“Somewhere the hurting must stop.” ~ Terry Fox

I have been meaning to write this a few weeks ago. Specifically, I meant to write this the day after I inflicted so much emotional pain to B that he said “I have been looking forward to talking to you all day then I get that” as his face showed so much hurt it was like he was being physically being beaten.

That day seemed all too surreal. Like some out of body experience I watched another person take over my joy and take over the love I felt. Being of one incident that reflected the difference in our belief system I saw me shutting him out, withdrawing from his love, and becoming apathetic. Yet inside I felt a raging battle going on. I knew I was being stupid, selfish, and unreasonable. Despite my irrational thinking I wanted to just run back to him and tell him how much I love him.

I have so gotten used to cutting myself from others when I hint too much difference or complication or just because I’m not really 100% committed. For a long long long time I have convinced myself that most kinds of relationships are really not worth the effort anymore. Sure, it’s nice to hang out and laugh with friends and lovers, but to become deeply involved means showing my true self revealing my insanities, insecurities, flaws, and limitations. And what if... they don’t like me? What if they reject me? What if they laugh at me? It is the uncertainty or the possibility that they will dislike me, reject me, and be the court jester that has made me protect me. I have been a walking, talking, thinking ice queen... cold and indifferent towards others. And even before the person has a chance to hurt me by rejection or indifference, I beat them at it and shut them off.

When I read the lines B said above, I knew that I am now in a crossroad. I don’t want to shut him off or be cold and suspicious that he will hurt me. I know that old fears don’t apply to him anymore. And the only obstacles that are keeping me from fully loving him and being happy are those that I have imposed on me. The walls that I have long ago built to protect me do not apply to him anymore. As we discussed what was happening, I felt the immense loneliness of being separated from him. Where I used to bask in the safety of my isolation, at that point it was dauntingly sad. I love him. He loves me. Why make it complicated? I remembered every time he was there for me, every time he assured me that he loves me, every time he kept his word, every time he made me feel not like just anyone else in his life, every moment he was there perhaps not physically but he was there constantly giving and loving and cherishing me. It wasn’t until that moment that it finally sank in me and I was able to accept it ... he loves me so so so much forever and always.

Somehow, that night the better part of me has finally acknowledge that I can lay my whole heart to rest in his keeping. When before I let him keep parts of it, that night was the beginning of me tearing down all the walls I’ve built to protect me and take him in without fear or doubt or suspicion. He is right when he said, “It’s not just you. It’s not just me. It’s us. So your black and white and my gray are going to have to work together.”

I don’t know how things will turn out, I am certain that we won’t always be rosy and there will be some friction that will come up once in awhile. But despite life’s uncertainty I believe in these things: he loves me, I love him, and we will work together to make us last a lifetime.

... is you heart that loves me with sincerity and passion and longing and completeness that pales everything else. Thank you, B!

Mahal kita. Mahal na mahal kita.

When I was about five my mom grew exasperated with Tanduay Girl and exclaimed, "You are so tactless!!!" Both of us had no idea what this word "tactless" is and knowing better than to ask our mother we pulled out the L-Z of our fat Reader's Digest dictionary and search slowly under "T" until we found the word...

Adjective: tactless

|takt‑lus|

Lacking or showing a lack of what is fitting and considerate in dealing with others • in the circumstances it was tactless to ask her age

= untactful

≈ inconsiderate, inelegant

Revealing lack of perceptiveness, judgment or finesse • it was tactless to bring up those disagreeable

= inept

≈ maladroit

Tanduay Girl wrote down the definition in a piece of bond paper and posted it on her side of the wall and that is the only reason why up to this day I am acquainted with that word.

Despite my familiarity of the word "tactless" I find myself suffering from serious bout of verbal diarrhea. I have been noticing that I have been having my foot in my mouth more often than usual calling even one of my friends indirectly fat. I didn't mean to and even apologized after but I think I seriously cracked her sensitive ego and no amount of apology would make it right. I will always be the person who called her fat.

But that isn't as serious as my tactless behavior to B where I unwittingly said mean and hurtful things. Feeling shame and shocked for my behavior after he pointed out my lack of sensitivity to his feelings is an understatement. Sure I didn't mean to hurt him, sure I had no intention of being mean but nevertheless I did.

Over the years learned to look beyond people's labels and name calling and accusations. While learning to be deaf I also became callous to the words I myself use to others. I can defend myself and argue that most words are hidden in the recesses of my mind never heard by the other person but I know this is lame. The innumerable times I had never vocalized my thoughts pales to the countable times I did and ended up saying things so cuttingly that no apology will fix it.

I wish I can say I learned from experience but knowing my self a little better I sadly confess I will have outbursts of my bitchiness and tear people's egos, cut people's hearts, and hurt people's feelings.

But I'll give my best to leaves smiles in their faces than tears and ill feelings. After it would be quite ironic if I didn't given the name I have.

