Writing Challenge - Day 3

I have to move on now. It’s terrifying, yet the road ahead calls for me louder than the weight shackling me to the past. Sometimes, I glance back, tracing the outlines of memories, the faces I once knew. The scars, visible and not visible, littered on my skin, reminders of my past. The good memories and the bad cling to me like shadows, entwining in ways I cannot untangle.

Often, the bad outweighs the good, but still, I hesitate to release them. I feel them as if they were right with me. So tangible that I can see them clear as day. Their hands imprinted on my skin. Still, I know I must let go. I know the ones I fear losing are already moving forward while I’m left in the dusty corners of their minds, forgotten.

And therein lies my battle—I’ve always lived in the past. The trauma, the hate, the fear, the pain—they’ve become a part of me, woven into the very fabric of my being. They are so familiar, so ingrained, that letting them go feels like losing a part of myself. It would feel as if I were splitting my soul into two. Letting go of something that makes up my whole being. 

But I’m older now. I can no longer use youth as an excuse to remain shackled by my past. I’ve grown. I’ve matured. I refuse to endure the disrespect just to appease someone else. I refuse to bow my head to those who view me as a lesser being. I will not shrink, not for anyone, not anymore. I won’t be diminished just to comfort another. I refuse to allow myself to be controlled. I refuse to be treated as an object, a plaything, a pet to be discarded once they’re done. No more.

I refuse to hold on to the disrespect I’ve endured just to keep someone who no longer deserves to have me in their life. I have value. I live and breathe. I am a human being, not a toy made to be discarded when I no longer bring someone any use. I refuse to play ignorant.

The me I’ve become—strong, unwavering, unafraid to block out those who aren’t for me, unafraid to say goodbye to the ghosts of people once deemed “important”—she is no longer someone I fear becoming. She is me now. And I love her. To be more frank, I adore her. 

Yes, sometimes the fear creeps in, crawling up my spine and wrapping itself around my neck, paralyzing me as I look back at the good times, at the faces of people I thought I was “losing.” But the truth is—the good memories were because of me. I made them fun and happy. And I would never truly lose myself.

I don’t need to fear the absence of those who’ve left me. I only need to remind myself that we will be okay. As long as I know myself, I will not fear an unhappy life. 

The only way forward is to move on. I know my life is better now. If the old me could see me today, she’d probably laugh at her own foolishness first and then push me to make up for the mistakes she made. But I know she wouldn’t call them mistakes, either. She’d look around at her decisions and look back at me and smile. Then she’d tell me that her youth was not wasted. Her youth was the lesson we needed to learn. The pain and the fun, she would regret none of it. In her defense, they do make for some damn interesting stories. And isn’t that what life is? A journey of collecting stories. 

My past is nothing more than a collection of those stories, stories that led me here today. The people who aren’t in my life anymore? They no longer hold weight in my heart. And that’s okay. Everything is perfect now. It’s hard. It’s trying. But that’s the essence of growth. And growth means I’m still living. 

xoxo, @aurorxisia_

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