Finding Her

“Where are you going?!”, I scream in agony. I don't understand where she could possibly be going at this moment; it is very dark. I’ve told her many times that if she dares walk out that door there is no turning back, but this time she didn’t hear my cries or contemplate the fear in my voice. She chose to flee; I was so used to her freezing, fighting, or fawning. She chose that wretched path of gloom, shadows, ghosts, and cold greetings. I promised that I would not follow her down that path; I just won’t do it; I know better! I was taught that roads diverge and the one less traveled dries up like a raisin. Dried up roads turn to dust and fill your lungs with false hope. There is no bliss in watering old roots. Remaining in ignorance is what I’m supposed to do; I must obey the ways of my people. I won’t even look in that direction because there can’t possibly be any hope in places that no one has ever conquered. Sure, I felt the déjà vu; my elders have been here before too, but why break tradition?

Her silence bewildered me. I expected our usual debate that eventually gives in to my desires. Now I sit here considering the ways of the rebels; promises are meant to be broken, right? I know I promised myself I wouldn’t follow her, but maybe I should run after her and try to stop her from heading deeper into that abyss. I could leave a trail of crumbs along the way like Hansel and Gretel so I can find my way back. Perhaps a trail of “happy thoughts” because like a lamp at my feet they can illuminate the darkness. I can tie the longest rope around my waist and anchor it to a safe place in case I fall into that which they call “rock bottom”. I wonder if bliss is strong enough to hold the dead weight of ignorance. I’m sure the road less traveled can show me better than it can tell me.

“Hey, can you hear me? Can you see me?!”, I shout. As it echoes back to me, I realize that I’ve never asked her these questions before. She’s so far gone that I can barely see her light shine, but still I follow. I need her back; she is the axis on which I rotate. The further I go the darker it gets, but she is worth it. She is mine and if I don’t save her who will? She doesn’t know what dangers lurk in this abyss. It feels like I’ve been running down this forsaken road for hours now. It seems that my ancestors were right, no light in sight. All I’ve found is the fears I’ve locked away; the trauma I’ve wrapped in resilience; the truths I didn’t want to see through those rose-colored glasses. Why would she choose to walk through this landfill? How desperate she must be! What could possibly be at the end of this cursed road? Should I turn back now while I still have a chance? I can try to live without her, but that future is as uncertain as the road I’m on now.

“Is that you?!”, I shout in overwhelming hope at the sight of a glimmer in the distance. I think found her! It must be her because I’ve only seen light shine like that when she’s present. It’s a light that refuses to wither; a light that knows its purpose in life. That little light of mine. As I sprint towards her the wind caresses my face as if to remind me of what self-love feels like. As I catch my breath, I can smell victory. It smells like fields of fresh flowers, like growth. I’m here now. I found her; I found me.

I found myself in a tangent; in a part of life that broke away and became a world of its own. Who would have known that I would be so far off; down that dark narrow road, with steep hills of landfills, through a valley of deserted hope, all the way in the distance, past that raging storm of sorrow?! That little speck of light, barely shining, but holding on to the hope that I would one day follow it down the road less traveled. That road no one ever ventured, where hope is not meant to be found, where we bury our traumas and pain; so far away from this place we think is resilience. The grass is indeed greener on the other side when we take off our rose-colored glasses, follow that little light, face our fears, and run like hell after the truest version of ourselves; the one before life came crashing down. It has been a heavy cross to bear. How different my family tree would be if the roots had been watered with bravery and self-reflection and planted in the fertile soil of truth; if someone had dared to face this road and light the way for others. I have learned my way through now. I’ll hold the torch and plant the seeds that will tell the story of hope down the road less traveled.