Escaping Breath

Chapter 01

Hiraeth : (n.) a homesickness for a home which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past

When I was ten, I used to wake up in the middle of the night not knowing if I was supposed to breathe. I remember feeling afraid. Would taking a breath lead me to my demise or would it grant an unknown relief? I'd sit there, body halfway covered in my sheets, allowing myself to take small breaths, seeing, checking if my body could handle it. I'm not too sure how I was able to hold my breath for so long, it didn't feel like I was lacking oxygen or like every organ in my body was gasping for air, I just felt confused, like I was given the option to breathe or to not breathe. 

And I did. 

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Today marks my 18th birthday. Mom sent me a text message commemorating how blessed she is to have had me, proclaiming her love for me, and how she wishes she were here. A part of me wishes the same, but then I remember her choices are the reasons why she's not, so I push that thought away. I reply a quick thank you and turn the situation into me celebrating her, for being such a great mother, for always being there for me when in reality she hasn't. Like usual I get her typical love emojis, a purple heart, a kiss face, and two heart eyes. I reply with two red hearts and leave the conversation at that. I know later a notification will inform me of her lengthy Facebook post, again, her showing the world just how great of a mother she is and how like in the baby photo she'll post aside her message, she is still here for me. Always here for me. 

I've never been one for celebrations, especially not on my birthday. For some reason, it brings this unknown sadness in me. It's like a part of me doesn't want to be celebrated, but at the same time, a part of me does want to be noticed. But like every other year, today will be a normal day. 

Stopping the self-pity, I can't let that get to my head, I get dressed for school. Getting ready has never been much work for me. Most of my friends complain about how they don't have enough time during their morning, but for me, it's the complete opposite. We do attend a high school that requires traditional uniforms, black skirts, white polo shirts, and a red and black tie for the females and khaki pants, white polo shirts and a black and red tie for the males. Because of the uniforms, at least twenty minutes is cut out of my time. I'm also not one to wear makeup so I'm going to assume that's another thirty minutes of my time saved. As far as my hair is concerned, my nightly braided hair either goes loose or into a half up bun so that's another twenty off my routine. 

In honor of my very normal day, I will be doing just that, wearing my dark, brown hair in a half up hair bun and very normal uniform with my ankle socks and worn out converse. 

Jayce, my best friend and boyfriend, is the first to greet me upon my arrival at school. He bows before me, grabbing my hand, and gives it a delicate kiss, "Extravagant as usual, my beautiful birthday girl,"  he says.

"Please don't," I moan out, attempting to contain my laughter. Internally, my heart is melting at the gesture. 

Jayce knows how I feel about my birthday, we've been best friends for over three years before we finally confessed how we felt towards each other and started dating.  That was over a year ago, but we're still as strong and as in love as ever. 

"I just want to celebrate you," he emplores. 

"Believe me, I know you do," I smile back, all while rolling my eyes. 

"But do you like understand that eighteen years ago, a whole eighteen years, God put you on this Earth so that you could become my best friends, and, let us not forget, the love, like seriously, the LOVE, of my life. Do you under--."