“Time heals all wounds.”
I’ve heard this phrase a countless times last year, back when I had my heart broken and I was asking friends if there will ever come a time that I’ll be able to finally say I am fine.
“Time heals all wounds.” They would repeat over and over again.
As I threaded through the unknown waters of brokenness and healing, I’ve realized that time doesn’t heal all wounds — it’s what you do with your time.
In the six months of battling the states between being okay and not being okay, I was molded to become someone different from who I was before. I’ve done things I would have not done normally just so I could hurry back up to the level of happiness I once had.
It was surprising that even I could not believe I was capable of such things. I found myself in denial saying, “This is not me. This is not me. I’m not supposed to be like this. I need to go back to who I was before.” But the truth is, this was me. This was really me. This was who I was supposed to be. And the only way to discover me was to lose me.
I’ve climbed mountains and watched the sunset with hands on my heart. I’ve been to beaches and learned surfing and enjoyed snorkeling. I’ve traveled solo in the quest to get back the love I had lost (a win-win deal). I’ve enrolled myself to boxing just so I’d feel alive again. I’ve painted and sketched and bought two more sketchpads. But above all, I’ve decided to commit to myself no matter what — to never leave me, to never give up on me, and to be too large for anything that would potentially disturb my peace.
I used to think that we’ll never be able to forget a person whom we wanted to spend eternity with. That somehow, those little details stored in our brain would find their way in the little cracks we manage to conceal. And they would, but in the long run, they become so irrelevant that whenever those thoughts visit your mind, you learn not to dwell on those anymore.
It’s funny how we can allow ourselves to be so broken and yet be guarded at the same time. This time, I told myself not to awaken love until it so desires, to never settle and wait for God to whisper, “That’s him, that’s really him.”
And as much as I want to spend a lifetime with someone, I can’t help but think how convenient it is to be alone. I’ve become so comfortable doing everything on my own with no worries of offending anyone or considering somebody else’s thoughts or feelings. And then there are days as well that I want warm hugs on a stressful day, someone that I could buy two different flavors of cake so I can taste the other, or someone to just be lazy around with all the while knowing you’ll still be okay after.
I think I’ve moved on too fast that sometimes when I lay on my bed at night, I can’t help but ask myself whether I’m truly, absolutely, definitely okay. I don’t think about him anymore as much as I had before. I don’t flinch nor grimace at the mention of his name or his whereabouts. My heart doesn’t react to old photos, posts, conversations on and off social media anymore. My friend once mentioned that maybe it’s because I have a good support system and that I cried it all out. Love till it hurts, until there’s only love again, they said.
Give it time, they say. But honestly, time heals nothing. Until you decide and commit that you’re going to move on and “unlove” the person, then that’s the only way you’ll be okay.
Time heals nothing, it’s what do with your time. – Ann Chan, GDC 2016