It has come unexpectedly but the time has come. What do you do when you must leave? Are certain you have to leave. But you do not want to leave? I will have to leave, though everyone is telling me to reconsider, asking me if I really know what I’m doing, is this the only way?
How do I turn around and tell me that I do not know. No, I’m not sure of what I’m doing? I’m as scared and worried as they are? I guess I cannot really tell them what is going on in my mind. That I’m thinking what they are thinking.
How can I explain to them that this is something I do not just have to do? This is not just something I need to do. This is me. It was fated that these moments would come. That I would have this Gethsemane garden of my trials. That I would wound the ones I love the most more than they have ever been wounded so that I could bring them untold rewards I could never bring them in any other way?
I want to agree that it is stupid, it is reckless, it is crazy, it something I should not be doing. I so want to agree with them, throw it all over and come back into the fold but I cannot. I’m doing this inspite of myself. I’m leaving because I cannot help it. I have to leave. I never had a choice to begin with.
I have been on many journeys, done some things many people look at me and cannot imagine I was a part of them. But I have never lived a moment, a time, a phase in my life that I looked back on and was ashamed of myself, wished I had not been there, done that, been that Iwaya. I have lived and maybe sometimes to be able to live completely it’s important to know how to die too. To know and accept that death is not something that happens to other people, but learn that I are mortal too. I want to go and learn this. Not with a death wish smile on my lips but with a heart that seeks the badge of courage perhaps. From tonight I must write many things that people my age never think are necessary to write. I must analyze relationships, weigh loves, scale so much I never have had to scale.
When I’m done, the ledger will contain the life of Iwaya upto this date. All my life will be there and the people who have made me Iwaya, are still in the process of making me Iwaya. There are so many stories I have not written, so many moments I have not yet shared, much laughter I have held back from dispensing, too many visits I have not made, too much loving I fumbled in hours of sulks, too much I have wanted to do and I did not do because I believed I had more time, I wanted more skill, I was not ready, I did not want to share, so much. The book will be written but now I grieve at the missing pages wafting in my mind. I can only write down what I’m, what I have done. Who Iwaya is.
This is part of leaving. I have begun sojourns into other lands, other times, other climates. I will be gone a long time and I cannot guarantee I will come back, not even to myself. It’s not the terror that grips me now but the enormity of what I’m doing. A thrill is beginning to course through me, I feel more alive than I have felt in a long time except perhaps when I have been with her. Do I really want to do this? I don’t know. Am I going to do this? Fuck, yeah!