"The Ghost"

My life seems to be a happy one overall. But when you dig deep, deep enough to go back in years, there sits a joyful girl with passions.

Whose life is about to change . . .

It was late at night in the cottage and the three of us were watching a horror movie. I was hugging my pillow, thinking that if I held it tight enough, I could avoid the dreadful feeling. We were holding our breaths, waiting for that inevitable moment, because you never know when it will happen. That moment where everything and everyone is silent; but there it comes;

BOOM.

The loud scream, the sound that rips the silence apart and leaves you in a mix of emotions, frightened, shocked, with adrenaline rushing through your veins.

I’m sure all of us have had this feeling at some point. That fearful feeling after the movie ends, and you sense the creature from the movie walking behind you, or watching you from above. Deep down you know that translucent something is present as it casts its strong but faint shadow on you. The feeling that appears after every haunting movie. It’s an endless pattern.

There’s a similar pattern to how “The Ghost'' evokes every time.

Except there’s no pattern in its arrival.

It haunts me every time I think about it, the start of something that ended a decade ago, yet I still ask myself the same question:

Why did I let it happen?

All “The Ghost” needs to evoke that feeling is that memory, that trigger. Even a trigger as small as a drop of tear would be big enough to open the gigantic magic gates of the time machine and pull you inward. As if it is possessing your soul. You flounder helplessly to pull yourself out from the vast sea of nothingness. But there’s not much you can do. The more you try, the deeper you sink down into the emotions and the memories. Those that have been sedimented in the bottom of that vast ocean and now with their magnetic power are pulling you down.

Deep Down,

Many years ago,

Nearly a decade;

The night that it all started.

I can’t even recall how old I was, at least young enough to not understand what was happening. My face was blank with astonishment, so was my mind. That flagrant offer. But I didn’t say anything. I chose to stay silent. I chose to cremate every moment of it, put the ashes in a box, throw it on the other side of the gate, and lock it. I promised myself not to speak of it with anyone ever. But I kept asking myself the same question:

Why did I let it happen?

It may have ended for him right there; I’ll never know, but for me it never did. In fact it started again every time “The Ghost” evoke.

“The Ghost” is invisible, it doesn’t gradually appear to diffuse shades of dark thoughts

into my life. There’s no sign to warn me of its arrival. I realized “The Ghost” found the way out from the past to my present. It has the key to the gate, and it just walks in with no warning. Everytime “The Ghost” awakens, it brings the debris of the ashes in the box and scatters them all over the room, casting a looming shadow over my head. “The Ghost” may be invisible, but its shadow is dark enough to engulf you and fill your mind with emptiness. It forces you into the time machine, and images cross your eyes like comets. In a spilt of a second, they make you feel every detail of those moments.

Seeing his face, shaking his hands at family gatherings and saying a few words. Those few words that make me want to scream out the silence in my chest. Tell everyone about the pain I am carrying. Like a heavy suitcase full of antiques.

But I don’t say anything, I let it pass. I wonder: is he thinking about it too? Or has he just forgotten how he fractured a part of me and walked out? The impaired part of my life.

But it’s too late to stop thinking about it now, the shadow of memories has started creeping under my skin, injecting hatred in my veins, pumping it through my heart and sending it to my brain. Where then I start processing the hatred, all the feelings, and memories. I start feeling like my intestines are twisting in my stomach. My whole body is a hurricane. Swirling around, swallowing all the emotions. The clouds of my eyes start raining. But I am too afraid to cry, too scared to tell anyone. So I smile as always and sweep it all in with the dustpan of your mind. But the question keeps repeating in your mind:

Why did I let this happen?

Until about a year ago, “The Ghost” flooded me with a sea of emotions.

Roaring waves of thoughts invaded my mind like a storm. I remembered him asking me to go upstairs with him, I didn’t want to, but I did. The emotions started to overflow, and at that moment I knew what I needed to do, there was nothing else to be afraid of. Nothing else mattered

I walked into the living room with the intention to open my mouth and talk it out. I was trying so hard to keep the tears from falling. I had kept this pain to myself for 10 years and I couldn’t believe I was about to tell my parents. I didn’t know what to expect but I knew I was tired, tired of blaming myself, a kid who knew nothing. So this time, instead of keeping my breath in to avoid the fear, I let it out, I let it out and felt better.

I LET THE WORDS OUT . . .

And there, I had said it.

The words that I kept in for a decade, just because I was afraid of the aftermath. But it didn’t matter anymore. I recited the words out loud, and I was crying.

Crying because I still felt the pain, crying because I felt free, crying because I let it out, crying because they now knew; and crying because I didn’t know what else to do.

I could see the sadness and sorrow in their eyes, I could see the questions, the incredulity. They too were blaming themselves.

They hugged me tight, and told me there was nothing to be ashamed of and that none of this was my fault. It was then that I realized I had no reason to be scared, just like the imaginary ghost that was following me after the movie. I was relieved, as if someone took that big suitcase of heavy antiques away from me. I felt safe.

Even though I am continents and oceans away from him, the pain still feels close. I may never see him again, and if I do I don’t know how it will go, but this time I won’t choose to stay silent.

The sorrow and memories are like a wound, it is going to heal over time and fade, but the scar, no matter how faint, will always be there.

“The Ghost” might still come and cast the shadow of memories; and yes, it may even make me sad, but it won’t define who I am anymore.

Because he doesn’t define who I am anymore.