My mother used to tell me to never hold grudges against people, to understand the reasons behind their wrongdoings, and to forgive and forget. I never understood why she would say so until I did. I am not certain if I understood it correctly, but I sure have learned to forgive and forget. All thanks to the guy who had the heart to see me cry and not console, all thanks to him, for now, I know how to never hold grudges, for now, I know better than to yell and shout for what was never mine.
I used to look straight into his eyes and see myself in them, my bright, expectant smile and my eyes shining in his. I used to see me in him and feel like that is where I belong for this life and all to come after. To me, I was for no one but him; all my breaths dedicated to be breathed around him, all my moments lived to be shared with him and all my emotions made to be felt for him or in remembrance of him.
I used to see myself as two persons, him being a little more significant than my own being. When we held hands, I felt like holding just a part of me, a part that I could never possibly lose to anything in the world, however powerful. I was in love; I was for love and all about it, never imagining I would have to bleed so badly from where I breathe someday.
I never really paid attention to my mother’s idea of forgiveness, not until I was with him, for him. My world was a happy place where I chirped like a bird around a tree that was him; it had flowers of all colors, flowers that, if ever gone bad, could be watered back to life.
And it had a clear blue sky which, if ever taken over by clouds, could easily be cleared after a minor shower. I never imagined storms and I never imagined dead flowers. Most importantly, I never imagined not having the tree, my tree, to chirp around and come home to.
When the storm came, and after it was gone, my wings broke to their very limbs, and my vision blurred as my head felt struck by lightning. I had never seen storms, you see, and I did not know what they were made for and what feeds their anger. I did not know until I experienced one of the most violent storms myself.
My happy place became a ruin and my eyes stopped shining except from tears. The moment of epiphany, the moment I realized that the world I lived in was not for me, my head bowed down to the floor and there I stared, looking for a new place to bury my ruins under.
All the magical things about love that I knew were washed away by the storm. His clear, loud, and stinging words pinned down all the emotions inside me and made sure they were asphyxiated to death. The change in his gait the moment he stopped loving me surprised me, crushing any leftover hope buried under the rubble of the ruin. I accepted a lot of things in that moment, with eventual difficulty, but I could not accept the statement that came from inside me, announcing that he never loved me. I never accepted it and I still refuse to. He did love me, just not enough to know much I loved him.
The heartbreak and the moving-on, both came with a lot of self-loathing in the beginning. Self-loathing for building a happy place, self-loathing for loving a tree knowing that trees are home to more than one bird.
As time passed, I grew grateful to the storm, to the ruin and to the tree. After a good amount of time, I felt good and that was exactly when I understood what my mother meant when she told me to never hold grudges.
I finally saw the good in the heartbreak, the importance of emotional independence after forced freedom, and I finally knew why it happened: it happened because I deserved better. All of it was destined to happen for me to know that there are men better than the man I loved and there is love truer than the love I was given or spared of. All of it took place to show me that I deserved better.
Now that I look back, I only feel like thanking the guy who left me crying on the floor and did not think it right to console me. I want to thank him for leaving me, for sparing me of his incomplete love and letting me have the world for myself. My mind is a much clearer place now, with no imaginary happy places and no trees to chirp around, my idea of love has evolved and I want to thank him for it.
I am ready for all the storms and I can bear heavy showers only to rise up stronger, I can sort out between love and lust and I can see what is good for me, and I want to thank him for it.
I did understand why holding grudges is not healthy and why forgiving and forgetting helps. Although I will never be able to justify his wrongdoing on his part, yet I know it happened for a million reasons for me.
