It was 3 am in the morning. Alex was on the phone with his good friend Sienna. Talking.
It had been 4 days he was staying in his parent's house in his hometown. He just came back from an island, a place for him to heal him self, they said.
"Hey Happy Birthday man, how are you feeling now?" asked Sienna checking out on him.
"Better"
Simple question made his brain plays back a particular event that happened last year in fast forward. Her mom was looking at the her son that was laying in a hospital bed in a room she couldn't even enter. Staring blankly to his first born that was as fragile as he was when she held him for the first time. Nothing could make a woman that been forced to watch her son dying in a hospital bed feels better. So she gave everything up to the God she believes in. All the pain, all the fate.
Alex could only see the picture of his mom from a city far away from home. The city that was supposed to make him feels complete and happy. He thought that he had a good life in that place where he earned more that what he could in his hometown.
"Son, your brother just passed away" his dad called him in the middle of the night that made his brain stopped working immediately. He grab his cigarette and started smoking in his balcony. The thick smoke filled Sydney air in the sad November.
How ironic is this, he watched his brother worked his ass off to be a doctor just to see him died in the hospital he was supposed to heal people. It took two packs of cigarettes for him to actually processed the feelings from the loss. His poor brother just left this world, too young and too soon. But even that was not the worst thing happened that night. The worst thing was that he needed to watch everyone else around his brother dying and lost their self a little by little, including himself. He even knew that this time he would need more than time to recover.
"I miss the simple things we did in Bali together, all the cheap foods and coconut water, we didn't need much to feel happy." Sienna voices woke him up from his memory of the tragedy that happened last year. Replaced it with a warm feeling of happiness and freedom in an island he didn't know could give him such feelings after an unbearable loss.
Alex remembered the first time he came to Bali after visited his brother grave in his hometown. Left everything behind to just to run away from all the feelings that made him felt powerless. His job, his friends and the city he used to be proud of, the city where he built his new life for the past five years. The city where he lost of his time did a meaningless job, surrounded himself with a so called 'friends' that only cares about superficial things and made him could't really tell what's real and what's made up anymore. A city full of people who needed something to hope for, and invented their own remarkable make-believe world.
He had never felt more broken than that day. He didn't even know that a human could endure such feeling of brokenness and loss. "Where should I even begin?" He asked himself, wasn't even sure what he was doing in this little island.
Picking up a piece after piece of himself was not an easy job. It was almost impossible thing to do. It was impossible to just made himself unfeeling all the terrible things he felt that time.
The first weeks was the worst. He was mad at himself all the time. For not being able to sleep or even carry on the day. No lovers, no drugs could ever made him feel a little bit better. Healing began to sounds like a stupid jokes inside his head. What a cruel world. What a cruel feelings.
What is healing actually? He asked angrily to himself.
Until ten months later he answered his own question.
Healing is an ugly fucking joke that people needed to do for the rest of their life.
Until they learn to be patience of theirselves. Until they decide to stop running from all the sadness, and all the horrible feelings. Until they can teach themselves to be friend with their own selves, their own grief, their own fears. Until they let themselves to cry.
Until they let themselves to just simply
feel.
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