There is a book that is sitting in front of me. It is turned to a page, a portion stained with tears, covered
with doodles, and littered with a muddled mess of handwritings. The pages before that are not so different. The preceding pages contain sunny entries about love, new life and experiences with the Lord, dreams, hopes, and aspirations as well as dark entries about loneliness, insecurities, hurts, pains, and seasons of molting. Still, though the subjects may vary, the distinct jumble of tears, doodles, and messy handwritings stand out as a noticeable pattern.
I have stared at that page for quite a long time now. Yes, I have gone back to the pages before that page, relieved them and recollected the memories that have given birth to those entries… but as for that page… I have never seemed to get past that one page.
Don’t think that I haven’t tried getting past that page. I’ve tried turning the pages but somehow the wind kept blowing me back to that page. Or else the page would suddenly become stuck, as if it had decided by itself that it was the end of the book.
But I am determined. Right now, as I sit in front of that book, I am determined to turn the page – for good. If I have to burn that page as well as the pages before that – I would. Just so that I could finally move on to the rest of the story.
It’s harder than I imagined. I feel as if turning the page would mean that the past years of my life had been a waste. But I know that that is not the case. I would simply learn from those pages but be careful not to go back to the pattern that was inthose pages.
I take a deep breath, still slightly unprepared to see what the pages after that might contain. I reach out
to the book and turn the page – for good.
I am surprised as I see the new page in front of me being filled up slowly by a more mature handwriting. The handwriting seems pained at first, but it is no longer childish. Though there is a slight mark of tension, it is no longer girlish, but is womanly and becoming.
The doodles are gone. The tears? Some litter them along the way but I am assured that they are tears of a more mature woman. And the handwriting? The handwriting is now more together, as if the person writing has just gotten her life back.
The page has finally been turned. It’s a huge relief, though it is truly painful. But now, the rest of the pages are ahead of me and I am excited to see the contents of the rest of the book. I am happy and at peace. The page has been turned.
Written at: ICS C-117