How do you know when it is time to move on? How do you know when you have done all that you can and nothing you do from now will change anything?
Someone whom you used to think you couldn’t live without, their grave looks just like any another now. Maybe the memory of their face is beginning to fade like the plastic wreaths scorched by the sun, swaying in the wind. A tombstone, cold and hardened. You heart can relate. They are not coming back, are they? The nights are shorter though.
A sibling who has drained the family of bread and tears. Family bonds are only as strong as the fallible state of being human let’s them be. Minds willing. Body’s weary. The words have lost their warmth, grew cold, the anger’s gone blunt. The words, they are tired now, they even fail to make it to the lips. The concern has left your eyes. She walks out the door, skirt too short, hell bent on a night too long. Now you don’t even turn to look anymore. He comes back eyes blood shot, knees weak, schoolbag slung on one shoulder and a chip on the other. Exam marks scarce, attitude in full attendance. The years come and go. He seems to have stayed behind. Willingly, seemingly. You ask yourself, till when?
She loved him for so long, she forgot when exactly when it started. But, it has been too long. Her love for him is still strong and beautiful, like a precious vase adorned with dust. She knew she deserved better. Better words. Better touch. Heart held by an unclenched fist. Love conquers all, they had said. ‘Suppose it is true. Old King Pyrrhus won a battle and got most of his soldiers killed. Indeed, love conquers all, but at what cost? You? “I love you, but…” is this a victory or a loss.
Most days, he sleepwalks to work. A cluttered desk. A cup with sticky old coffee. A computer screen punishing the eyes with spreadsheets, graphs, powerpoints and bullshit. Colleagues chattering behind his bleeding back. Meeting. He stares. The marketing manager’s teeth. Yellow. Crooked. Lies. The aircon hates him back. Back to staring. Nod a greeting and fane a smile. Wait till 5. Good thing it’s Friday. Or is it Tuesday. In a blink, he’s home. A 45 minute drive done. Not a single minute can be accounted for. Autopilot. When does it stop, he asks himself.
habituation |həˌbi ch oōˈā sh ən|
the action of habituating or the condition of being habituated.
• Psychology the diminishing of a physiological or emotional response to a frequently repeated stimulus.
An optometrist once told me “the human body can adapt to many things, even to its own detriment.” We get used to things, circumstances and emotions. Then things, circumstances and emotions make decisions on our behalf. Soon, things, circumstances and emotions then start becoming us.