I made plans ahead, trying to think of the best way to honor your day. Unfortunately, life had other plans. I picked the worst time to get sick. I was stuck in my room, snotty-nosed and hacking all over the place, while rain poured in torrents all weekend long.
“I miss you!” was the last text you sent using someone else’s phone, which my sister glared at me for and demanded to know why a friend of hers (his roommate and neighbor back home) would be texting me like that. It took the better part of an hour for her to calm down as I explained the text actually came from my best friend who was borrowing his neighbor’s cell phone. If I knew back then what fate had in store for you abroad, I would have held on tighter and never let you go as you whisked me away for our last dance together.
Words cannot begin to describe how big a hole you left in our hearts. I miss you, my friend. Until we meet again!
First I felt relieved. Then I felt guilty. Now I just feel empty.
Time and time again, she notices someone looking at her from across the way. She pretends to ignore them. It never bothered her that guys are checking her out because she got used to not paying attention to it. She was in a relationship for quite a long time that she didn’t have any reason to acknowledge their presence. But now that it was over, she was starting to take notice of the lingering stares more and more.
She got so good at pretending not to notice those covert glances that it was almost second nature to her to keep doing it. In time, she will have to stop herself from being so rigid. One day, she will have to let go. One day, she will have to learn to take it in stride.
I want nothing more than to lock myself in my room and cry until all the pain has left my body and all that remains is numbness. Knowing that its familiar views are numbered, I take a few, long looks of myself, my room, and the house. I can feel fresh new cracks in my heart. I can hear the distant bell chiming the beginning of the end. I can taste the bittersweet memories in my mouth.
Change is never easy. It is a terrible monster that lurks in the shadows, biding its time. Sometimes it comes swiftly like a thief in the night. Most creep ever so slowly until it’s practically right in front of your face, about to pounce. There’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Change comes to us all, whether our arms are stretched wide open to welcome it or we are cowering in the darkness. Like death and taxes, it is an inevitable force.
If we don’t embrace it, what are we afraid of? If we don’t take a leap of faith, then what are we alive for?
Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life
—The Fray, “How to Save a Life”
Not too long ago, my cousin, who is a nurse, decided to unwind after work. He and his friend went to an Internet cafe straight after their shift to play some games. Suddenly, a fellow gamer collapsed nearby. Without hesitation, my cousin and his friend jumped into action and performed CPR on the unconscious man. With their quick thinking and considerable medical skills, they were able to revive the him until help arrived.
This story was particularly dear to my heart, especially since acts of selfless heroism like this are far and few in between in today’s jaded society. Not only am I proud of my cousin’s intrinsic ability to help a perfect stranger, his modesty inspires me and makes me reevaluate my previous long-standing belief that millennials are nothing more than a bunch of selfish, privileged, and entitled generation. When he and his friend was saving the man’s life, he did so without even thinking about it. What is even more impressive is that he said his instinct just kicked in and did what any person would do given the same situation. Outside of people whose jobs it is to save lives, not many of us regular folks can claim the same. Incidentally, my cousin’s younger brother is a Special Ed teacher, which is a different sort of hero, but a hero all the same.
Then I had some time to think about it, and I realized there are all sorts of heroes in my family. My number one hero would be my mother. She dropped out of college in order to run her father’s business to support her parents and her 10 siblings—9 of them were younger than her since she is the second of 11 children. She gave up most of her life to raise and support her family. Despite being a creative and talented woman, she gave up on her dream of becoming an artist to prioritize her family’s needs. And when they all grew up and had families of their own, only two ended up helping her. When no one else volunteered to take over the family business, she dedicated her life to keep providing for her mom, my grandmother (God rest her soul), and her youngest siblings. My grandfather was out of the picture long before I could remember him. Eventually, my mother got married and had children (all 5 of us), but she was still stuck managing the family business. Both my grandparents have long since passed away, but my mother is still running the store until now. My uncle, who comanaged the business with her as soon as he graduated from college, resigned some years ago after he got married to put up his own business. Only my mom and my aunt (her eldest sibling) are left tending the business after my cousin and uncle (another younger brother) almost bankrupted the company. The rest of my aunts and uncles got married, had their own family, and never looked back. Two of her youngest siblings, the youngest brother and sister, still rely on a “monthly allowance” from the company.
Then there’s my father. One time, our family went on an outing to a beach. During one of the small islands we visited, one little boy got swept up in a strong tide and almost drowned. My father sprang into action in a split second while the rest of us stood frozen in shock. He yanked the kid out of the water at the expense of the cellphone in his pocket. That day, I saw my dad as a hero. He become one again when the 7.2 magnitude earthquake rocked Bohol in 2013, which decimated his father’s newly renovated house. Upon hearing that Lolo Mando’s house—and his room, in particular—was totally destroyed, my father immediately flew back to his hometown to rescue my grandfather. We would have gotten my aunt too except she vehemently refused to leave Bohol. My grandfather stayed with my parents for over a year until he passed away on February 2015, exactly a week after his 91st birthday. Daddy’s tatay (father) never made it back home again. A week later, Dad and I went to Bohol to deliver my lolo‘s (grandfather) ashes to his final resting place. His house was still in ruins that a makeshift shed was put up on the lawn for my aunt and cousins to sleep in.
