Was It Always Like This?

I glance back at the path my life has taken, letting out a sigh that echoes the quiet, the fruitless disappointments of my choices, resonating deeply within me. I'm in my 40s, yet here I am, thinking like teenagers do, always on to the next trend. My marriage? It's been peaceful, sure, and I've done my duties, but there's never been real affection. It all seems fabricated love built on status and nothing more. It's the kind of marriage my mom suggested, the kind you enter because it's 'time,' not because you're in love. I wasn't keen, but I went along with it anyway. That became my reality. Just that, nothing more. I never met 'the one,' but somehow, I was okay with it. I lived without making waves, content in my routine. As for my kids, the motherly love you'd expect just...wasn't there. I can't help but feel sorry for them, for my husband, for this family that I'm a part of but can't truly give anything to.

In the usual quietness and emptiness of the house, with the kids at school and my husband at work, I find myself alone, surrounded by nothing but time to think. These moments of solitude often lead me down a path of questioning—have I ever made a choice in my life that was truly mine? Doubts consume my thoughts, more with each passing second. I release a sigh, moving listlessly towards the kitchen, my feet dragging as if reluctant to follow.

As I grasp the knife, its edge catches the light—a sharp contrast to the dull ache in my heart. I can't help but think, "Even a knife fulfills its purpose better than I do. How utterly pathetic." With every precise chop of the onions on the cutting board, a memory flickers to life, brief yet vivid. The sound of chopping fills the room, an echo of my fragmented thoughts.

My thoughts get interrupted when I get a notification sound from my phone. I glance at it without much expectations but my eyes widened when I saw the post. Time seems to be moving slowly, my heart racing making me flustered, my hands covering my mouth in surprise. I gulp down a chock and look at it again. This time, with more intent. To not let my eyes deceive me, I really look at it. A post of someone that was both familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time. 

I hesitate for a moment, my thumb hovering over the screen. The post is from someone I haven't thought about in years, a ghost from my past whose significance remains veiled in shadows. The flood of memories, both sweet and sour, hits me unexpectedly. Do I dare to explore the chapters of my life that this person represents, or should I press on, leaving behind the remnants of a past that might not have a place in my future?

With a deep breath, I make my choice. I tap the screen, drafting a message. Each word feels heavy with significance, a bridge to a past I'd packed away. But as I hit send, I feel a weight lifting. Maybe this is the start of something new, or perhaps a closure I didn't know I needed.

Suddenly, my day doesn't seem so predictable anymore. There's a flutter of excitement in my stomach, a sense of anticipation about the unknown. For the first time in a long while, I'm looking forward to what comes next. And perhaps it'll stay that way a bit longer before disappearing. Just like how quickly it invaded my thoughts filled with excitement it'll also return that quickly with dull thoughts like, "how much time until he and the kids come?"...etc.