asked questions and stuff. They were checking my portfolio which I've prepared months before the interview.

I wasn't scared or nervous. I was ready. I assure you it went perfectly well.

On early May 2016, I received a letter saying I got in. It came along with four more letters from other Universities too. Did I go? Well, I hate to disappoint you but I didn't and you are not the only one who's disappointed. I was too but I don't regret it because I have a reason why I did it.

I told my mom I didn't want to go just yet. I wasn't ready to leave. Something in my gut told me to stay behind but I didn't know why. I had a bad feeling about accepting the offer.

Two weeks after I received the acceptance letter, my father fell ill. At the time, I already quit my job as a waitress but I got a position to work as a clerk at the local private company. A week working, then my father got hospitalized. He apparently had a terrible pain in his stomach. It took them three days to find out what it was until they decided to send him to another Hospital in the big city to meet more expert in order to find the cause.

The fourth night he's in the hospital, they decided that he needed to go through a surgery. Something didn't felt right to me because it seems like it was a one serious condition, but no one said a thing. My mother signed a few document, my father already lying on what seems to him, was his death bed. 

After the surgery, he was put into the ICU. He was in coma and his conditions getting weak. One of the doctor finally decided to gather us all and breaking the actual news. 

My father, apparently, had a Cancer stage 4.

The news added with a few more heartbreaking words of which I, at the time, just hate to hear the most.

"I'm sorry...there's nothing we can do."

I didn't say a word. At that point, if you are like me, you just wish there was somebody to blame. Instead, I blame myself for not noticing it before. I blame myself for what might change what had happen. All this time he was suffering alone and I don't know that. I was sad, angry, frustrated and other feelings combined. 

It was close to 3am when they pull the plug. I'd seen his heart rate was no longer the heartbeat of a living human. They announced his death.

My father died at the age of 50.

His funeral was brief and short but the one thing I remember most was the look on his brother's face. My uncle was the closest to my father. They often meet and drink beer together. My father even stayed at his house on several occasion which made him the most important part of his life. After his wife died, my father was one of those he loves of which still around to comfort him.

The story didn' end here.

My mother fell into depression and became alcoholic. She turned to alcohol in order to numb the pain she felt with the grief she had to deal with for the rest of her life. I could still remember how disoriented my family was after the passing of my father. 

I remember coming home to the stinking smell of the alcohol in the room. To make the matter worst, I have a 3 years old baby brother who seem to not know anything.  He didn't understand why daddy never came home. He didn't understand why mommy cried every night. My sister was twelve and my another brother was seventeen. I had to cook and feed them myself because mother was too tired to get out of bed. She didn't even eat for a few days. She lost a few weight. It was terrible. 

All of this happen behind closed door of that little house of which we used to call our home but then felt estrange. I came home from work everyday to find her crying herself to sleep if she's sober. I hate it but I can't really say anything. I had no one to tell all that to without feeling judged and pitied at. 

Even if the neighbours heard us, you can't expect them to come running to rescue and everything went back to normal. My relative came to visit for a few days after the funeral and that's it, a few days before my mother completely lost herself. I can't exactly share this to anyone at the time because I don't even know how.

I was alone.

Three months went by with such routine repeated over and over again everyday. We finally decided to move to a new house, not far from that neighbourhood but far enough to start a new life. My mother was no longer alcoholic, which is a good a sign to me. I have no longer have to worry about it.

It was uncomfortable moving into the new house but it was for the best. Even when I hate this change but it was necessary. It was difficult mostly for me because I have to leave the house where I grew up in and spent most of my childhood days there.

I was a creator behind those walls. I was that child hiding under the blanket with a torch to read the book or on special occasion, you'll find me writing under it. My world was on each one of the lurk and crannies of that house where I wrote something or draw something on those walls. I drew dragons and soldiers. I drew robots and princesses. Pirates and ships. Air balloons and sky full of stars. All those things was left behind for the sake of moving on. 

I'm a full time worker at the age of 20. My mother didn't have a job; she was a housewife and her condition at the time didn't seem to help either. I am the sole breadwinner of the family, replacing my father's role. Tell me, I was too young to go through all of this but time didn't seem to wait for me. I have to work to fend for my family, which is why I felt bad about leaving before.

Yet time stops when I least expect of them.

A few months prior to our moving into our new home, 7 months exactly after the death of my father, we've met another tragedy.

My grandmother had an accident. Someone hit her with a motorbike and the reason was he was driving too fast and also intoxicated. My grandmother was walking her way, at the side of the road, to my aunt house. She was living with her youngest daughter but that day she was on her way to meet her eldest. My mother and I was packing more stuff from our old house to bring to the new home.

