Trauma

Pain taught me how to—

It still feels familiar; the hailing of the tricycle, the fear, the scream that erupted from my lips the moment everything became much clearer.

I always want to cry about the loss, but there are sincerely no tears left to cry. How I slept so peacefully that night was a huge miracle. How I managed to receive calls and even crack jokes the next day is something I can't truly explain.

I hate pity so much, hence, I moved on. I smiled halfheartedly to people who sincerely reached out and consoled me for the loss. I gave an equal smile to people who riled their losses on pictures they were supposed to take and the others who sympathized out of necessity. It's the thoughts that count anyway.

I had never been the same person after that day. I had refused to go out with any device on me again, daring the incident to happen again. I became extremely cautious of tricycles, and will always choose a bus as an alternative. Not that it was a better choice anyway.

But the trauma stayed on. I built a cautious habit gradually; checking the bolt of my door thrice before I go to sleep, wearing a tad more decent outfit before leaving my house, and becoming very wary of strangers who needed help with directions. Genuine or not, I can't risk it.

 Everyone assumes healing is a checkbox you tick after enough time passes. They don’t see the days you wake up and feel like you’re drowning in air, or the nights you sleep with your fists clenched and your heart pacing war.

No one notices the firmer grip you have on your bag whenever you are entering a vehicle. How you flinch at kindness because pain taught you not to trust softness. 

One thing about trauma? No one ever understands. They think they do, but no one fully understands until they experience it first-hand. Everyone expects you to suddenly continue to live life as if you had not just gone three steps backward. 

Trauma isn’t just a memory—it’s an imprint. It’s how your body remembers even when your mind tries to forget.