OverFlow: On Letting the Sun Shine on Me
I often think that I’m unhappy—because whenever I have bad days, everything seems to confirm that belief.
OverFlow is what happens when I overthink, overflow, and over-everything. When my feelings have nowhere to go, I write about them. Full disclosure: This is something I wrote on August 24, 2017, way before my husband and I received the good news and got ready to leave Manila. But these days, I’ve been dealing with a depression a bit like my particular 2017 brand of it. I don’t know what to do and where to go. I’ve been feeling lonely and out of touch, and because of the pandemic, I don’t feel safe reaching out to people I know or meeting new people.
I often think that I’m unhappy—because whenever I have bad days, everything seems to confirm that belief.
On bad days, I’m reminded that I’m still here.
I’m where I don’t want to be—waiting for legal documents and processes that will allow me to leave and build a new life in another place where I don’t want to be, either.
I sink into a deep and dark pit of hopelessness when I think of my two main options: a country with a raging drug war and a Marcos apologist for a president, and a country with an impending all-out race war and a Nazi apologist for a president. Should I just cut my losses and learn to swim, buy a boat, and live at sea?
I worry about my aging parents and parents-in-law. Will I be able to take care of them when they need me the most? Will I be able to be there for them despite the uncertainty of my life’s path? Are they proud of how I’ve turned out?
I worry about not having children, and what that means for my family and my husband. Am I selfish for putting myself first? Is it wrong to not want to bring new life into this dying world? Already I am at an age where I will soon not have the option to turn back—but I am steadfast in the notion that although I love children, I do not want any of my own.
I even worry about the friends I will leave behind.
Will they be safe here? Will they have the opportunities and the tools to become what they want to be? Even though I am positive that I will no longer be here when most of my friends get married, have children, receive life-changing promotions, I imagine all of this during the quiet hours after midnight—when I’m trying to not think of milestones I too have yet to reach.
All of these worries, on top of more mundane, domestic ones: Is there enough money for groceries? Is it time to give my dog a bath? Do I need to change the light bulb in the bathroom?
But on good days, as rare as they are, I remember why I’m still here.
I remember to put out my music. I remember to write, not for my job, but for myself.
I remember to cut my hair and to take care of myself a little bit more.
I remember to hug the ones I love a little tighter, a little longer.
I remember to let in a little light in my otherwise shadowy existence.
Sometimes I open a window, breathe in the fresh air, and the frown lines on my face disappear. My husband cracks an offhand joke and I laugh so hard that tears roll down my cheeks. And I remember that this is what happiness feels like.
Bad days may vastly outnumber good days—but if I work on myself hard enough, I’ll eventually be brave enough to let the sun shine on me all the time. I hope.
Photo by Natalia Luchanko on Unsplash
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