It has taken me three days to be able to find the courage to sit down and write the thoughts marinating in my head. And even as I sit and write what has happened three days ago I don't know where to begin, how to continue, and when to end this entry. I am, like the first ten seconds of discovering it, speechless and uncertain how to proceed.

Interestingly, this is not the first time I’ve brought it up. Eleven months ago I wrote an entry about my half-brother (see i can’t shake you off my memories). That entry ended with me facing a wall. When I asked what the name of my half-brother is and shared to him my intention of looking for him and determining if there is any thing I can or we can do as a family to help him, the Colonel non-commitantly replied that I should pray for it and that he didn't know my half-brother’s name.

Fast forward to the early hours of February 11, 2009 while me and B were chatting online I decided to do some Google search and what I found shook me to the core. In a popular social networking forum a young man is looking for my father claiming to be his son. Not only does he knows my father’s middle name, the young man’s middle name is after my grandfather. He writes of his longing to meet my father, of being abandoned for 21 years now, of his desire to spend even just a little time with him.

Everything about what I wrote last March suddenly came crashing back, even the dreams I’ve been having prior to writing something about him, the day my father revealed he existed and my constant longing to see him and find him and know him. I wanted to send him a message but my deep sense of loyalty to my family kept me from clicking his name. Even though I was thrilled to finally know his name and see a picture of him, I was afraid that his existence would regurgitate my mom’s old ill feelings towards my father and would his coming to our life would hurt our family again.

I know though that my dilemma was nothing compared to my father’s he read my text messages to him. I know my doubt is nothing compared to his uncertainty how to proceed and tell my mother about him again. He wanted me to tell my mother about this and befriend the guy. I remember frowning as I read his message once and read it again just to make sure I am not misunderstanding his instructions. Why will I be the one to tell my mother, why should I initiate getting to know the boy when he clearly stated he wanted to meet my father. Not me. Not my mother. I talked to my mother about it and she told me that the first move should come from my father because that young man is his son. Right. Seriously.

But it was my wonder and curiosity that made me keep on thinking about him. It was my haunting dreams of him that urged me to ask about him. And it was eventually the answers to my prayers that revealed him to me. Since I wanted to find him, is it not in my place to communicate to him? I don’t know. I wish life was black and white, yes or no, true or false. Because at this very moment, I think sitting here deliberating and waiting for my father’s first move is wasting precious time that could have been used already to build memories that can make up for the lost time they should have had.

Now back to facing the wall.

When you love someone, you do not love them all the time, in exactly the same way, from moment to moment. It is an impossibility. It is even a lie to pretend to. And yet this is exactly what most of us demand. We have so little faith in the ebb and flow of life, of love, of relationships. We leap at the flow of the tide and resist in terror its ebb. We are afraid it will never return. We insist on permanency, on duration, on continuity; when the only continuity possible, in life as in love, is in growth, in fluidity - in freedom, in the sense that the dancers are free, barely touching as they pass, but partners in the same pattern.

The only real security is not in owning or possessing, not in demanding or expecting, not in hoping, even. Security in a relationship lies neither in looking back to what was in nostalgia, nor forward to what it might be in dread or anticipation, but living in the present relationship and accepting it as it is now. Relationships must be like islands, one must accept them for what they are here and now, within their limits - islands, surrounded and interrupted by the sea, and continually visited and abandoned by the tides.

Dear Brian,

Hello. I’m writing this letter while you sleep almost seven thousand miles away. Normally I pen my letters to you. But today I decided to write you here where it will never get lost in the courier and you will be able to read it the soonest possible time. I’ve just arrived home and at this present moment I am longing to crawl in bed beside you and sleep in your arms. I hope that when you wake up though you’d smile and feel me close to you despite the land and oceans that separate us.

Earlier today you told me you love me so so so much. I know you’ve said this to me so many times every day and also showed it to me in so many ways. I love you so so so much too. But when I said earlier that I find it amazing that you love me with so much depth and breadth you asked me if it was so hard for me to believe that you do love me. I answered yes and no. You wanted to know why I answered such and I wasn't really able to answer it because I had to work but I promised that I will answer it.

And here is my answer...

Everyday, people who know me scoff at what we have and call it relationship with quotation marks because we haven’t touched or even seen each other. I want to tell hem straight out that I’ve known people who see each other everyday but never saw each other, I’ve had relationships where I’m with the guy physically but we’re so far apart emotionally, and I see couples together but are severely apart. I want to tell them maybe we defy society’s standard of relationships because we met online, never saw each other yet, and separated by distance and time. But maybe, just maybe, if they were in my shoes they will have an idea that what we have is warmer than the sun on my face, more passionate than young lovers in their first kiss, more moving than a violin playing Canon D while a bride walks the aisle, sweeter than the words “I love you”. But I know, even if they were in my place, they wouldn't have a clue what I am talking about because you are my exception. You may not be the perfect guy, but you are made perfectly for me. And everyday I am with you I feel the love you feel for me in you heart. When everything you do gravitates towards me and making me happy, it’s so easy to accept and believe that you do love me.

