The sun hung low in the sky, casting shadows long and thin across the park, like fingers reaching out to grasp the fading day. Children laughed, their voices like distant echoes carried by the wind. On the worn-out trampoline, they soared into the air, their small bodies defying gravity momentarily before sinking back down.
Time seemed to slow, each jump suspended in the golden light of late afternoon.
"Some children knew how to hold on to joy."
The swings creaked in rhythmic unison, the rusted chains groaning with every rise and fall.
The world seemed, all of a sudden, to relentlessly drag on so heavily into a solemn exaggerated dance.
The innocence of the chain that the children clung to had faded as it extended into an endless darkness, disappearing into the void.
"Unaware of the ball and chain binding them."
The shadows in the void grew gruesomely, their sharp claws extending and digging into the children's small bodies. They pulled them close, wrapping them in a cold, dark embrace.
But that was long ago. Now, the echoes of those memories feel distant, like a fading dream. I am no longer the child who once flew on swings, blind to the darkness looming just beyond the playground.
I sat here, still and silent, on a worn, faded bench that faces the playground. The children laughed as they took turns sliding down, their joy oblivious to the weight of the world they have yet to discover.
My eyes, once full of life, now mirrored the dullness of the sky, heavy and gray. I watched them, my face devoid of emotion, lifeless and tired, as if the shadows had left their mark on me too.
But it wasn't adulthood that made me like this. I've always been this way. I just ignored those shadows until I couldn't anymore.
I stared blankly ahead, my gaze unfocused and distant. Even the cold breeze that swept through the park had no effect on me. I was so numb, untouched by the world around me.
If you were to ask me about how I was years ago, I'd tell you that small things mattered deeply to me. I found joy in the little details, the fleeting moments that brightened my day.
But now … those same things no longer stir any emotion within me. It was not that I'm grateful–far from it. I still cling to gratitude.
It's as if the one thing that truly mattered to me is forever out of reach, and without it, the rest of the world feels empty.
The one thing that truly mattered to me was … my family.
But I never mattered to them–not in the way I needed. For years, I lived with a quiet hope that someday they'd see me with the same love they had for my brothers. I longed for them to listen when the weight of the world becomes too unbearable, to offer their encouragement and support for my dreams, just as they did for theirs. But that hope was always met with silence, as if my desires were invisible.
Is it really too much to ask to be seen, to be heard by those who should love you the most?
I once came across a quote that said, "Be nice to your parents, it's their first time living". That simple statement broke something inside me. I've always understood that they, too, were navigating life for the first time, and I've been patient, forgiving, and kind, but the truth is, they never saw me–not really.
They took my kindness for granted, expecting me to follow the path they chose, never considering the one I wanted to carve out for myself.
The more I tried to fit their mold, the more I felt myself slipping away, lost in the shadows of their expectations–heavy and oppressive, like a storm cloud that never lifts.
Their hopes for me were chains, tightening with every step I took in the wrong direction, until the weight of it all became unbearable, pressing down on my chest with a dull, aching throb.
It was as if I were drowning in their dreams, gasping for air in a sea where my own desires had no place. Each attempt to break free only buried me deeper, suffocating under the burden of who they wanted me to be.
In that moment, I see a younger version of myself, small and fragile, hiding under the slide with my knees hugged tightly to my chest. I was crying so hard, my heart breaking with every sob.
Scorching tears filled my eyes as I stared at the younger me, wracking with pain. Then, as if time was unraveling before, that desperate, haunted image shifted, showing a slightly older version of myself, no longer wailing in despair but instead crying silently, as if the world had taught me to hold my pain inside. By then, I had already started to get used to that hurt, the sting of it dulling over time until it became almost familiar. The tears still came but in quieter and more controlled, as if I had learned that pain was something to be endured in silence.
Thus, as the years passed, even the crying stopped. I watched as I grew older, sitting on that same playground, staring blankly ahead. The loneliness settled in, thicker and more suffocating with each passing year, while the life within me seemed to drain away, replaced by a dark force that filled every empty space inside me. I had become desensitized to the hurt, numb to the ache that once tore through me.
It was as if a shadow had taken root, growing larger and heavier until it became too much to bear.
The pain in my chest swelled, raw and unbearable, and I found myself lifting my feet up, curling into the same posture as that child beneath the slide. I let the tears flow, tracing silent paths down my cheeks like rivers cutting through stone, carving out the silence within me.
