I've been standing on the edge of these Blue Mountains, allowing the thin, crisp air to whip across my face. My arms tremble with terror. I am unsure if the salt I taste is derived from the innocent sweat that cascades across my mouth or if it is a fear induced savory flavor used as a mechanism to distract me. My heart flows with a beat matched with that of the cracking waters hundreds of feet underneath the cliff on which I stand.
I want to jump. I have before - when time was kin to the shadows of vagueness. I look around. Others are taking the plunge without hesitation. Aim. Shoot. Fire. They are propelled over the cliff and soon dissipate into the delicate low-lying clouds. Its a freedom my body has forgotten, a chance I am hesitant to take. And yet, I have to jump.
Finally, I muster up enough courage to do it. My feet nervously slide across the pebbled ground, right slightly in front of left. I refuse to look down. It is the jump that is necessary.... and frightening. Now or never. Courage deep inside finds a key to free itself. I am ready. Closer and closer to the edge I step. Closer and closer and...
I jump. I actually jump.
But something went wrong. I open my eyes to see those same clouds in front of me. I am not immersed in the waters below. There is no cool sensation of achievement. My shirt has been snagged. I can't breathe clearly and my arms are too restricted to allow decent air flow. I can just turn my head to see what has gripped me so tightly.
It is my reflection.
I've felt this way for years - unable to take myself to a place of risk, emotional risk, that is. I can vaguely remember times as a child when I would cry, sometimes out of pure bratty rebellion or some spoiled developed tendency. I can even recall temper tantrums, disrespectful outbursts, the deepest, sickest laughs and the most sour feeling of heartbreak. I was a 'well balanced' child who understood that emotion was natural, normal.
Unfortunately, I also remember the day where I made the decision to never cry again. Inspired by a sequence of events concerning my father, I decided it was a foolish expression that was unbecoming of a boy like myself. Not necessarily a sign of weakness, but I equated it to the act of elbowing the table surface at a formal dinner affair. Simply uncouth. It was a strategic decision - for my functionality and survival. But what it also did was set me up for future instability. What I did not expect from this initial suppression was the bandwagon effect it would have on all my other emotions. It was an exodus and I became a hollow shell of a person.
Recently, in the most unlikely of places - a quaint Uptown lounge, I realized the error in my assumption about emotion. In reality, they had never abandoned me. It was I who abandoned them - or so I thought. Sitting between a cigarette vending machine on my immediate right and a large neon light adorned jukebox on my left, I reunited with those old friends. Still foreign to me, I was met first by sadness and depression. They materialized through tears. Tears I could not hide from the afternoon crowd who slipped in for a friday libation. Only seconds behind them was hope. Faultless, simple, quiet and yet powerful. Hope.
Many other emotions (or variations of them) flooded my body quicker than Katrina waters. And I've since become a playground of emotion - a bit of rain while the sun is out.
I don't really know what this means for me developmentally but I am thankful that the hollowness is slowly being filled up. Maybe I can experience true love, the kind that people always talk about. Actually, I know I will. Hope just nudged me in the side.
Intro.
