Despite the Darkness, It's Warm

 

A few days ago, I returned to a room where I had stayed for a while, several years ago. A room that held memories of a time I once lived in the shadows. A room that I don't wanna look back on.

So, I opened the door then realized that nothing had changed. The color of the wall, the smell, even the cracks on the ceiling are still the same like the last time I was there. I could even see some Marlboro Ice Burst butts left on the ashtray, lots of them. It's not a fancy room at all. It's dark, humid, dirty, and it smells bad.

But as I glanced around the room, something caught my eye, the walls, they're full of handwritings, bad handwritings. The room was so dark that I had to turn my flashlight on to read what's written on the wall. But when I read those writings on the wall, I smiled a bit. The writings were like a diary but written on the wall. A litany of haphazard handwriting that seemed to tell a story of its own.

The writings got me wondering how those were written, who had written these words, and why? Or what's the meaning of that "fire walk with me"? I was curious what the words were about, but I'll keep it a mystery. I thought, "I don't need to understand everything, I'll just leave it and let the time tell everything later". Some things were better left unsaid, better left to the vagaries of time and memory.

The words are so random but I could see some words and topics I'm familiar with like Robert Smith, Corgan, disappointment, needles, sedation, and confusion.

I looked around again and I pictured myself having moments in that room some time ago. I could even hear The Smashing Pumpkins' "Try, Try, Try" playing in my head. I allowed myself to sink into the moment, to let the memories of that time wash over me like a warm wave.

I don't really care if that room was only a place for me to stay for a night or two. I don't really care if that room could be a "playground" for anyone else. I don't care if my stay was only to keep that room not to be haunted. But to me, that room was a decent stay.

Despite the darkness, it's warm.

What I clearly remember is that I stayed in that room when my life was quite erratic, it was an estuary of feelings. I found it when I needed a shelter. I had such a nice time staying there, though in the later time I had to go and close the door from the outside.

Done reminiscing everything, I walked towards the door and got out of that room, feeling the weight of nostalgia heavy on my heart. On closing the door, I thought, "The past isn't that bad at all". The past, I realized, wasn't something to be feared or avoided. It was a part of who I was, and it had shaped me in ways I couldn't even begin to fathom.

 

A prose by Evander Abraham,

May 14, 2023