thirty minutes left. | :: thoughts ::

Sparks of Firecracker
by Suvan Chowdhury

I was able to return to Italy, last May. To say that an addictive excitement rushed into my veins as the plane landed on its airport is an understatement. The lax space and the sunset’s ambiance walked with me to my destination. As I pulled my luggage from the conveyor, I grinned with relief.

I was hoping for the same effect of my prime visit, but I forgot what I learned about ‘hoping for something of the same kind.’ The spring days flew by without sympathy until, slowly, the faces of my fears revealed each of their smile to me. In an expected (because what is not to expect?) turn of events, I found my knees bleeding with sufferings of numbness.

My application for the permit of stay was declined for another time. If Defeat’s gift to me was a welcome kiss with open arms, it won. The officer gave me another date—which, honestly, sounded like another chance to a privilege rather than a right—and it was past my enrollment for the first semester of my junior year. I did not question my faith on my beliefs—on positivism and time—but I spiraled down to a human without acceptance.

I did not enroll for my junior year—the course I loved with all my breaths. I stilled on the ocean that was supposed to move and cause waves. I stood on the edge where the ground was shallow and empty. It was a near-death experience, but I smiled through all of it because I did not need to show it to others. My pride would not take advice or a mellow message of inspiration.

As I went to discover my broken self, the answers mocked me as the hobbies I had grown to love failed me because of my own doing. My writings became dry and filled with cracks as I battled with insecurities, I could only read one book in a month because I felt as if I needed to mourn, and I preferred to rest in my house to count the cracks on the walls. I shaped myself into someone I promised myself not to become—I killed me.

In the break of dawn, I realized I still have time in this fast-paced city. In a gradual rise, I fueled myself with good thoughts and ideas; maybe not alike with before, but better than nothing. I have studied the Italian language as I plan to continue my studies in Italy, I have enrolled in a gym because I want to see an optimum result in my health, I have volunteered to do online writing tasks for a community, I have waited for my permit of stay’s date with success, and I have worn another set of battle gears for the never-ending battle.

My mind does not work the way it used to, but only I can find the solutions to this dilemma. Tomorrow when I wake up (or when I celebrate with it), the year 2017 will hold its gates to me. I will not use the new year as an excuse as to why I did not get better this year, but the reason why I have to stay better. I might have encountered pitfalls, but I will not bring each memory with loneliness and anger; instead, I will grow recognition to have it in me with lightness.

When a friend asked me if I am scared for the looming new year, I answered with a convicted, ‘no.’ I have lived again in the home of fear for several months and it has brought nothing great or new to me. When the dawn rises the next day, I will speak about my failures—the incidents I considered as catastrophes—without tears because, today, I have the strength again.


Thank you for reading this story. If you want to talk about random things with me, do not hesitate to reach me through my “Contact” page. All the best love, my dear.

let me hold your words before you leave;

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