Borrowed Sorrow

 

Growing up, I spent most of my time alone. I spent it reading, playing pretend, writing short stories, dancing, and exploring. Of course, I had a crew: a bunch of busybody teenagers exploring the infinite possibilities of our hometown.

When puberty hit, I fell in love with the idea of falling in love, but not the actual relationship part. I mostly read about romance in teen magazines and already felt exhausted by the obligations society threw at girls.

Back in my day, being sad was a trend. I was there when the first emo punk bands debuted on MTV. I was there when Avril swapped her skateboard for a tutu. But personally, I was happy. So, I borrowed sorrow from pop culture instead. I picked up my brother’s beat-up guitar and learned to play the most heart-numbing songs. I was an emo girl. The quiet kind you could only discover by reading my notes or scrolling through my playlist.

I am a middle-aged woman now. What was once a borrowed sorrow has become the story of my life. Those colorful days are behind me. Now, I am mostly black and blue. My words are still dark, and my songs, well, I went from Guns N’ Roses to Taylor Swift. In between, there is The Cranberries and Robbie Williams. Or, if I really need to cry, Korean ballads. These are the little things I love.

I thought I was in a relationship with a man full of Paku dan Peniti. It turns out, I wasn’t. An empty, lost feeling I was never familiar with washes over me. I am sorrow.

Now, I am looking to find myself again. I am handing back his issues (they are not mine!). I am unlearning our time together and trying to be the "happy-sad" girl I used to be.