Slowly, my awareness returned as I noticed the sun make its final descent, the light slipping into the embrace of the twilight. I wiped my tears with the sleeves of my jacket, taking a deep breath in and out, trying to pacify the rumbling storm inside me.
Once I felt a bit steadier, I put my feet back down and looked at the trees standing tall before me. "Do I matter?" I whispered into the quiet, my voice barely audible over the rustling leaves.
Just then, a soft breeze swept through, caressing my skin like a tender embrace from nature itself. The gentle touch felt almost like acknowledgement, as if nature was listening, offering comfort in a way no one else ever had. Tears welled up again, but this time they brimmed from something different–an unexpected sense of being seen, of being loved in a quite mystical way.
"Should I chase my dreams," I asked the trees, my voice trembling, "even if it means my family might not just be disappointed in me but could abandon me, disown me, or even do worse?"
For a moment, everything was still, the air holding its breath as if absorbing and weighing the question. The silence lingered deep and unsettling.
I felt my heart sink at the thought of being forced to abandon my dream–a dream that I had poured my very soul into, night after sleepless night. It was the very dream that drove me to push harder when my family tried to make me give it up, believing it wasn't something I should pursue or if I still wanted, wouldn't be on my own.
Their doubts only fueled my determination to succeed. I pushed harder, even when it meant I couldn't always be there for my friends. I did my best to reach out: to call or message whenever I found a spare moment, even in the midst of my busiest days.
But the insidious poison of stress of it all seeped into my veins, gnawing at my very essence, and weighed on me. Slowly, it devoured my strength, leaving me in its wake of sickness and turmoil. I became a hollow vessel, drained by the ceaseless grind of striving for something extraordinary.
I didn't want nature to tell me that I had made the wrong decision in choosing my dream over a family that never noticed or cared about the countless hours I poured into studying and the tireless work on projects.
My vision blurred, tears clouding my sight like a heavy fog rolling in. My head felt as though it were encased in an iron vise, a relentless drill drilling deep into my skull, each throb a relentless hammer striking against my temples.
I was always a petty annoyance to them, a trivial inconvenience, brushed aside.
I wiped my tears and nose, but a relentless onslaught of sorrow surged forth, my vision blurring as the tears cascaded down my cheeks like rivulets in a storm. It felt as if my emotions were in a fierce competition, each tear vying to be the first to fall, forcing me to tilt my face skyward as if hoping the heavens could offer solace.
I fanned my face with my hands, attempting to stem the tide of my despair, but the tears continued their assault.
What began as a heavy fog of misery and depression had slowly coalesced into a storm of righteous fury, like a tempest crashing against the walls of my heart, fueled by the unfairness of my plight.
The weight of my despair had been a heartless pressure, squeezing the breath from my lungs and dulling my senses with its oppressive embrace.
As the sorrow deepened, it transformed, igniting a fiery anger that burned through the gloom. The ache of it all was palpable, a sharp sting that gnawed at my insides, a reminder of the injustice and neglect I faced.
The anger inside me sizzled, a molten force coursing up from the depths of my soul, refusing to be contained. It was as if all the misery and all the years of depression and heartache had finally transformed into something fierce–something that could no longer be ignored. I had been hurt enough–misunderstood, unheard, and abandoned.
But now, that pain had morphed into a fire that burned with the intensity of a thousand suns.
I stood up, the determination in my heart as solid as iron. I could see the younger versions of myself, each one a ghost of the pain I'd endured. Their eyes reflected the same hurt and despair that had haunted me for so long, but I couldn't bear to carry that prickling weight any longer.
I clenched my fists, my resolve hardening. I had reached an important turning point in my life, and I wouldn't let them take it away from me–not this time. Every opportunity they had crushed and every dream they had dismissed only fueled my resolve.
I was meant to rise, shine, and accomplish something great.
And … I would do it, even if it meant disappointing them.
I would no longer care, because this time, it was my turn to decide how I would live my life.
I waved at the younger versions of myself with a determined smile on my lips. I would not live with that look of despair any longer. I deserved to smile, to laugh, and to be happy.
Breathing in deeply, I calmed myself, wiping the tears from my eyes with a newfound resolve.
As I walked back home, I felt the stares of a few curious onlookers, their eyes probing and questioning, but that did not make me falter.
My determination was a shield, protecting me from their judgment.
This time: it was about me–my dreams and my life.
And I would not be deterred.