Letting Go

Cue the highly underrated Andre Matos solo effort song of the same title, which may or may not have any relation to the topic of which I will be writing about, on this late Sunday night on my tiny 7-inch laptop while trying to pretend that I don’t have work and responsibilities to attend to the following day. Or not.

Today, I went with my brother to move out all my belongings in the condo unit that I used to stay in during my college days. This is because I will no longer be its tenant, not that I have been consistently ever since I graduated, but this time its use will be dedicated to him. Even before the day started, I already had flashbacks of how there was a point in time where every Sunday evening I would be brought to the condo, so that I could stay there for the night, and wake up the next day to walk myself to school. Looking back, those were such peaceful, carefree days where so many things were simply in order, and everything fell right into place.

Of course, today happened. All those experiences, all those memories I made, in the form of whatever objects that represented each and every one of them were, while returned to my complete possession, ultimately displaced from their own spaces and their own times. Now they’re clumped up in paper bags all around me waiting to be sorted out, like practically everything else in my life.

For me I believe that condo unit and its familiar objects and feelings were the last bastions, of what it meant to be, what it was like to be who I was, before I became who I am.

And just like everything else, it’s gone.

I had another thought. The people I see and meet with on rare occasions, and plenty more on social media, seem to revile the past. It’s presented as if it’s a stupid part of their lives they want to forget about forever.

I feel like I’ve written about this particular topic, or if I haven’t, then I have it all in my head but — I feel the opposite. I hold on to the past as if my life depended on it. I hold onto it because I have terrible memory and am very, very prone to forgetting plenty of things that normal people would have no issues recalling. I get very, and likely irrationally, insecure whenever people talk to me about memories I no longer have, about how I used to be, because it scares me not to know things about myself that others do. What little I do know, I keep.

I hold onto the past I know, because that’s all I’ve got.

But that can’t be true, can it?

I am inclined to believe that that is in fact, not “all I’ve got” in this regard. I will always be more than who I used to be, because every decision in life we make heads towards a certain growth. That certainty, specificity, is what was decided to be the best way to grow — otherwise, why make a decision headed towards it in the first place?

In essence I just want to say that I feel like I’ve really, really been holding myself back and pulling myself down from all the things I could be. Because I’m scared, because I can’t accept losing who I was to the point that I endlessly remain in that time period and glorify everything from it. Because I don’t want to feel insecure for not knowing what I used to do, or who I used to be.

But I think it’s really time I should stop that. Not that I will look with scorn upon the past.

I just have to stop caring about it so goddamn much.

That’s not all. These memory insecurities and other shit I feel, maybe I just have to start accepting the fact that this is the way I am. Maybe there is a reason why my memory of my self is always a blur. Fine, it’s easier to point it out as a flaw to have a deficiency in memory but there has to be a flip side that I can take advantage of.

Now, I’ve come to the conclusion, that maybe this is the way my mind works because I am not meant to be one consistent being, one consistent individual with a very set impression, demeanor, outlook on life, passion, and whatnot. Maybe I can be so much more than I am or believe myself to be, if I myself just stopped trapping myself in some make-believe box of who I think Ramon Roberto T. Nario should be.

I am so lost and scared in life because of things like this. Even when I box myself, I still can’t commit, I still can’t decide, but why? Maybe because I am never satisfied with who I try to box myself to be?

I’m just so tired of feeling this way every day of my life. This can’t go on. I have to start making decisions — not the decisions I feel my boxed self should make, but the decisions that I make as I damn well please. I don’t want this blog post to be just another streak of white heat, a heaping pile of romantic bullshit that never gets fulfilled. But who fucking knows.

I sure do hope that the future version of my self will see this post and laugh at it rather than regret not ever having tried.

It’s high time I let go of my inhibitions and just start loving myself for who I am — and whoever I could be.

~ by rtnario on July 31, 2017.

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