It could mean as simple as moving.
Keep moving.. Keep moving on…
Prinzel said as I left, “There’s no perfect place.” But sure there is a place where you can be with the people who lift you up in mornings you are knocked down. There is a place where you must teach yourself to hold the tears because sometimes they just want to fall in the middle of breakfast. There is a place where there are rabbit holes to hide yourself in when tears are too heavy to hold.
This is the place. Where I commute and don’t cover my nose. Where the people are not always in a rush and don’t shout out “hurry up!” Where the sky is a palette. Where I can bike downtown to the market with papa, or to my relatives with mama. Where I can murmur the words “Why, help me, I can’t go on any farther, I messed up, help me… God,” and the answers are in the waters, the sky it reflects and the wind, and all that separates this moment from the dreadful past I have run away from, and the future I have not the slightest idea of.
And what have made this transition kinder are the little things that I have found – the dance machine in the mall where I and Prinzel would meet after work, a waxing salon, a nearby day spa, and a party beach!
Here I am rebuilding my life, and hoping to remember these moments and the lessons that the Universe has been repeating, which I am slow to learn. I guess in this long life, there are just lessons that cannot be mastered in one take, so we need to repeat them. I know that no matter how I rebuild myself and emerge feeling that I’ve mastered the art of life once again, I know, for sure, one day I will break down again. But I will look back to these dreadful months and know with confidence that I will get by.
To those broken, go find a place to heal.