A Sponge
Throughout the years, I’ve always thought I was more sensitive than other people. From feeling the room’s aura to the deepest, unheard pain of others. It came to the point that I became a sponge, couldn’t even control my own emotions, and was just all over the place. I used to question why I was this way. Giving so much energy to other people yet never getting the same energy from them. It’s not that I’m not happy giving a part of me to them; don’t get me wrong. But sometimes, we all need something in return, even if it’s just a little appreciation. I was not able to control my own feelings, and I got confused about whether I was happy or just having some different kind of anxiety.
As usual, writing is my only escape. Writing is like a best friend that I can never drop, leave, or betray. It is like oxygen for my lungs. But not all the time I was able to express my feelings. Not all the time, I have my pen and journal with me. I tried to distract myself from the chaos of this world by making scenes in my mind that I knew wouldn’t even happen because they were just all in my mind. I like to isolate myself because I think I am the only one on this planet who can always understand my own feelings. That no external force can penetrate the capsule of my soul and heart. I built my walls so high that I could peek through from my side, but no one could even see the other side where I was standing. Isolation may be a defense mechanism. Maybe to run away from the world? I don’t know, but the older I get, the more I understand my heart. I tried to restrain myself from opening up to people, so they couldn’t see the light from my heart and see me transparently. I like my own company, but the irony is that I still crave to see and talk with other people, even if most of the time I become a sponge and just absorb all their feelings and pain. I still want to feel them.
From time to time, I pick myself up and stop questioning the world, even if sometimes I wish an asteroid would just wipe out the world. I tell myself that my feelings are valid and I don’t need to understand every little flicker in my brain. I tried my best to be rational in every situation I encountered. I try to remove myself from my own shoes and see the world from a different perspective. Maybe I’m still learning. Maybe 28 is still young. Maybe I’m just a kid wandering around, figuring out what could happen with every little decision I make. Maybe I don’t need to isolate myself to control my own feelings. Maybe people can also be sponges for my story and the things I want to tell the world. Maybe I don’t need to be strong and independent. Maybe, just maybe, I need to be a little vulnerable for others to see my soul. Maybe I don’t need to be.
