Because sometimes, going to the village park at 5AM to declutter your life is the best thing to do

Sometimes, everything wrong in the world piles up and you realize you're no longer strong enough to carry the weight you've been trying to bear with all these months.

Sometimes, the most cliché idea pops in your head in the middle of the night, and you laugh at it because 1) it's such a joke and 2) it only happens in poorly-rated chick flicks,

but then you pause and stop laughing, and begin to tell yourself that it's actually something you'd want to do and have to do. Just because.

Sometimes, it's okay to grab your favorite sweater and head out of the house while half of the world's asleep; it's okay to walk to the village park at 5 in the morning, just because you've been looking for some symbolic shit to do, to remind yourself that you'll be fine, and most importantly, that's it's all over now; that there's nothing to be afraid of anymore.

And sometimes, it's okay to let go of everything that reminds you of the traumatic past. Literally, figuratively, whatever.


I've never been a fan of fire.

If you'd ask me, I'd choose water over fire any time.

I wanted to be water.

I wanted stillness, and life, and tranquility.

Fire, on the other hand, scared me.

It reminded me of anger.

Of rage.

Of hate.

But in that moment, fire was what I needed to be.

I've been quiet for too long.

Stagnant, even—I was never the type who could easily express herself.

But it all grew exhausting—pretending you're okay and that you're happy and that you're strong and that you don't need anyone to pick you up anymore, because you're bat shit tired of being let down again.

I knew I needed to be angry. I needed to express my frustration. I needed to admit to myself that it's okay to be sad.

I needed fire. 

And I had to remind myself over and over and over again

that that's completely okay.

And so at 5 in the morning,

while the sky was a sad shade of dark blue and the world was quiet,

I dumped everything on the ground—

every picture, every handwritten letter, every memory,

every broken promise, every lie, every hurtful thing that ever pierced through my heart.

The first 10 minutes was awkward, with me trying to fiddle with a lighter and figuring out

how this will exactly go, but after an attempt or two (or three),

everything was set ablaze.

And as the flames flickered in the darkness, I sat on the ground and watched.

My little corner in the village park, that corner of bitter memories and years of not being enough, illuminated bright enough to remind myself why it still stings, and big enough to crush me and kill me and hurt me. All over again.

It was painful.

But for the first time in a long time, I didn't hate myself for doing this: I cried.

And a voice inside me said,

"Crumble. Break down. Show you're weak. Lick your wounds. It's okay not to be okay."

Smoke quickly filled the air as my little corner of hate, sadness, and anger flared. And slowly, everything died down, peacefully and gracefully, and the next thing I knew, my past turned into ashes.

And just like that, it ended. I was finally, completely, okay.

I stood from where I was sitting, and around me, birds were beginning to sing their anthem.

And the same voice in my head gently whispered,

"Keep your chin up, darling.

The dawn is breaking."