 The incident was not far from our neighbourhood. It was one of our neighbour who told us what had happen. I can't really tell you why she was there at 6 in the evening but she was, and that's the end of her route.

My mother and I rushed to the scene which was just a few kilometer from where we were. Both of us were the first family member to arrived. I remembered there was a passers car lighting the way to where my grandmother lied unmoved on the cold road. 

Yes. At that very moment, it is possible, that time has stop functioning.

 I heard complete silence before my scream break into the dim of night. I was literally screaming at nothing but I believe the sky heard me; the trees heard me. There's no wind or rain. The air was so still which makes it clearer to hear cries and moaning upon the road of where we stood.

My mother picked her up and held her in her arms from where she lied. She was choking blood and there's more coming from the back of her head. The crack on her skull was the ultimate cause of her death. 

My aunt end up trying to beat the life out of the owner of the motorbike, whom I believe and observed, was a teenage boy. He was as shock as all of us but didn't run away. He didn't even realized he hit someone until he saw a body lying across the road. His bike was in terrible shape as well.

My mother got up and trying to stop her while I stayed next to my grandmother; crying and not knowing what to do. She was wheezing and I saw she breathe her last breath before her chest went completely still. My other relatives was there with me and even our neighbours. Someone called the police and an ambulance but everything was already too late.

She died there, on the road, in front of my eyes. There's blood on my hands, my shirt and I can't even tell whether it was blood on my hair too because my sweat smells like blood. I don't even know who was beside me or how things ending with us arriving at the hospital late at night. I was dazed before I realized it was another funeral to deal with.

You think it stops there? Wrong. The world is not done with me just yet.

Four months later, my mother received a phone call from my cousin. We received another news about my uncle's death. My father's brother.

Remember the look of which I told you earlier? It was the look to which I think was a complete heartbreak. His children, told us he act stranger and stranger after the death of my father. They even heard him talking to himself once in a while and hearing him saying weird things. My uncle was ill but it was not his illness that took his life. He seems normal before they found him unconscious.

My uncle wasn't the only brother my father had but he is the closest. He was the only connection I had left of my father. The man whom I've seen when I was little, so happy and bright, in the end died with a heartbreak of losing someone he loved most. His wife and my father. It was heartbreak that took his life. 

These three death had affected me entirely. I grew scared of the future and ended up developing highly stress disorder which connected to Anxiety but not as serious, I think. Sometimes I had panic attack for no apparent reason, at work and even at home. I can't sleep for days. I had chest pain on regular basis. Fatigue and even lack of concentration with the things around me.

 Everyday was a battle. Everyday I was breathless. Everyday seem so long and cruel. I fight this alone because I was ashamed to even talk about it. I was told not to show that I'm weak for the sake of my mother. I was told to stay strong and brave for the sake of my brothers and sister. If I break, I'll shattered. I picked myself back up and hide my pain behind every fake smile. Fake photograph. Fake laughter.

I tried to seek comfort in others but I ended up being used by their so-called helpful deeds. They gained praises while I was their charity case. Once they're done, they threw me aside. They only needed me when they tried to show their "generosity" and staged drama. 

Some tried to help but in the end, they still failed to see things through my point of view; and I don't blame them for that. I understand. I felt like a burden to them. It just seem so wrong. So I retreat and back away for their sake.

I seek the ones who will be there for me. To my surprise, there's so little of them by numbers. Yet I don't feel the need to depend too much on people. This is my life, my responsibility and my choice.

This went on for two years. I've wasted two years feeling sorry for myself. I am done.

On 2019, I decided to find my way back up even if I had to do it alone. I made up a small personal project called "Love Myself". It was nothing big or fancy. I've spent most of my time throughout the year (and this is currently July 2019) trying to find ways for me to finally put a closure to this impending motion of life misery. 

Through this project, I finally see the reasons why to all of my pain and my sorrow. I've been holding onto something I can't control. No one can control their fate and destiny. As much as you wish for the world to mourn with you but it can't. Life goes on. Time didn't stop just to wait for some limb like me. 

Death is part of life. It will happen eventually and somehow passed, with or without you.

Grief is like a pit stop. You only need to stop there for a while, refill your gas and start moving.

Now I know I am not alone. There are those who had gone through hardships in their life too.

My friend, wherever you are and whatever you've gone through, I just hope you've fought your battle as brave as possible. If you're tired, take a break and stop for a while. There's no harm to being vulnerable. Don't suppressed your feelings but instead embrace it.

This scar has made it's way upon your skin but this scar also proven that you're a warrior. You've been to a battle and you won, by forgiving yourself and move on.

From the darkness and hopeless surrounding, like the little yellow flower on a cracked pavement, you've bloomed beautiful and well. You've fought your way up and you did so well.