Subtle Steps in Solitude

• 10 • Ghosts of my childhood

Sometimes, the past feels like a stubborn stain—one of those marks you scrub and scrub, but no matter how hard you try, it never quite goes away. It's just there, lurking beneath the surface, reminding you of its presence every time the light catches it. That's how my childhood feels. A stain that refuses to be erased. Every day, I try to mask it with the routines I've built, the façade of control I've mastered. But some days, like today, the past is louder than my thoughts, spilling over the edges of my mind like a cup filled to the brim. My childhood whispers with the echoes of reprimands and expectations, shadowed by the silence of words never spoken.

My mind is being particularly too loud today. The kind of loud that makes silence painful. I felt the need to go out, to drown out the noise in my head with the white noise of city life. Jia's text came just in time: "Ci! I'm at the bar near your building." Her message was like a lifeline, a chance to escape my own mind, if only for a while.

I threw on my jacket and headed out, the cool night air biting at my cheeks, grounding me. The streets were alive with the hum of traffic, the chatter of people, the flickering neon signs casting colored shadows on the pavement. The bar was bustling, a cacophony of laughter, clinking glasses, and muffled music. I spotted Jia at the back, her hand waving, a bright smile that momentarily lifted the weight off my chest.

We ordered our drinks, settling into the familiar rhythm of conversation. There was comfort in Jia's presence, a soft place to land when the world felt too sharp. Our laughter melded with the noise around us, and for a moment, it was enough to drown out the heaviness inside me. We talked about work, office gossip, old memories—anything but the things that really weighed on us. Our words danced around the edges of our real thoughts, afraid to step into the light.

The cocktails tasted sweet and strong, a gentle warmth spreading through my veins, making the room feel softer, the colors brighter. But even as we sipped our second round, the conversation taking on the ease of familiarity, I felt the quiet creeping back in, that gnawing sense of emptiness hiding beneath the surface. I knew Jia sensed it too. She glanced at me, her eyes searching, but she didn't press. She knew better than anyone how I liked to keep my battles private, my wounds hidden.

After an hour, we decided to call it a night, both of us knowing we had work in the morning. As we stepped outside, the cold air hit me again, a sobering reminder of the world waiting for me beyond the bar's doors. We hugged goodbye, Jia's embrace lingering, as if she could hold me together just a little longer.

I was on my way home ready to binge read Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban no matter how many times I've reread all Rowling books in hopes that I'd get lost in the pages getting away from my thoughts, a jumbled mess of work deadlines and half-formed worries about how much coffee I'd consumed that day. That's when I saw him—a cat, small and scraggly, with fur that looked like it had lost a battle with a hedge. It stared at me from across the street with big, curious eyes, as if daring me to do something about her unfortunate situation.