The moment she realised her reality. The moment all her fears and anxieties flooded over her. She could barely breathe, fighting for air.
This isn’t the way she’d planned for things to turn out. This was not the plan. She felt disconnected in a world where connections were everything. Ruin was hers.
She’d be going home exactly as she’d left a decade ago. Nothing to show for herself. Nothing to her name except her name.
Was she an utter failure? Was she a disappointment to her parents? Had she let herself down?
As these insecurities gripped her in a choke hold, she had to fight the reality of her existence. She had to come to terms with living under her parents roof again.
Her story was meant to be different. Not this trajectory that was headed for oblivion. She was supposed to be somebody. Do something special. Change the world.
Her greatest fear was that the toxicity of home would corrode the little bit of hope she had left. Eating at her soul. Ridding her of every dream passion, ambition and hope she had. Leaving her listless, numb, void and despondent. Where one day she’d wake up horrified to see whom she’d become.
Anxiety. Choking, groping, kicking, screaming, drowning.
And then she hated herself. Was she so stuck up that she thought those who had stayed behind were failures? Was she so far removed? Her mother quipping “how do you think millions of us have survived all these years?”
No, she wasn’t better than them. At least she didn’t think she was. But she’d been fortunate to receive a ticket out of hustle and poverty. And what had she done with it?
In spite of all this, she knew this was a move she had to make. In spite of her anxiety.
“Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”