Pain and living with it

IMG_4693

Pain.

It just comes.

Out of nowhere.

Knocking you out completely.

One moment you’re watching a romantic comedy movie, the next you’re trying very hard to stop yourself from crying because you’re alone and you don’t want to start something you’re afraid you won’t be able to stop.

Grief doesn’t really go away, right?

It’s just there.  Waiting to come out and exhausting your heart and mind in the process.

One moment you’re thinking about mundane things, the next you’re thinking how life can be so unfair that something so good has been taken away from you.

One moment, you wish you have more time to reply to emails, the next you’re thinking about what you would want to do had she still been alive.

One moment you are looking at your speech trophies, the next moment you remember that the reason you joined speech contests in the first place was to make her proud because you love to see her smile the moment you say “I won.”

One moment you’re nothing but a normal person who goes through daily tasks, the next you’re this really, really sad human being who cannot even imagine why this ever happened to you.

Or the reason of this all.

Because even if your faith tells you that there is a greater reason for things, that the reason is something you might not understand now, you can’t help but wish that maybe, it wouldn’t have been asking for too much if you were given more time with her.  Just more time to make more memories.  Because the memories are still not enough.  I long for more.

These thoughts, the sadness that goes with them, the type of feeling that rips your heart apart, they just come.

Unexpectedly.

I know they’ll come still.  I know they won’t stop coming.  

And there will be pain.  

It’s just that, I think through time, we just learn how to control our feelings so that we think less about the pain and more about how we can be happy.

Because that’s what she would’ve wanted.

For me to be happy.

That’s what I’ll try to do.

Pain and all.

Dolce Far Niente

The beauty of doing nothing.

Don’t we all wish that?

I’ve always dreamed of a vacation where I would wake up whenever I want to, when I would be able to say out loud “I’m ready to face the world, I’ve had enough sleep”.  The kind of vacation where breakfast would start at 11 in the morning, where I wouldn’t worry how I would look as I sip fresh coconut juice while the wind rustles uncombed hair.  I’ve always dreamed of a vacation where I would sit under a tree, look at the vast ocean, listen to the sound of the waves as they reach the shore, and gaze at the shadows the trees and the boats make and how they change by the passing minute.

I’ve always dreamed of a vacation where the word rush, speed up, or faster is never mentioned.  A time where no one would judge me if I finish eating a slice of pizza in five minutes because I want to savor all of the flavors its different ingredients has.  Or what I wear.  Or how many pounds I gain.

I’ve always dreamed of vacations where I would walk as slowly as possible, stop as often as I feel like it, taste as many varieties of food that my jeans would allow.

A vacation where, when night comes, I would just gaze at the stars and wait for sleep to visit me because who would care what time I would go to bed when I could wake up anytime I want the next day.

The beauty of doing nothing is the most beautiful thing of all.

Just thinking about it gives me the shivers.

I could hope that I would get to experience this, right?  And I promise you that once I do, I will tell you about it.

I will write about it and I would be surrounded with palm trees, with the breeze gently blowing my still uncombed hair, and with fresh coconut juice waiting to be sipped.

At Seventy

When I first noticed her aging hands that started to sag and wrinkle, my first thought was “Oh Mama is getting old.” And my mind wandered to thoughts like how she would look at seventy, if she would still be able to walk on her own, and on how I would be able to take care of her when I will live far away.

I got scared. Of her getting old. And starting that day, I gave her more time. I tried to understand her more. I tried to make her do the things that she wanted to do. If she wanted me to drive, I drove. If she wanted me to cook, I cooked. If she wanted me to take care of things, I took care of things.

Because seeing that first sign of old age on her was a scary feeling. It was like time is running out on me to be with her.

I thought I still had twenty years with her. And even with that thought, I still got scared of losing her.

And then she died. Unexpectedly.

I was not given the chance to be scared of what if’s. But I felt such an incredible amount of pain when I realized that she was going to die. It was so immense that tears did not even fall as much as I expected, as much as I wanted.

And then I got scared. For myself. Because I was supposed to cry, to help lessen the pain. But I couldn’t.

She died. And I cannot even see how she would like at seventy.