The Return to the Room

As I stood in the room after all these years - the same room which had shaken my perspective on life as I had once known it - I was left suffocating on its emptiness.

Pacing the room, stroking the spines of children’s storybooks, examining the desk and its chair I had long outgrown. The warm tones of the orange walls and posters of punctuation, exploding with primary colours. The whiteboard was adorned with childish doodles in greens and blues and reds. Hearts and renditions of emojis. Names scrawled in pencils under the text in the distinctive form of poor handwriting and backwards letters. They were the familiarities from my childhood that I had forgotten. Cushions of all shapes and sizes were tumbled in a corner adorned with books and blankets. The softness of cotton called to me like a beacon from the doorframe and I had the strongest urge to dive into the fabrics like a comforting ocean, safe from the land. 

It was a room full of life - the same one where I found out it could be taken away in impossible circumstances. The most bizarre feeling of a welcoming displacement. The darkness that usually delved deep in my memories was waving to me like an old friend in the form of tiny hands printed on paper and permanently smiling at me through the abstractness of self-portraits. It was a darkness saved exclusively for me as I tried to ground myself. It was shrouded in invisibility to the other ones, those who had not shared the same experiences in life as me. But memories gripped my shaking hands tighter than how children held each other's hands when walking in from the playground; a vice that hadn’t tightened its hold on me quite like this in a long time. The painful stepping stones of the universe had to lead me back to the place where my innocence had been lost - a place I was always meant to return to. 

A primary school classroom should not feel so cold and bleak.

There was an unshakeable feeling of an icy hand around my throat, tracing every inch of my skin with pointed daggers and I waited endlessly for the blow that would never come. History could never repeat itself with such poignant destruction in my imagination. Even the most elaborate stage performance would have each cast member fall flat on their face in despair when comparing themselves to my reality.

If I closed my eyes, just for a second, I could almost see a haze of that day. Flashes of blurry colours tainted by teardrops. Endless echoed sobs and wails of a broken child mourning her broken family. It was curious how my clearest memory was also fuzzy and pixelated.

The uplifting sound of children’s laughter sang from the open windows, more in tune than the birds on the rooftops. Their joy beamed in brighter than the sunlight, so pure I could taste it on my tongue. Beautiful youth with eyes filled with hope that would easily shatter with misunderstanding at their first experience of pain. Real pain. Not the sort that would take you to the medical room with a nasty, bloody scrape; nor the type where you’d be in the hospital for a few days, waiting for a broken arm to heal. Funnily enough, the most earth-shattering pain man can experience doesn’t hurt physically at all but somehow takes the longest to heal. For some, the torturous torment would never end, leaving a void so deep inside, it would follow them like a shadow until they could fill that void through reconciliation - only achievable at the end of life. The loss of a person who could never be replaced and the never-ending ache of grief as you realise they'll never return. Or the tragic truth that you'll never get to make any memories to associate them with other than the news that they'd never come home.

It was in that school, sat innocently at my school desk, that the cruelty of the world became evident as I discovered my own mortality. Death was not exclusive to those who had lived each day to the fullest - for some, it found them before they'd even had the chance. 

Memories hit me harder and faster than the shots in an action movie trailer. A warm and shivering sensation started to flood my body from the tip of my toes to the top of my head. I became submerged in the deepest of emotions, overwhelmed by the flashbacks and the memories and the trauma of that day. Tears and anger and bitterness and loneliness. Walking alone in the playground to avoid the comments and the looks. The girl with the dead little sister, the girl nobody wants to be around. Speechless. Trapped. Alone. Imprisoned. Abandoned. Laughed at. Alone. 

But then, just before my emotions peaked, he walked in. A familiar arm curved itself around my shoulders and another found its way around my waist until my head had found comfort in the scent of his chest. As quickly as I had become overwhelmed, he released the tears trapped up inside me. Just the touch of his hand on my skin drained me of negativity. I felt uneasy but at peace with him beside me. He held me in an infinite embrace, the one I loved, and somehow his presence reignited a candle inside me, one I had considered unlightable, as if his touch had shared his own flames; the forbidding room started to be filled with warmth again. 

Somebody who could see my interactions with the darkness and, despite not seeing each same shadow I did, could see the hints of them enough to understand and protect me.

It was at that moment, in the room of my most painful realisation, that I found the true meaning to my life.

Against all hardships I had suffered in my past and all the battles I had fought with the same demons over and over and over...I had survived. Through my darkest moments, no matter how deep and no matter how endless they seemed, I found a way to the other side. A reason to keep both feet on the grass of the earth and admire the beauty in each individual flower petal, from the unpronounceable breeds to the sweet and simple daisy, reminiscent of the flower crowns I desired to wear as a girl. Hope. And love. 

Once in a position of love, the heart blossoming in the sunbeams that could still be seen on the cloudiest of days, the ugliness of the world became unimportant. What mattered was embracing each new day and the new memories to be painted on a canvas, roughly sketched down in a notebook or captured with cheesy grins to treasure for eternity. Either way, they would be embroidered into the beguiling tapestry of the mind, amongst every other significant moment and milestone. There would always be bad days. But the bad days made the good days feel even better.

Rainbows feel more beautiful when you can see every single shade in its full glory. Ever star in the night sky is more special when shared with someone who shines brighter.

Tiny footprints stumbled into the classroom and tiny arms threw themselves around my knees in both excitement and nerves. The man I loved gave my hand a squeeze and lifted up the little girl those arms belonged to. Sparkling with affection, she gave me a kiss on the cheek - understanding without knowing. 

But now I felt okay.

In the form of my hair and his eyes, I had found the love I needed to keep myself moving forward. Perfection in the purest form. Hope for her future and her future siblings. Hope for me and the happiness the ups and downs of life promised; I had someone who would love me forever no matter the circumstances. To her, I was superwoman! And I would make it my life’s goal to make her see herself as a superwoman too. Hand in hand, we’d help each other through anything, all actions wrapped in affections.

After all, without this room, I would never be where I am today and I wouldn’t be stood with the same people; I wouldn’t change them for the world.

Cradled in embraces from every direction, I had found life meaning in the room I thought it had been lost.