Emotional Cocktail

We've all had the moment of utter confusion and emotional polarity. For me, it was one evening at the end of August 2015.

Too warm. The kind of evening where the air clings to your skin and won't let go.

My suitcase lay half-packed on the bed, clothes spilling over the edges, socks balled up in corners, a hanger trapped under the chair. I moved through the room like I was doing something — folding a shirt, stacking papers, adjusting shoes — but really, I was running from the part where I had to leave.

I had spent so long wanting this. Counting down the days. I couldn't wait to get out of Croatia. Nice. Business school. A new life. A clean slate. Freedom.

And yet… my chest felt like it was on fire.

I grabbed a shirt from the bed and pressed it to my face. Detergent, sunlight, faint perfume from my mom's laundry. Ordinary. Familiar. But it jolted through me like lightning striking bare skin.

My throat tightened. Not fear. Not relief. All of it — a storm tangled in my chest, screaming to get out.

The car waited outside, half-loaded. My bag was heavy. My shoulders heavier. My parents fussed quietly, but their voices barely reached me. Every goodbye slammed into me like a fist.

I sank to the floor, letting the night air crawl in through the window. Trying to breathe, but the storm inside me wouldn't slow.

Dread. Fire. Grief. Freedom.

Neon, electric, raw. My old self clung. My new self surged forward. No anchor. Just that shirt pressed to my face, holding me together for a single, fleeting second.

This is what they don't tell you about getting what you want: it doesn't feel like relief. It feels like every emotion you've ever had is happening at once, at hypersonic speed, and there's no room left to breathe.

You want it. You fear it. You grieve what you're losing. You burn for what's ahead.

That's the cocktail.

Maybe you've felt it too: counting down the days to something you've dreamed of, only to freeze at the threshold. Feeling the weight of leaving and the pull of possibility collide inside you, neon-hot, shaking your chest.

So tell me — what's roaring inside your chest tonight? What's in your mix?

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