Relationship and Detachment from It
Jane never wanted to get attached because she thought relationships would hurt her. Not that she had been hurt before, she just supposed it would hurt her if she committed into a serious relationship. She witnessed the shaky marriage of Mr. And Mrs. Candeza. In her sleep, she would hear the platters’ shatters chorusing with their angry voices and distant wails. The whole thing was a nightmare. Upon waking up, she would go downstairs to their kitchen to make coffee only to find broken plates and scattered utensils everywhere. It was a continuation of her nightmare. By the way, Mr. And Mrs. Candeza are Jane’s parents.
Jane was never close to her parents. Maybe it was because she didn’t want to get too involved and too hurt whenever her parents quarreled. That’s why she has always been indifferent and uncaring. That’s why she built a thick wall around her. That’s why she was never close to anyone. Yes, anyone, in fact.
It started with her parents. It ended up with her being obsessed with dodging relationships, those with love involved. Or maybe it was a phobia, a fear she couldn’t overcome.
She had been reading many books and watching many movies, all of which told her the same thing: Relationships are transitory. Everyone ends up getting hurt. Nothing lasts forever. Nobody lives happily ever after. They were all in her mind. She read about a guy who cheated on his girlfriend, a girl who betrayed her best friend, a couple going through a nasty divorce, a child beaten up by his drunken father. She watched movies of heartaches and heartbreaks. And the list went on.
She never knew the real quintessence of them all. Maybe it was because she had the habit of closing a book when she reaches the climax. Or leaving the cinema even before the happy ending of the movie. She always focused on the conflicts of every story. The conflicts are realistic, she said. The endings are not.
Because of these books and movies, and the live morbid performance of her parents (which is now instilled in her aching mind like a permanent virus, ready to attack whenever she mistakenly opens those memories), she decided to live all by herself. Alone. In solitude. She would maintain her distance with her colleagues, keeping in mind not to get too close to them. She would have sex with the hottest man in town, saying to herself that it was just for fun. She would stay away from her sadistic father and battered mother. She would as well become a stone if she only could.
You would think that Jane was bitter. Of course she was. She was also pathetic, pessimistic, coward, and all the other negativities you could think of. She was like living in a lopsided world. Her vision of life was like the sands in an hourglass — there is nowhere to go but down. But she didn’t know this. She was just thinking that she would save herself if she kept herself detached.
Until yesterday. It was the last day of her one-month leave from work. One month of meditation. A full thirty days of doing anything she liked. But what did she truly like? Watch the movies? Read her usual books? Play golf? Go shopping? Fly to Vegas? Just sit on her couch and watch the spider make her web on the ceiling? NO. Again, what did she truly like? It was on her mind all the time she was awake and everytime she was dreaming. It was inside her ready to scream the minute she let herself think of it. It was around her, dangling in the air like a warm canopy. CLOSENESS. Visit her parents and ask how they are. Stroll along the avenue with someone she could hold hands with. Call a friend and talk to her for hours. Dine in a warm restaurant with someone special.
Yesterday, she decided to do them all. She is a living person anyway, all with heart and soul in the package. One month of loneliness and she was all brand new. One month of doing nothing but mulling over things. That one month and a whole life of trauma, hurt, escape, and she eventually fixed herself.
Now, today, guess what she is doing. I wouldn’t probably know. But now, today, this is what I’m doing. I’m writing this heavy and burdened piece, all adorned with the struggles of Jane’s life. I’m also writing her biggest realization so far.
That being detached is the most hurtful thing she would ever feel.