It was an instant trip of convenience.
I cannot remember when was the last time we visited the mall for groceries and to think that this wasn't planned at all weighs the narrative.
If it wasn't for an emergency item to buy at a hardware store, we wouldn't be having the chance to be in the grocery store for the time being.
It was rushed, closed to a cut off for the night. We ran for items that are only needed.
Things had shifted on its own, we’re living almost floating the depths of water.
It was a risk, we’re holding on to the last piece that would keep us afloat and at least breathing.
Father told us we should maintain our standing or else things would go down miserably, it's hard to lose them because of ignorance.
I should be mindful, I was hit by his train and I am guilty, no one has seen anything yet here I am in admission.
He is our breadwinner and all of his sacrifices were played around our security and comfort, this standing was rooted from his dedication and investment to lift us higher than before.
I am naive and I don't regret any sacrifice I made either.
If I would’ve stayed longer on the lane I’m not supposed to walk on or proceed on, I’ll be hella confused along the way, under the breathing grounds, eyes closed with no surface. Things are not going to change under the crossed street turns of “You don't have any choice”.
I’d rather make turns and be in uncertainty that I'm assured of than sacrifice this for “Certainly, certain” path that I'm not sure of if it exists.
I’m not in a sidetrack, it was a leap yet safe and expressed than ever, rather oppressed.
It was a relief, a series of nightmares about the persons I met on that street began to leave me alone, unbothered and sane.
You don't know how much those nights will fuck up your waking life.
I wasn't shy, lazy, fearful, coward, incompetent, uncommunicative and a pleaser but with that path, I was labeled one. I was pushed into one, they refused to accept my assertiveness by projecting their shame.
As if I am forced by someone to fit a shoe that I just found, that wasn't mine, was accused that it was mine, was told to, so I should value it or else, everything is down to ‘elses’ of their condition.
Always on their turn, on their terms.
I should have known that they live on that street, built their haven and settled right in there, residing there permanently and I am just a lost child who stumbled upon their street. I don't have any choice but to go through there until I’ve seen one chance turn to get over that street.
I lost my voice, I lost my will to stand as if it doesn't belong to me, they made me believe, as if my voice is forbidden and is right to be separated.
My heart and my zest are in someone else’s hands, someone’s life. In their term, I don't have any rights or else I’ll be ejected as if I will be non-existent after the deed.
Under their spell, I am a slave, under the authority I can’t claim as true nor prominent.
Is it just me that the series of dreams are a metaphor sign of what I'm going through internally?
I don't dismiss calls, and I know myself better than anyone else though one thing I'm good at is denying and making excuses for something to work out, giving chances to try again, if there is any more change somehow.
My dreams don’t lie despite their indirectness. I learned to be good at comprehensive interpretation and what more, I can't deny when it becomes clear as day, no room for interpretation because it's right there upfront, you just have to consider it.
Sometimes the sign was faced first before the day of dream receipts, I had a feeling and it did not alter how open I am.
Was it because I’m too good in their eyes?
I've been in isolation after giving up what I’ve been sacrificed, ironic isn't it? Card reversed.
It's hard, as if I'm latching onto a single piece of stone out of ground to not fall through instead of holding on to a solid surface ground.
I don't like how I write and narrate today but trust me, if this looked messy to you, then this has nothing for knowing how messier the narrative root was than this delivery.
It was scary, what more if you lose each person, people, and connection you have built along the way, before and during crossing these wrong streets? Holding on to the last piece of chances because I don't have any scarcity for giving one.
I was backtracked again from my past child self, abandoned, day by day her friends no longer knew her the following days, cannot even keep one of them at her side, cannot keep them interested.
I was reminded, upon knowing the items from this store were like me and people from my memory.
I will never look at grocery stores the same way I've seen it before; this is such a nostalgic place.
Posted on @deintywoodtales (dada on tumblr)
Deinty Woodtales © Amanda A.M, 2023