Unfinished List of Curiosity

When we finally meet, there are so many things that I would like for you to tell me.

I would like to start with a question: Where did you gain your maturity?

Was it on the ground with your scrapped knees after you fell off your bike? Perhaps, unfortunately, on your beloved grandfather's deathbed, watching him getting paler every single day. Maybe, in the backseat of your friend's car as you laughed over that shared fun experience during your high school years. Whatever your answer would be, I hope I would respond correctly with either tears of symphaty or happiness.

It would take awhile for me to tell you where I gained mine. But, you would know the place already: my hometown. Specifically in a 4 metres by 5 metres room in the second floor of my childhood home. A silent witness to teenage heartbreaks, friendship breakups, pages of revised thesis, endless storytelling by different authors, endless serving of literal and metaphorical tea, hot niku udon, and sleepovers. A silent witness in which time stands still since back then it felt like we were rushing into adulthood while still carrying the naivity of children. My bedroom felt like a test drive for all of us to see glimpses of adulting woes that eventually found themselves to us without having to summon them. An old relic to time that has gone by. A decade worth of lovely relics that is contained within one bedroom.

Follow up question would be: Where do you go in your head when things get tough?

As a kid who grew up terribly lonely, I only had my own imaginations to entertain myself with. With only a couple of friends in primary school, I had no other choice but to learn how to internalise emotions lest I'd be the subject of further bullying. The recess of my mind was built through the whimsical albeit fragile and isolated thoughts of a six years old Nadilla. She understood the power of fiction more than most. More often than not, her happiness was something that she had to invent inside her mind without any external support. I suppose the loneliness never went away, even until now. Any moments alone, I would spend inside my head building scenarios and worlds and endings that I wish I could witness in real life.

Hence, inside my head oftentimes feels like a rundown hotel filled with various rooms built during different stages of my life. There is a bigger-on-the-inside childhood bedroom made out of crayola-coloured wallpaper, lego bed, and teddy bear bodyugards. A garden maze is right next door, guarding the fragile heart of my preteen years in which the only sounds coming out of it is any early 2000's songs. But, there is a place in which I frequent more than looking at the artifacts of my past lives, my own bedroom. I often debrief myself here; speaking to myself as if I was my own personal therapist (which I probably am) that wasn't there when any of the events were happening.

So, how about you? Where do you go? Can you tell me?

Until the time comes, I will learn how to be patient with what I cannot understand.