The Lady of Cibola

Earlier today, I found myself lost in the shadows of my deepest thoughts. I didn’t notice that I was vacuumed into this unknown where scenes started flashing before me like film strips. The scenes kept on playing and playing like mixtape. Of course nothing was making sense.

Until I started feeling something inside me stirred. A memory. A memory of a distant emotion, a long forgotten feeling. It was a torrent of downhill emotions that pulled me back to the now.

Then I started asking one question that is so often asked but no one can seem to give an appropriate answer aside from “because we are humans.”

Why is it that, as humans, it is so easy for us to pass judgement on first glance basis?

When I was young, I remember breaking my mother’s china during one Sunday lunch. And I was told that it was okay, that I did nothing wrong. I was instantly forgiven. I am whole. I am complete. I am right.

Growing up was like that. My mom would even tell me that no one and nothing is wrong in this world. She told me that even a broken clock is right twice a day. Of course I wondered what mom was saying, what’s her point? It was later that day when I found myself staring at our grandfather clock in the hallway that realization dawned.

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Life started picking pace after that. Everything came to pass in a flashing blur; like strobe of lights in screaming colors. But in the process, I was led to believe that whatever my mom told me about the clock being right twice a day even though it’s broken was wrong.

Why is it so easy for us to pass judgement on first glance basis?

Before I met Sophia, I thought my mom was right. Nothing is wrong with anyone or anything in this world. I was holding that truth for the most part of my life. It became my principle, my ideology.

Sophia was this friend that presented herself at me one cold January morning at a coffeeshop in Cibola. I was reading my book and sipping my favorite brew when she came and asked for my help. She was this person with good fashion sense, one that will lead you to believe that you can trust her.

I fished my coffee and stowed my book in my bag and walked with this woman along Magnolia Lane, in search for her place. She said she is new here and looking for a job would be the next hunt.

Her place is just two building away from mine and since our company is hiring, I advised her to try and apply. She did. She moved in no less than two weeks after I helped her find her place.

And that was the biggest mistake of my life.

It’s not unusual for her to be friends with my friends. It’s not unusual for her to excel at what the job would ask from us. It’s not even unusual for her to be entrusted with tasks that would normally be assigned to tenured employees. Like me.

Nothing is unusual until she started looking at me like a spectral evidence of her downfall. It is unusual that she started not talking to me. It’s unusual that she begun giving prep talk without me involved in it.

Did I do something wrong? Did I offended her at some point in the past? Have I crossed whatever invisible line she drew since moving in? Nothing was making sense. It was just a torrent of questions with no answers.

And it started to become toxic. I started to feel that the entire building, my once peaceful haven in Cibola, closing in on me in the attempt to choke me out. I started to feel that people are withdrawing from me and I am being drained.

What is wrong with me? That is impossible. My mom told me…

I got angry at my mom. How can someone so important led me to behold such truth only to find out later in my life that it’s all false? I want to tell her that no one lights a lamp only to put it out in the darkest time of the night. It just defeats the purpose.

I want to retreat. I am weak. I can’t fight her. No one would understand. I have to go back. Go back to the world where only what we can see, touch and feel is real and the only things that make sense. Because this is making no sense at all.

But I know deep inside me I can’t quit. I can’t just retreat like that.

So I’ll place a pair of razor sharp scissors on my bedside table tonight and snap the thread of this bad dream. And then, the next day, I’ll look at my floor, the thread snapped into two, with a hint of regret in my eyes.

Such is the story of my life. Such is the truth behind the lies. At one point I am brave enough, then later scared as lamb. This is my story. I am the lady of Cibola. Come and find me and rescue me from this poignant misery. Come and take me out of the woods…before the wolves start to pick up their pace again.

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