By Cynthia Aralu

I think I’m okay for the most part but earlier I caught myself unconsciously teary eyed when I remembered the words I wrote about a negative experience.

As I’d stared off into the pitch dark night, from my seated position by the window, I couldn’t help but wonder, what possible character had been built by this experience. Was I more closed off as a result of it – more so than usual?

My mind had stumbled and been stuck on three words I had written in the past—“and it hurt”.

There’s no truth like a memory unfettered of an overactive mind; no truer emotion. I had marveled at the tears I’d felt sitting on the brim of my eyes, never falling, but this awareness had been enough to call my mind to its baseline hyperactive state and dry up my tears. 

The strange thing is I did not shed a tear when this negative experience from memory had occurred to me. It had hurt like hell in my chest but I never cried. I couldn’t. It stopped hurting when I didn’t think the experience or emotion important. 

It makes me wonder if I have many unresolved scars within me just like this one. Could it be toppled over, this well-preserved reality I have moulded of me being okay. 

Perhaps it never topples over. This, I hope for. Perhaps this reality only fortifies itself. Always. So that I’m okay. Always. 

There is also the explanation that I had written so well that upon re-reading, my words had struck a nerve and lingered in memory long enough to evoke emotions once my mind stayed still.

However, this is my mind, as usual, attempting to make sense of emotions, of me, just so I can survive.

I think I’m okay for the most part but sometimes, I do wonder.

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