It wasn’t a dream. I'm at home; I’m sitting on the edge of my bed touching the sheets. They feel cold, like my thoughts going in a loop of confusion and pain. I'm not alone. Alan is here, my mom has called him. If a person used to support me in difficult times, it was him, but now it's different. He knows more about me than anyone else in my life, including me. He is by my side, he feels when I get up, and he asks me how I am. My mind and my heart compete for the best answer ... how am I? What do I feel? The answer on my lips is "better"; my body tells the truth: "I am collapsing before a reality of loss and change".
Before I stand, I look around me. At first sight nothing has changed, everything is in place. My photos, my collection, the furniture, everything in the order I remember leaving it, so why the feeling of being out of place, in my own room, among my belongings and with my supposed best friend?
Two nights ago, I was in another country, in another bed, with other people, and today, here, with people that I don’t know anymore. I need time alone to grieve, weep my pain, my fears and my loneliness. Now what will happen to future plans where my father should be present: my graduation, my wedding, and the birth of my children? My eyes fill with tears, I’m trying to hide behind my hair.
I know he, Alan, has lived through it, he lost his Dad when we were still children, almost teenagers. At that time, worse than the pain was the loss of self, the welcome to a new life. His aunts raised him after his dad's death. When remembering our reality, tears run through my eyes. While I force my whole body to stop, avoid emotions, I discover Alan with his eyes staring at me. He got close, covered me in a hug, whispering "I'm sorry, it doesn’t get easy for a long time, I'm telling you." With those words I collapsed in his arms in an uncontrollable cry. How can someone hold me in their arms and I feel unprotected? I was away, and they were here. If you don’t live it, you do not understand it. I went against everything my parents wanted for me. They did not want to be in United States and I was there. I don’t want to be here, I don’t know how to live this reality; Memories of the last time I saw him come to me, forcing me to remember every detail making it more painful. I lose the sense of time, I close my eyes and I let myself swing with the guilt of the moment, when I open them I realize that my mom is who curls me up and she is talking to me. The words are so loud that I can only see her lips move. I lie on her chest and let her be the mother comforting her daughter. I am so lost in myself that the outside runs in slow motion like a silent film.
