Some memories stay empty, like a swing waiting for a child | by Wrightjacob | Sep, 2025

Most of the time, I’ve tried to blame everything wrong with me on my childhood. Especially the time after my mother left. Maybe that was the turning point in my life—or maybe I’ve just been too fixated on it.

I don’t usually blame my mother for leaving us. Or maybe, in hindsight, I do, quietly, without admitting it. I don’t despise or hate her. But the truth is, I barely remember life with her. The only clear memory I have is of her walking us to school.

A few months later, we moved to a new place. The house was bigger, but farther from school. Moving also meant losing my childhood best friend. At that point, I’d lost a mother, and now I’d lost a friend.

My siblings made friends quickly. I didn’t. I was shy, and I had responsibilities. I still did the things I used to do with my best friend—watch cartoons and pretend to be the characters—but now I did them alone.

Later, we moved again—this time to our paternal home. Once more, bonds broke. While my siblings adjusted easily, I clung to something else: a puppy. I’d feed him in the morning before school and rush home to unlock his cage. He would wag his tail, jump on me, lick my face. He was my best friend. But then he got sick and died. I buried him myself, sobbing like I never had before. I hadn’t just lost a puppy. I’d lost another friend.

In primary school, I made new friends, but we lost touch after high school. By the time I got my first phone in Form Two, I met a new friend through texting. We messaged daily, shared jokes, and she even asked me for relationship advice—even though I’d never been in one. We never met in person, but she promised we would after high school. Instead, she cut me off without explanation. To this day, I don’t know why.

It feels like I’m complaining, but it’s a pattern I can’t ignore. After high school, I lost touch with classmates too. I know people leave, and we’re supposed to accept it. But for me, it feels like I expect them to leave—and when they do, it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.

I tend to keep to myself. When visitors come, I stay in another room, afraid they’ll ask for my number or invite me over. In groups, I stick to the familiar faces, keeping outsiders at a distance. And yet, sometimes, I feel left out and lonely. I know it’s partly my fault, but it isn’t that easy.

Maybe I’m afraid that someone might genuinely want to stay in my life. Maybe I’m scared because, all my life, people I loved—friends, pets, even my mother—have left. Deep down, I fear I’ll sabotage new relationships just to avoid being hurt again.

I’m afraid of losing people, but I’m also afraid people always leave.

And maybe… maybe I’m just fixated on the past