I couldn’t find sleep that night. I didn’t have a nightmare. I wasn’t anxious about anything. I just couldn’t sleep.
I got up and paced the room in small circles. As I walked I tried to breathe but the air was heavy with humidity and the haunting scent of the special perfume my mother had sprayed on me a few short days ago. I sat down at the beaten-up desk that was missing a drawer, where I had labored many long hours over my Pre-Calc homework. I took in another deep breath as the wooshing sounds of an airplane overhead stole all the air I had been fighting to take in.
I shuffled over to the window and stared out of the grimy glass onto the street where my neighbors sat drinking and gambling. Their laughter and flushed faces made me think of Saturday evenings with my friends sitting around the kitchen table, drinking local Filipino coffee, and slapping each other’s fingers off while playing Dutch Blitz. Another labored breath and I was on the move agian.
I snuggled into a cozy corner between my closet and bed. I had hidden in that corner four hours ago after a visit from my best friends. “So crazy to think this room will be all packed up in a month, right?” When they left, I fled to my little nook, suddenly hit with the weight of my losses. No more spontaneous visits and seeing their beautiful faces. Not for a long time.
My legs began to cramp and as I shifted position, my toes brushed the suitcase under my bed. An empty suitcase now but soon would be filled with my soccer jerseys and sacred journals. One month. That was it. One month and I would be on a plane heading for college in faraway America, leaving everything I loved behind. I should just stay in this corner for the whole month, I thought. Maybe staying here and pulling away from all the memories would make it hurt less. It definitely would. Just skip the hiking trip and the birthday party and the late game nights and the moments of full body laughter. Would I not be better off missing out on those moments?
Gosh, it’s hot in here. I jumped out of the corner, wobbling for a moment as the raw wound on my knee opened and stung from the sudden movement. At a pickup soccer game the day before, I had gone into a tackle without any hesitation and scraped the ground in the process. I had been very proud to show it off to my also soccer-player brother. We always loved to compete over who had the best bruises and scars.
Once steady, I charged straight for the window. After struggling with the rusty latch, the window swung open and a misty cool breeze blew clarity on my face. No, I decided. The pain would be worth it. Hiding away was not an option. I had to be open. Be captured by each precious moment. Embrace the wounds for what they mean, that I didn’t hesitate or pull away.
With the steady flow of air from the window cooling the whole room, I climbed back into bed and fell asleep.
Mika Stone grew up in the Philippines as a missionary kid. She graduated in 2024 with a degree in Writing and Editing from Sterling College in Kansas. She loves the art of storytelling and all the ways people express themselves. All forms of writing have been her outlet to tell her favorite stories. In her free time, you can find Mika playing soccer, hanging out with her friends, or reading a book. She is the editor of Among Worlds.
