Tuesday, June 2, 2015

self reclaim

I was packing stuffs for my clearance this month. Then it was an inadvertent moment when I extended my hand to reach a book from piles of books needed to be stacked and put properly--into the box. A book, given by a friend. At a glance, it is just a mere motivational book. But for me, even after countless glance, it contained stories and feeling I would treasure for the rest of my life.

Carving a sincere nostalgic smile, with hand palming the book, my mind rifled to various scenes and episodes I went through here. If I were to chapter and plot it, I would rather not. During this last few weeks, I always contemplate what I have gained here, other than creating social circles, getting serious in self-improvement and emotional maturity? I don't know. One thing I won't cease to forget is to ask myself every morning I woke up (or every morning when it is morning without having a night sleep); how do I feel today? 

Even until this particular second I'm typing this, in silence of the night, accompanied by the gloriously beautiful moon shining bright; I still can't even syllabise. This is, after 4 years. 

I got hurt, I heal myself
I'm shattered into pieces, then I patch it altogether
I'm sliced, I adhere it myself
I'm broken, I fix it
I'm wounded, I prescribed the antiseptic
I'm crushed, I mend it meticulously 

The book on my hand slightly sliding down my palm, and it hit another book. I smiled. 
I still vividly remember and have that fond memories of me reading the book. 

It was the book I made it a catch to draw myself into an elusiveness. 
It was last year, I don't have to mention what was the event. 

All these years, I learnt how to stand by myself. I learnt how to not cling on someone's shoulder to get healed. I learnt how to have my own hope when theres people condescend you down. How destructive and disruptive your day had been, it was you who can eventually reclaim the positive side of yours. No matter how people perceived you to be, it was you who know yourself better than other do. 

My eyes locked at the book. 
My hands glued to the cover. 
My heart attached to memories that flow along with it. 

Again I smiled. 

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