ARCHIEVE 19

Thursday, January 08, 2009

Eight Two Eight.
I honestly thought that my memory was stripped of all recollection of a certain period in my life.

Then there it was, staring at me, on my bedroom stairs. Waiting for me open up that chapter in my life again.

I felt like I have been doing good. I don't really thing about anything in that time period, unless it's brought up by someone else. Even then, everything still seems so blurry to me. The smells, the looks, the touch, the feelings of it all. It's as if it all never happened.

And then tonight happened. And when I saw what lied in the items on my stairs, I was slapped. Slapped back into reality. The slap was one hell of a wake up call. It made me realize, I had a history. I had things that I had gone through.

I don't know how it all happened. I don't know how it all ended. But it did, and that chapter of my life has been closed for quite some time. So why, out of all days, times, circumstances, was this brought up now?

Maybe I needed to be reminded. That at one point, feeling was so intense in my life. Passion upon passion. With feeling seemingly absent in my life. Was I suppose to see this, to reassure myself that I can feel again?

I am still kind of shocked. Because as I rummaged through what was there...I almost remembered. Remembered what it was like. Remember how it felt. And I am thankful for that. Even though it was both a tremendous period of my life, it is one of great sorrow. But I never want to forget it. I don't want to be reminded. I want to already know.

I know I say this a thousand times. But I have died so many times. The people I have been. The things I have been through, felt, seen, heard, weathered.

My sister and I were having a heart to heart today. She said if she was lucky, she would turn out half as amazing as I have. To have someone look up to you like that. Means more than anything. To know that someone has seen my journey, recognized my struggles and was ultimately there to pat me on the back in the end.

Anyone who knows me, or has been through even the past four years with me, knows my life hasn't always been cupcakes. My sister asked me how I ended up the way I did. The answer is: I don't know. Maybe a part of myself strives for more than just "getting through" the storm. I would rather triumph.

So I guess this is a blog about the past. I don't know how it slithered up on me again, but it did. And I guess in a way I am thankful. I remember, and that IS great.