Lost and Found

One thing I noticed after I lost my husband is that I don’t like to be in the spotlight. Me. The girl who only months before sang in functions with her band. The girl who wore pink curly wig onstage and was a dancing cotton candy in a musical. The girl who went out for meals & drinks with different sets of friends on weekends. The girl who did everything and was more than just a wife and a mom. The girl that some other girls envied because I had everything they wanted including a job that did not require me to go to the office and leave my daughter alone at home.

And then he was gone. The boat tipped over. I did not get to save him but I got to save the boat because my kid is onboard. I know people were feeling sorry for us and they rooted for us from the shore. But do I want them to see me struggling with the boat? No. Please turn around and I’ll see you when I see you. If I make it to the shore, that is.

Hence, my disappearance. In the months following the event, I retreated from the world. Mostly the real world because in the virtual one you could pretend that nothing happened.. and the ‘people’ who knew me there didn’t really know me. They only saw representations of me.

The boat did not just tip over. A thunderstorm struck when my mom’s boat started to sink while the captain was caught in a daydream. I was a superwoman. I had to save the world. Except that I couldn’t. I have lost my super power. So what I did was let the sea swallow me. Swirled me in a vortex of sadness, anger, and despair. I was no longer hiding. I was lost.

My sister told me to write. And I did. I wrote in a secret journal. Okay, I admit, two. One that was not so secret because I put up the link somewhere and one that nobody except one other person knew about. I filled one with my happy memories with him. In hope to reconnect myself with my own strength, or what’s left of it. And I filled the other with my regrets. I took pictures. Lots of them. Because that’s what he did, though I still didn’t dare to touch his equipments. I created two alter-egos and with those other personas in social media I tried to gather pieces of myself that were broken.

It is now 1 year and almost four months after. Some of my real self have finally made it to the surface, not yet the shore. Though I still haven’t provided links to my blog here every time I wrote, I don’t make them private. I’m still struggling not to delete what I have written, though. I still take pictures but I don’t hide them behind Instagram filters anymore. I shared them with people who matter and think that I matter, however few they are. I also draw and then, with a little story behind them, share some in thedoodlebear. I’m back to singing, though only for myself (and my daughter) and store the recordings in some popular cloud app *hint-hint*. Though I never really sing the way I sang anymore.. I just sound.. different. But yeah, you see, what I’m saying is it’s a progress. I’m (on my way to) not hiding anymore, though maybe still am a bit lost.

During those months, I remember translating this book by Cecelia Ahern, about being lost and found. Only now it rings true to me.

“Sometimes, people can go missing right before our very eyes. Sometimes, people discover you, even though they’ve been looking at you all the entire time. Sometimes, we lose sight of ourselves when we’re not paying enough attention.
We all get lost once in a while, sometimes by choice, sometimes due to forces beyond our control. When we learn what it is our soul needs to learn, the path presents itself. Sometimes we see the way out but wonder further and deeper despite ourselves; the fear, the anger or the sadness preventing us returning. Sometimes we prefer to be lost and wandering, sometimes it’s easier. Sometimes we find our own way out. But regardless, always, we are found.”
{A Place Called Here ~ Cecelia Ahern}

Well, hello there. You found me. 😀

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