Not only are my own parents my personal heroes, they also play superhero to their grandchildren as well. When my brother and his wife had to leave their daughter with my parents while they work in Japan, my parents had to take care of my niece and my sister-in-law’s adopted son. At a time in their lives when they should be slowing down in retirement, they had to get up early, bathe the kids, prepare their meals, and drive them to and from school. They are basically raising two 10-year-olds. Conversely, my brother and sister-in-law had to suffer being away from their daughter for long periods of time just to be able to support and provide for her and their adopted son.
It’s amazing the extent of the sacrifices parents make for their kids. I’ve seen firsthand the unconditional love my parents had bestowed on me and my siblings growing up, and I have witnessed the great lengths my siblings go through for their own kids. While I have no children of my own, I can appreciate that parents are essentially their own brand of heroes. They work days and nights to provide for their family, stay up all night if their child is sick, and put their children’s needs before their own.
I do not use the term hero lightly. I think it is a disservice to brandish it around like insipid titles, not unlike how the word epic lost much of its meaning because of overuse. I do not necessarily think doctors, firefighters, and policemen are all heroes because I am not close enough to know one personally. But I stand by each and every hero in my life. They are what I aspire to be and hope the future generations would become. I am reminded every day that the world is not entirely a shitty place to live in and that people are not always self-serving. They restore my faith in humanity. I feel blessed that I don’t have to look beyond my own family to find the inspiration to live my life as conscientiously as I can. So this is how I pay tribute for being the heroes that they are. In my own little way, I want the world to know that there are still good people out there, and I am honored to have some of them in my family.
It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.
―Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince
You thought you had it under control. You thought you had already healed. You thought you have shoved the pain so deep, nothing less than kingdom come could ever dredge up all those memories from the deepest recesses of your subconscious. You were wrong!
All it took was a word or two and someone somehow managed to drag all the pain back to light. Like a freshly opened wound, the throbbing starts, the emotion swells; before you know what hits you, you are on your knees again, writhing in agony and crying your heart out.
Will it take another ten years to numb the pain again? Will the memories ever fade? Will the tears eventually run dry? Will the scars remain? Will you keep perpetually reliving all the unspoken words and opportunities lost?
The pain will never end. The maybes and what ifs still linger just below the surface, lurking out of sight, biding its time, and waiting for another chance to inflict more damage and bring new cracks to your carefully veiled facade.
Until then, the heart still bleeds and the pain endures. Love abides!
“And hey, what’s this roaring sound, whooshing past what I’m suddenly gonna call my head? Wind! Is that a good name? It’ll do.”
—The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy
Is this what it feels like to be unbroken, unattached, and unrestrained?
The chains around my feet finally fell away. I could feel my soul rising, the soles of my shoes lightly kissing the ground before lifting off from the earth. My heart burst forth as it floated yonder, buoyed by the swell of my emotions.
Like a solitary balloon, I rise steadily upwards. My fingers caressing the soft fluffy clouds as I held my hands aloft. The cool crisp air fills my lungs, and for the first time in a long, long time, I could breathe again.
Gone are the shackles that held me back. I taste the freedom that has been denied me for so long. My dreams are within arm’s reach, and there would be no one there to say no as I take them. I’ve never felt more alive in years. The places I want to visit and people I want to see are no longer distant desires. Endless possibilities are shimmering before me like starlights.
How did I let myself be imprisoned by fear? It is time to push back the veil of darkness and doubts. The era of oppression is over. I grasp freedom firmly by its neck, and I will never let it go. As I climb higher up the cosmos, my light will shine brighter, whether somebody would be there to catch my fall or not!
In the immortal words of one so utterly reviled, “Don’t let your dreams be dreams. Just do it!”
Rain, feel it on my finger tips
Hear it on my window pane
Your love’s coming down like
Rain, wash away my sorrow
Take away my pain
Your love’s coming down like rain
—Madonna, “Rain”
She was almost finished with her laundry when rain started pouring down hard. After hanging up her clothes to dry under an awning, a sudden thought struck her. She hadn’t played in the rain in a long time.
As soon as the rain hit her head and cascaded down her body, she felt oddly free. She hadn’t feel this free in such a long time. The shock of the cold water melted all her cares and woes away. Although she usually cannot stand cold temperature, the frigid water felt rejuvenating. For a brief moment, she understood what it was like to live as a nomad and be at one with nature. As her clothes got soaked and pools started forming around her feet, she giggled like a child.
But not long after, tears started trickling down her face. It became one with the raindrops flowing over her body. Soon, salty tears were running down in torrents, slopping wetly as they hit the pavement. For some time, she stood in the rain; hot tears and cold water, merging, dancing, and trailing down her face and torso until she felt nicely numb. She could feel her emotions ebbing away, like sand slipping through the hourglass of her life.
She raised her head up to the dark heavy clouds. With one last shiver, she whispered his name in air, undaunted by the raindrops pelting her face. Then she slowly made her way back to the house to get out of her soaking wet clothes. The cleansing of her soul was over. It was time to face reality once more.
