When I was six years old, I got lost at the department store of Mega Mall. I don’t remember the exact details of what happened, but I remember the reason why I spun around and headed to a different direction—I got distracted.
After an hour of being lost, my mother found me at the Barbie section. I was staring at the glossy pink Barbie mansion when she grabbed my hand and said, “Anak, kanina pa kita hinahanap.”
I actually did not know that I was gone for a while, until I saw mother’s eyes filled with tears. She told me: “Next time anak, you ask help.”
At 21 years old, I find myself at the exact situation. But in this time I’m not staring at Barbie dolls or neon pink signs, I’m staring at my life.
I never realized there was something wrong with me because I got distracted. But that’s the thing about distraction; you never see what’s going on, until something hits you right in the gut.
And that’s when you feel the pain slowly sinking in. But the good thing about pain is that it allows us to grieve in the most drastic and unconventional way.
I need help.
And so do you.