an open heart

I suppose it’s a nice thing that I can feel my heart beating wide open. Everything feels tremendously rich, the smallest of occurrences can send my mind into a thought spiral that’s mostly curious, way different from the kinds of anxiety ridden loops I used to experience.

I’m in awe of nature. Of the tree outside my apartment window sprouting new leaves, green with the potential that summer promises. I love to smile so wide my cheeks are so employed right now. Working overtime to let the world know how I am enjoying every moment of my life. Giggling on the subway with my coworker Josh like little kids, he tells me all he wants is to be a big kid and I love that about him.

On the train I see people studying for exams, tending after their children, closing their eyes for a few minutes of reprieve from making a life in this city. Then I think about my mom and dad. How they managed to make me possible.

The other day, I asked dad what his routine was when he got home from work. He told me he’d get out of his work clothes, shower, and maybe find something to eat if he hadn’t already done so on his drive to the house. Then, he’d go to his computer to figure out his work for the next day. My heart smiled. I liked that there was no mention of me or my sister. He said some people would go out with friends after work but usually he wouldn’t. I began to feel a bit sad. I know we’re so different but I live to see my friends after work and the thought that he didn’t get to feel that filled me with immense regret on his behalf.

I can’t imagine living with distrust of people in my heart but I can imagine how surviving war means leaving behind friends you may never be able to help or see again. I can imagine how painful grieving people who are still alive might make you fearful to really connect with new people who might hurt you or betray you and what a waste of time would that be? How pointless. Why start something new that could end or won’t last? How foolish to want love that’s free.

And now I’m speaking to myself. I really don’t feel like I have any other choice. To love is my survival. To care is the only way I know how to keep resisting against despair. To write is my best attempt of finding any understanding in this place.