Melancholia

The rain outside my bunk right now's surprisingly heavy. Dozed off half-naked while sitting on my bed under the drowsy heat of the early afternoon, only to wake up to flashes of lightning I could already sense with my eyes still closed, and loud, loud claps of thunder which eventually jolted me awake.

There's definitely melancholia to be found when you're in a wide, half-vacant army bunk, still a little dazed from your nap earlier, feeling the lucky few raindrops that somehow flew right through the window into the room pat against your skin, and hearing the drizzle outside. And it's this melancholia which compelled me to spontaneously open the Blogger app on my phone. "Whip up an entry with whatever words are still left in your head," Melancholia told me.

I don't mean to sound poetic at all. In fact, with all this tiredness inside me, I don't think I'll even have the strength needed for the conscious effort that goes behind the poetry. Just rambling here, and yeah, I guess I have a lot to ramble about.

I'm always cleaning up after making a mess out of myself. And this year, I've been doing it countless of times. Not that it's not a good thing, though. We would all definitely appreciate a 'moving on' phase to round up every personal catastrophe faced, but it doesn't come easy. Effort needs to be spent in order to get over something. And when that spent effort accumulates catastrophe after catastrophe, it just leaves one drained, tired. Spent. Not long ago I realised that I reached this state of tiredness, that my struggles have once again caught up to me, and I regretfully drowned in them. All those thoughts that invaded my head, they wielded their weapons as sentences strung out of the ugliest, most cutting words, and I couldn't help but feel powerless against them.

I know this definitely isn't going to end as a hopeful story of absolute victory over the self-destructive parts of me which I absolutely hate. But I will always believe that with this immense tiredness comes the much-needed rest; the precious awakening. The kind where you find yourself on the beach in a peaceful morning all of a sudden, not quite able to remember last night's massive storm. Because somewhere along the way, the light enters, even if it comes in little, nothing bursts. Bit by bit, they break open the empty shell, and I'm always reminded of His promises once again.

I guess it's not necessarily about positivity, but rather of melancholia – the slow realization that although struggles are necessary, they don't have to become my identity. It's not going to end anytime soon, as change doesn't occur overnight. I'll still be feeling what I felt in the near future. But with that, I'll also be reminded that whatever isn't in line with God's vision for us will not be here to stay.