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TRIGGERS.

 

I am on a mumble rumble today, with no idea of whether my illegible scribble makes sense. But today, I am concerned about triggers. The little banana peel on the floor that slips you right back onto the dirty ground you were dusting yourself from.

It seems like staring into a dark tunnel, the hollow yet loaded barrel pointed at your face seals the deal on how many seconds you have left. The imaginary fingers pull the trigger, in nanoseconds, the primary surges the bullet down the revolve. Before your ghost floats away, you see your life flashing before your eyes… This is probably one of my worst illusions ever, because no one wants to die. No one wants to die yet they are still alive. And despite how much we wish to wake up from this dream, it has an annoying stench, like that of smoke when you walk through it. It clings on to you and sucks life out of your fragrance, leaving you smelling barbecued. Burnt. Burnt on a wood stake.

 

Triggers.

Untimely maybe, but they always sense the worst time to come lurking. They wait for you to be at your most vulnerable before they strike. A pathetic tactic if you ask me, but it always seems to serve them right. They are like that constant fly that wants to dance around your foot and tickle you no matter how many times you try to swat it. They have no fear and no remorse. A constant reminder that the past is real.

And my trigger today?

I am not entirely sure. But something uncomfortable has been gnawing at my walls, pushing to be freed from within. I guess the physical and spiritual realms were working together because my mum called me on the same. Asked me if I was holding onto anything heavy in my heart. And like that, the demons came out to dance. My late teens and early twenties were full of what an opinionated person would not call mistakes. Opinionated- that I am. So I clearly do not know what to call these moments. Like when I chose to cling onto my bed in fear of how I would be judged if I let my star shine. Instead of being politically involved in school, I chose to lurk in the shadows and peep only when it was convenient for someone else. Or when my previous significant other convinced me that a little intoxication from alcohol was an equivalent to a ticket to hell. Or when I skipped school because I felt my clandestine ideas sky rocketed into a battle on who was right or wrong and made me so self-conscious I forced myself to camouflage. All these moments, I have tried to burn, but once in a while, the ‘What If’ moment sucks me back into the dark pit.

There is always something you are trying to hide from, run away from. You think you have it under control, until something insignificant like the color of your nail polish reminds you of that little imperfection. And at that point you end up questioning your whole existence. It is unfair. I feel it is unfair that we can’t control these little ideas that make us feel lesser than what we actually are. It does not matter what happened or what we could have done better, what matter is that we had a shot at taking a step forward and we took it.

 

The feeling of inadequacy doesn’t just fade away because you wish it to. No, it takes a little bit of you as it makes its way out, and slowly you begin to pick up the clay and mold yourself afresh. In that period, you constantly question if you are good enough, if you are doing it right or if you are on the right track. It is tiresome, frustrating and pure evil. You cannot take a step forward without wondering why you should not take two steps back.

But then, there is room for redemption

 

It’s not until you get that second perspective on your trigger that you start working yourself up with no way down. The trigger can be a snap in your face to bring you out of that hollow battle with self-cultivated demons. That is my favorite trigger. So maybe, this time round, when you feel like the end of the barrel is pointing at your temple. Do not fret, let the bullet do its damage on the former you. Kill any survival room for doubt and anxiety. I no longer let my triggers pull me back into the dark pit, now, they propel me forward into a new person. Anytime I feel the primer propel the bullet forward, I sigh in anticipation and wait to be reborn. When I feel hammer strike the firing pin, I pray that a new cartridge quickly feels the empty slot to cleanse the remaining imperfections in me.

 

I mean, we can’t keep on living in the past, when we have a future, can we?

Happy Sunday