Watashinoie

The feeling of the familiar cold metal doorknob on the palm of his hands was exhilarating. As the evening turns midnight, the distant sounds of cicadas and distant lights from the lampposts in the countryside streets. It was all slowly coming together like a puzzle piece being complete. Despite the convoluted and complex conundrum that he just got out of, he was waiting forward for a day such as this. With a quick twist of the wrist, the door opened without any resistance at all, despite the old age of the wood it still buckled after the long timespan that it was never opened.

He took one of the longest and deepest breaths in his life, a mixture of excitement and anxiety, a feeling that cannot be contained so immensely, that he exhaled with such intensity that the neighborhood stray cat hissed at him from the gate before running away and making the dogs of the neighborhood bark loudly; causing more relaxing chaos in the silent countryside.

A genuine smile after the long ride forms for the first time in weeks as his eyes slowly take in the image of his old home. Flashes of his memory sparked long and bygone eras of happiness and blissful ignorance that once filled the confines of his mind. Taking a single step within his home, He couldn't help but look around the nearly placed furniture that feels as if they were untouched by time itself. Not a single speck of dust on the dining table that he used to eat with, the chairs haven't moved for about a year and a half, even the floor seemed to be the same when he left all those years back. Shock, glee, intrigue, and childlike wonder. These are just some of the things that bubbled within him as he slowly unpacked almost all of the shit he's carrying.

The door to his bedroom was open, he could see his bed well made with his room being somewhat even more cleaner than when he left it.

He had done it, he was finally home.

###

The clock continues to tick.

Each passing second, with each passing minute, and each passing hour.

The past really is fast.

With a blink of an eye, time will march forward disregarding your dreams and emotions. The constant flow of the sands never patiently waits as you wallow in the depths of your own sorrow and despair.

Never-ending, unchanging, and unstoppable. Today, a harsh and painful lesson was given to me by this cruel and unjust reality I presently belong to. A cold hard truth about myself that I could never come to terms with, or it'll destroy everything about me.

Against all odds, I am stuck in the past and cannot move on.

There is a saying that goes,

"History repeats itself."

From the Graeco-Roman cultural impacts and the ways civilizations emulated the days of a bygone epoch, the Chinese and their incessant disputes and civil wars that brought ruin with each instance, and the disputes of European society from the fall of Constantinople up to the volatile ages of the First and Second World Wars. As Prometheus stole the first fire to kindle the dawn of mankind, that same fire burns within me through the manifestation of my love and passion for the wonders of History. Everything and anything that has ever occurred in the history of man, I revel in it.

Memories from memoirs of those that lived in ages past along with their different perspectives about the way of living and the meaning of one's life. Yet no matter how many lives I have lived through the immersion of the lives of others, I'm still being held back by the past.

I've stared at my bed for a solid minute now.

The memory of me sleeping in this bed with a huge smile on my face. It's unbelievably nostalgic, even for me. The intense urge to drop everything that's attached to my body and lie down, close my eyes and drift into a state of both living and dead; seeing visions through the lenses of my very own eyes from another fabric of reality and never open my eyes ever again is immense for me. But I don't want to die stinky.

Covered in sweat and grime, mixed with the scent of rain, smoke, dust, and whatever underlying things I've interacted with for the duration of the entire trip. It was the most exhausting week of my life, draining me of every strength and will I have left in my fleeting 19 years of existence; however, it also invigorated me to start doing things I never normally do.

With the final arrangements of my bags and stripping down to my underwear, the feeling of relaxation and calmness overwhelms me for a moment before I just completely halt everything that I have been doing. To be alone in a room without any pervasive eyes, where there are no snakes hiding amongst the walls, without people saying the dumbest shit known to man, and the absence of the loud noises of sex within the thin walls of the dormitory.

It feels like I was transported to a whole new world entirely.

Still, it's incredibly shocking; Everything is the same as I've left it for a year and a half. The house, though empty, was still my personal safe space from the neverending and constant conflict thrown by life in my direction. Like all my worries have stopped screaming at me from the back of my mind, and all the past would never catch up to my current environment.

And so, with a deep breath, I screamed the loudest I possibly could in the early morning of the last days of summer filled with glee and hesitant happiness.

It feels great to finally be the real me.

Even if I'm nothing more than a shell of my former self. Wasting away in this husk of a body that I so desperately hate despite not doing anything to become a better version of myself. All this self-loathing would never get me anywhere yet the exhaustion and fatigue that overcomes my body in doing the most basic of tasks already pushes me to my limits. Despite the safety and recluse of my home, I'll always be forever haunted by a specter of a person that does no longer exist.

But nonetheless, I am finally home.