When I think of you at times I feel ashamed of thinking of you so much, of thinking of only you which is also too much, perhaps. I wonder how you are and what you are doing and if you are smiling when I am not there to see you and if you are better or your eyebrows are furrowed because of some stress your work brings you and I still think of a bajllion unspeakable things about you and the future we plan together. And these things confuses me a lot because I have never thought of anyone as much as I have thought (and think and will be thinking) of you. And then you say you love me more. How can that be possible that you can feel more than I feel for you? What have I done in my life to deserve someone as amazing as you? I know myself and I know that I am not naïve neither have I lived a pure life beyond fault. So for me to have met you, known you, and be loved by you at times makes me feel so guilty because you have the kindest and purest heart I’ve ever known from a man. Forgive me, my dearest, if at times I am left speechless because there are uncountable moments we’d be together and you would say something really astonishing that it would seem you are but a dream and I would be waking up to realize that you are but a fantasy and I will be without you again. I am beginning to forget my doubt and fears although they are lessons hard to leave behind for it has protected me all throughout my life. But since you’ve given me your heart to cherish and protect, I need not protect myself from you. For how can you hurt me when you will only hurt yourself more in doing so?

You know I’ve been reflecting, especially lately, that I am a fool to go on and sit on my bed or stay here in Canada instead of rushing in a plane with my eyes shut and opening them only when I am with you. It is hard to be in a place where we both are. But in every difficult thing I went through I’ve learned something. I know right now I have to learn the most crucial thing --- faith. I need to learn to have faith that our love will not fade in time but only grow more richly and beautifully, to learn to have faith that eventually our paths will meet and we won't be separated like this again, to learn to have faith that we have a lasting future together filled with love and happiness.

Thank you for being always there and never failing to remind me over and over that you love me and how much you love me. I know that it’s something I’ll never grow weary hearing from you.

Yours always and forever...

Darla

"And in the end, it’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years." ~ Abraham Lincoln

Debdeb smelled something burning this morning and asked if I burned something in the toaster. I jokingly replied that that's me burning. And from the smell of something burning the conversation shifted to death and cremation and open caskets.

She told me that when the time comes for her she wants to have a simple ceremony, nothing fancy just for friends to come to some place fond to her and talk about her. That's awesome, I told her. But I'm a bit narcissistic so I would rather the people I know will give me a "living funeral". I'd rather they extol on my virtues while I am still alive, I want their flowers while I can still breathe I the scents, I want to have a gathering of the people close to my heart while I am still around to laugh with them, and their donations can go straight to my bank account. Okay the last part is a bit too much, but I'm sure you get the idea.

That got me thinking how I want things to be when I die. Personally, I want my body burned and and my ashes scattered somewhere in an island we'd use to go when I was young or buried under one of the trees my father planted in our farm. Don't bother calling the relatives to converge for coffee and cookies, no need to send flowers or condolence cards, no need for tear-stained faces. Really, it's okay. You'll get to a point where I got myself into, it just so happens that I passed away ahead of you. I don't need a marble slab to mark my grave neither do I need an epitaph. This is just what I want on my own.

I know though that usually people need something, be it a ceremony or a simple gathering, to cope with their loss. It is a tradition of each culture passed on by our forefathers. I respect that need. So for those that I may leave behind I will not hold it against them if they decide to follow rituals, I will not rise from the grave if they choose to hold a week long wake, I will not haunt them if they will put a blow up picture of me on top of my casket. Whatever works. I’d be dead anyway, so yeah go ahead and party on.

Interestingly people do not talk about death or how they want things to go about when they die. Who wants to die anyway? The suicidal, desperate, apathetic, and heart broken ones maybe. But I've been there and honestly even if you don't care anymore about living, most times the thought of those we'd leave behind plagues us with doubt to end our lives.

But just because no one wants it, it doesn't mean no one is going to get it. Eventually, death comes to claim us. Everyone I know wishes that we can be certain when this would happen. We want that piece of certainty that would tell us as to when, where and how we're going to die. Maybe not the gory details but at least a little bit of knowledge to help us be prepared. But of course that is ridiculous. Even those who are in their deathbed are not guaranteed of the time of their death.

How a single grain of insight can change a man’s perspective of how he lives his life is amazing. Most times we are too consumed by the tasks we need to accomplish, responsibilities we need to look out for, our worries and problems that need to be dealt with, or the discontentment of what we lack that we do not take stock of what we do have and be thankful for it. I know this because I myself am guilty of it. As much as we want to live for the moment we think we are too busy or we have too much in our plate to afford to do that. But, you know, if we really have a better outlook of ourselves we will realize that we whatever we have or do not have in our life we can afford to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experience.

It would be so marvelous to wake up one morning and say, “I don’t want anything more.” By then, when Death comes to take us we will not be full of regret for having lost so many years but we will be willing because the after Life is another adventure to behold.