I wonder. How many percentage of us and our lives are
governed by our choice. I know you are puzzled. the negative-minded crowd, we
are objects of circumstance. The positive-minded will think, we always have a
choice. I agree to the later, but how many percent of those choices actually
within our control?
I mean, we didn’t choose to be born with the way we look. We
didn’t choose our voices. We didn’t know why certain food taste good to us more
than to others. I’m pretty sure we didn’t choose it. What about attraction and
love? Why does our heart jump when we see one person and not the other? Did we
choose our preferences?
“I guess, it kinda chooses you sometimes.” A friend said.
We learned to live with a lot of other people’s choices. The
way we look were passed down by genetic architecture of our parents. Our
“casings” were the consequence of our parents “choices”. On the day we were
born, a lot of things were already chosen for us. Our skin color, our race, our
hair, our religion, our nationality, the city that we will live in, the
siblings that’ll grow up with us, everything were thrusted upon us, and we
never got the chance to choose any of it at all.
After that eventful day, we started to live our lives and
soon enough, they were affected by other people’s choices as well. When we were
really young, how many of us really chose our school, when we can go outside,
sleep, study, eat, what to eat, hairstyle, our socks, or anything big and
small. These things were chosen for us, because we didn’t know how to choose
them yet. Granted, by 3 years old, we have our own taste in socks, and my
sister used to give my parents grievance about her meticulous choice in socks’
length. But still, you know what I mean.
Lately, I’m struck by how many of other people’s choices,
affected my life significantly. I felt sad, angry, and helpless, knowing that I
can’t do anything but to accept it, and find a way to move forward.
The thing is, I have a problem with letting go. It’s very
hard for me to get over anything. I still can’t get over my cat’s death, and
she’s been dead more than a decade ago. It doesn’t hurt me anymore, but to this
day, I don’t want to have another pet. That cat was the last pet I had. Before
her, I had plenty dogs, cats, birds, fishes, and they all died or ran away, but
her death was like, “OK, that’s it, I’m not gonna have any pet ever again.”
Loss, to me, can take many forms. The loss of a friendship,
a relationship, a dream, a possibility, ownership of oneself….. sigh, there are
so many of them, and I’ve been experiencing all of them, roughly at the same
time. It’s pretty upsetting to me that when friendships took a bad turn,
relationships fell apart, or when dreams and possibilities died, I didn’t have
much of a choice to turn it around. I mean what can I do, when other people
involved in it had chosen the opposite of it?
I hate having invested a lot of myself in anything or
anyone, only to be rejected, or, never-minded. You know, you can make time and
be vulnerable with people, or you can groom them, or you put your trust in
them, or made all kinds of plans, only for them to say, “Nah.”
I know I was supposed to walk away elegantly, but I felt
humiliated, insignificant, frustrated, and honestly, crushed.
Believe me, I kicked myself every single day for not being
able to be cool about all of it, but honestly, I never cared if I looked
desperate, angry, or even mentally disturbed. I was hurt, I don’t know how to
act all fake and say, “I’m okay, I’m okay, it’s cool.” When obviously, I was not.
Thankfully, I’m blessed with this stubborn inner-strength, so even though I’m
thoroughly broken, I can still function.
Time has always been the referee, the healer, or I don’t
know, the one that catalyzed everything. I know that. Still, I’m impatient about
it. Why can I just fast forward, to the time when I don’t care anymore, to the
time when all these, are nothing but history.