Saturday, January 29, 2011

cushioned landing

But the heart cannot be confused. And the truth cannot be twisted. Even the exhaustion of the living daylight blurs the lines between love and logic - or pride or holding on or longing or familiarity or frustrations or responsibilities or fear, etc... Or guilt or blame towards yourself keeps you awake at night. Because after you stepped in to the ebb of make-believes, to make the story ends the way the pen wishes, the truth kicks your ass up at wee hours of the morning and you cannot drag yourself back to bed again.

At some point, you have to get out of the dark and face your greatest fear. And if the end it happened like you have feared, yes at first you will be shaken, but you will know that the biggest part of it was just imagined. Because what is meant, is meant to happen. After turbulence has raged havoc and your feet are back on the ground, you thank God for knowing your heart, for making you stand for the consequences of your actions, for helping you let go of your pride and for dropping you with a cushioned landing amid the chaos. 

Not every relationship has a Hollywood-couple-getting-divorce saying the decision is mutual and they remain friends. That’s a crap but there’s nothing to be guilty about. 

In the end, the best things are: you learned, you broke free from the grips of fear and you surrendered to God’s will. For all the emotional slavery you have tangled yourself with and string of events you have no control of only God has the answer. 


Saturday, January 22, 2011

Crazy DNA and more

No earthly love is more profound than a mother’s love.

She gives unconditionally. Forgives easily. Cares incessantly. The moment she missed her period, her life stopped becoming only her own.

While she rejoices in each triumph you bagged, or her chin tilts a little too high every time you march on the ramp, her own heart bleeds for every scratch and bruise on your knees and blames herself for your every misstep. And it doesn’t matter for how many children she has to do the routine of rearing, raising and giving away and how much pain she has to endure and how many wounds she has to tend for catching every time each one falls.  

She may pass on crazy DNAs that make you hate her at some point. How she seems to be always looking over your shoulder as if waiting for that perfect moment you bend and she gloats. Or watching for the flaw of every date you take home. Or you may never forget how she criticizes your taste for nail polish and men, for your choice of friends and careers. Blame her for your big hair, for your bow legs or narrow hips. But the extra inches on her waist, the marks after her tummy swelled and shrunk, the ugly sight of veins on her legs, just tell the vanity that she has dropped to lovingly embrace the lifetime title of being a mom.

Win or lose, she will always be there to cheer on the sidelines of your races. And each meal, she has to prepare more than one menu, for one who eats only fried and for one who’s allergic to shrimps. And even if you’re old enough and she’s sick herself, and it’s so obsolete and you don't know the medical explanation, she will advise you to rub on Vicks Vaporub when you have colds.

And to my mom, I love you even if we don’t share the same middle name. Even if I was fed in bottle and not on your breast. Or even if you missed my PTA meetings, the agenda were always the same each year anyway and yeah, it was same set of people who get elected. (Or the fact that our adobos don’t taste the same.)

What I will always remember is the moment you stood for my fight when I was so weak to stand on my own even if it means we will be cut off from the upcoming family reunions.

And I love you even if it’s not yet your birthday… even if it’s not mother’s day… even if I say ‘I love you Tatay’ more often.


Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Making peace with the past

Someone posted your photographs before your nose job and you breaking out in hysterics untagged yourself seconds after they hit FBs news page. In between gasps, you sweat and wait for other 'blasts of the pasts' to show up. And only if you can untag those other friends or unfriend those in the tag especially the culprit.

But the truth is you cannot run away from the past.

You cannot simply bury those spiraled gigantic photo albums your mom has sweetly compiled from your first haircut to your college graduation or feed them to termites.

Why one should make peace and embrace his/her past?

·         So it won’t show up in your nightmares – or screw up your future, as an adage goes.

·         It’s natural. Not everybody has that straight, smoothly paved, unblemished past. So after the laughter died down at reunions or drinking sessions because of your blunder or missteps, one will give you a pat on the shoulder and say: “Welcome to the club!”.

·         Because it involves other people - maybe a family, a relative, a friend or someone you shared with hundreds of dinners, mocha frappes, Lucky Me Pancit Canton and your monthly salary.

·         Because the world does not revolve around your own selfish whims. So stop thinking you were the only one hurt, you were the only one mistreated… etc… etc… it’s just so pointless, selfish and immature.

·         Because you cannot heal only from the outside. Some truths and wounds need to be visited to be mended. It’s not just the effect that needed fixing, sometimes it is the cause that needs to be resolved.

And trust me, it won’t kill you. So learn and let go.