Dearest Mom and Dad,

I forgot when was the last time I wrote a letter for both of you. Was it when I was in grade school? Maybe high school? You know that I can’t trust my memories anymore. Funnily enough, I still do remember your words. Sermons I wanted to get out of my mind. Phrases that scarred me, but taught me how to survive. Words of wisdom you made me remember and recite every morning when I wake up. Stories of the past that you told me every night I can’t sleep and it’s past my bedtime.

I can’t remember when was the last time I said: I love you or I miss you. I only remember myself reciting sentences of “I’m trying,” “I’m sorry,” and “I’m doing this for the both of you.” I remember myself laughing at random things while watching TV. Yes, I do remember that. When we used to eat together at the dining table and talk about politics. I didn’t know much or understand everything, but I was happy hearing you voice out your thoughts. Even though, sometimes it would result to arguments.

I remember Sunday mornings. It was hard for me when I was little. When I didn’t know why. Why am I being forced to wake up early in the morning or why do I have to wear this itchy dress and tie my hair? Why do I have to listen to a man talking about things I can’t comprehend? I asked myself why. But it made me grew closer to Him, my Savior. Him whom I relied upon in the darkest of times. Maybe those things I used to hate, bore fruit to something I now love.

Remember when I would have nightmares? I remember rushing outside of my room with my teddy clutched to my chest. Panic creeping inside of me. All I needed to do was knock. All I needed to do was knock at your bedroom door and relief would wash over me instantly. You would let me sleep beside you. It was my remedy.

But, when did we grew apart? When was the last time I held your hand? When I would sometimes get out of my room and reach out to you. When was the last time I did that? When did the space between us grew larger? Like a crater. Like the mouth of a volcano. Unsettling and waiting for something unknown. Something I can’t understand. Why is it now that I’m older, the list of things I can’t understand grew longer? The anger. Arguments. Little fights. They piled up and became a wall. A fortress. A labyrinth I can’t get out of.

Now I have more questions than I used to. When? How? Why? These questions that installed fear deep inside my bones. They made me afraid to call out your names once more. Remember when I used to cry out loud? How annoying I was? Even if it was just a little fall, I would always try to call out your names. To help me. Save me. But now, silence is more irritating. Making me disgusted by my own skin. Making me cry alone. Afraid to call out for help anymore. I am drowning in this sea of anxiety. This sea of doubts. This sea of questions. I am hanging on this cliff. Waiting for the time it will collapse or the urge to let myself succumb to free falling.

When will I be able to say everything?That at times when I would get the sudden will to jump, I would cling to these memories. These memories that would suddenly pop up in moments I become fragile. Your laugh. Your words. Your hands. Your presence. I remember them vividly. When will I be free? I love you. Please don’t lose hope for me.

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