I never knew what home is until I built one. Right in front of my parent’s house, not technically built, but I made ‘a home’ out of secondhand recyclable junks and some real good friends. I founded a so-called coffee shop since August last year that now I called ‘a home’.
I worked hard every night and day to bought piece by piece of dream that I’ve always wanted. A place that I could feel like home whenever I feel lost. It’s a real thing when I put my heart and mind into it. It’s not an imaginary when I invest all my energy into it.
And of course, it’s a bit harsh when people talked shit behind it.
But I don’t know until when I have this patience to be responsibly strong for the sake of pleasing everyone, especially you, yes you mom, of course.
Since you were thinking about closing my home just because some strangers told you so, and you’ve only heard what you wanted to hear, I don’t know what to say anymore.
I get it. I’m getting used to it. The struggles. The heart broken when I failed to defend my home. The disappointment when things felt wrong.
“I must not feel tired. I must not give up. This shall pass. I must’ve been stronger than this.”, said myself.
I have all the patience in the world to face the truth that I was born to be here. To hold this together. To stand still even the wind is so harsh I still need to stand on my own feet. In the plain and cracked ground.
Oh, boy have I ever think about run away or blood myself to dry. I did. Million times. When those harsh words coming out from your mouth so lightly and you even forgot about it in the next few hours. Every time, every fucking day. You know, it really hurts like hell. So hurt I can’t even think clearly and then I’ll be in a constant panic that even I can’t stop it for hours. Some might called it depression. For me, that’s a thin line between nightmare and reality.
I feel useless. I feel like I’m not needed anymore. I feel every thing I did are just plain wrong and has no good to everyone I tried to please. It’s hard, I know, I should’ve been grateful to whatever I have, people said. I should not give up easily, they said.
But, is there a chance that I could let this all go? Should I just run and away from all these responsibilities from people that I love while shittin’ me in the face? Isn’t there some masochism in taking enjoyment of what appears to be this painful and tiresome? Do I want this? Is this what I want for the rest of my useless life?
or maybe could I die peacefully without any regret having it all above?
ingénue 