I am getting better at letting
things die. Every alternate month, I take the belongings that I hid above the
cupboard and I stuff them into the trash, hoping that I won’t take them back
before the house cleaners take out the garbage every Tuesday. It’s a ritual I do to remind myself that I have
to let go of things that made me unhappy, to clean up spaces for new people to
have room into my life.
I am getting better at letting
people go. So when I have no messages to attend when I use the bathroom, I go
through my phone, delete old messages or contacts. I refuse to give my mind a
space to linger in the places where memories no longer lives. It’s a ritual I do to remind myself that there will always be new
numbers to add and new messages to flood the notification.
I am getting better at letting
things flow. But every week or so I still pull up a blank blog post, trying to
find the words to these empty feelings and stare at the screen wondering what I
could possibly have left to say about those depressing moments about life. I
remind myself that it’s okay to have let people matter, and that sometimes
those memories just need to collect in the space beneath the cupboards for a
while before I’m ready to dump them into the trash.
I am slowly learning to fall in love
with the clean, blank spaces, so that I could begin again.