Gia Raquel

Do you ever think sometimes, that the world owes you something? That whatever being or thing you believe in is watching you with a timer, waiting for your suffering to finish. Almost like waiting for brownies to bake, but it’s never quite ready yet. It’s silly to think that at first, but it’s a bit sad too. In recent times, I’ve become obsessed with beginnings. I constantly want to start over because of the accumulation of bad days to weeks to months. Parts of me look for excuses to erase the past just because the weather feels right or I feel especially confident. But what happens when you’re tired of starting over? I seem to be torn with facing my reality for what it is, and pretending my past doesn’t belong to me.

I was up late the other night, listening to the TV from the next room my dad had accidentally left on. I could hear his snoring and the easy breaths from every soul in the house. I couldn’t help but relish in it. As a child who feared the dark, I grew into a person who envied those who naturally lied awake beside the moon. In the night, everything is still, everything feels safe. It’s when the sun comes up, that’s when tragedies happen. Or rather, that’s when they become exposed. How wonderful it must be to sit in a time where nothing is bothered, nor seemingly destroyed. If anything, everything becomes hidden. At least then, you won’t have to see it.

Do you enjoy ignorance? Or maybe I should call it innocence. They seem one in the same quite often. I believe what I’m trying to reach is that I’m constantly looking to rid myself of the past to somehow reinstall that ignorance and innocence within me. It’s a foolish attempt of reconciling with an angry child for mistakes I can never fix. Are you looking for your innocence? Do you believe it’s gone forever after you’ve lost it? I would think so. Then again, I see Holden Caufield as a realist rather than a pessimist. That might reveal some things about me that I’ll probably push away for the time being. But I digress; here lies the main question I wish to address. Do you have a right to your ignorance?

I’d say, yes. I most certainly do. But that doesn’t mean I would.

I understand life to be a string of momentous and underwhelming choices that all have the sole purpose of obtaining an overall happiness and self-peace. We say ignorance is bliss, and yes, it very much is. But at what cost? Of all the things, I would love to once again experience a time where my largest problems didn’t consist of economic or political issues. Maybe that is why I wouldn’t mind temporary amnesia. I could get a rest from my current knowledge and have a chance to rediscover all I know with untainted eyes. But being the opinionated person I am, I know my curiosity would let me leak out into the dreary reality the world seemingly faces today. Ignorance would become boring. For where would happiness manifest into if I could not weigh it against the horrors of the day? Where would I be if I found the nights too loud and rambunctious if I couldn’t see its contrast with brightened skies? I would be bored and lost. With all that I go through know, it is a constant cut-throat competition. But I look unto the lax ignorance that would haunt my dull eyes if I knew little about what I needed to change.

I am here to cause a change. I am here to be happy. But I’m also here to understand. My ignorance and innocence have been burned to ashes long ago; I will dance upon its grave and run my way to wherever I will take myself. The road is wide and harsh against my feet. I know there’s blood in my footprints. But looking down, the road is already red. So I push on, I run on.