That was why things didn’t work out; you wanted them your way, and I, too, did. You wanted you to be the center of all, and so did I. You were a control freak gone mad, only a little less madder than I was. And you were filled with rage and sadness, of emotions overlapping all at once. So was I.
We were too much in common. A little too much than the collision could actually handle.
There is a certain kind of sadness one must endure in moments of solitude, when that one person who means the whole world is not there… To comfort, to share laughter, to make memories with.
Every second of being apart is painfully excruciating, and sometimes, the pain is too much that all that could be done is mope in a corner and cry, reminiscing all the times and memories shared, while keeping in mind that these are not the now, they are mere objects from the past, a distant place and time that differs so gravely, and that faraway place and time might no longer be revisited again, or at least in the time being.
But when the wait ends, it feels surprisingly good to be reunited with someone you haven’t seen, or talked to for a long time—like everything you’ve ever lost suddenly comes rushing back towards you. Like you’ve found your missing puzzle pieces and long, excruciating moments of solitude are to be replaced by moments of completeness. Like there is a new-found hope and faith, and everything is suddenly clearer and brighter than they actually seem.
It makes you think and feel, in that magical moment when the ship is closing the docks, that every single minute was worth the wait.
I have, as long as possible, strayed away from making major life decisions, precisely because of one thing: I am afraid that things might get screwed up and I might end up regretting what I have done.
But just this afternoon, a little past one o’clock, alone in a deserted home, eating lunch, as I was reflecting upon life and all that has been lately going on, I realized the answer to my long unsolved dilemma: choose what makes you happy.
I am still questioning whether or not I should pursue a business course (what I’m taking up) or a track in writing ( something I have long wanted to take.) But I get afraid, you know, that if I continue to take up Accountancy, I might not eternally be happy, but if I write, I might not be successful enough that I’d regret it.
Well, I realized that something that makes you utterly happy could not cause any regret.. And maybe, just maybe, that’s the answer to life.
Coming from a university run by Jesuits, we are required to take up formation classes where we are molded to live by Ignatian ideals, to become men and women for others. As a culminating activity, our formator required us to write a two-page paper on our greatest learnings for the semester that has been. Constricted with the number of pages and the number of words, I came up with this rash and messy paper. But I’d still like to put it here, because I did mean every word.
I’ve been, for the past two hours, staring at this blank sheet, unable to come up with a paper that would translate my “greatest learnings” into words. Not that I have none to write about. Truth is I have, on the contrary, learned so much that I don’t even know where to begin. So this paper might come off a little messy or disorganized, but do know that it sincerely came from my heart.
Let me begin with our discussion on one’s “Self-Image” as opposed to “The Image of God,” where I learned to cherish my uniqueness and own identity. It touched me dearly, deep down, as I was always affected with what others thought of me. Back in high school, I wanted to be the cool kid, one of the smart girls, one of the rich ones. I was patterning my own self to meet their expectations and standards because I was afraid that I would be rejected and that I wouldn’t belong if I didn’t. While it made me fit in or made me look cool, I was never really happy deep down, because I wasn’t being me. The me who was content with simple lifestyle, the me who didn’t want to show off her high grades and academic achievements just so people would be impressed, the me who is quirky in the unconventional way. It is hard to admit these things now, as I write this paper, but I really was being some version of myself. I was wearing a mask. But my ICFP journey has also taught me that I am unique. I was created by God, in His image, in His divine wisdom and there is a plan for me. There is nothing to be ashamed about how I look and how I go on with my life—God does not create junk. Who cares about how others see me. What is important is how the ones I love do, and how God does.
I was also reminded of the value of appreciation; to appreciate, even the littlest of things that my parents and siblings do for me. While I, as a human being, am in constant need for approval and appreciation, they are, too; and weighing the things they do for me, and I, for them, I believe that my parents need appreciation more than I do. My ICFP journey has brought me back to the time when I used to make my parents cards on special occasions—handwritten ones, which I coloured and took time to make; to the time when we used to make a poster that says “Welcome Home Papa!” every time my father arrives from overseas; to that particular time when I had only thirty pesos for my daily allowance, including fare, but I still spent ten pesos of it to buy my mother a cheap bracelet from the vendors outside our school because it was her birthday. I never do any of those things now, and it embarrasses me, because I have gotten better in art, and I have a much larger allowance than that, but I spend no time in buying gifts for my parents, or even writing letters for them. My ICFP journey has then taught me to give them the due appreciation they deserve, or even more than that, because they love me, and I love them. I believe that the feeling of being appreciated is too inexplicable for words, but it really is overwhelming—like some warmth spreads within, and that warmth makes one feel special, makes one feel loved. And I would want my parents to feel that way again every single day because they deserve it.
I also learned that time is valuable. Faced with the frightening fact that somewhere in the world, a person dies every 5 seconds and there is no assurance that a loved one would not be that one person, I learned to make the most out of every second I spend with the ones I love. There is no wrong in saying sorry, in saying “I love you” and how much I value a person because I’d never really know when their time, or my time, would be over. So like everything in this world that is in constant threat of extinction, time should be treated with utmost value because a second lost is a second that could never be gotten back.
And as we talked about the awkward topic of birds and bees, I learned that true love waits. Like most teenagers who seek instant things, who do not see the value of waiting, and whose hormones are seriously up, I also wanted to have someone special in my life. Who would not, right? But I do know now that there is a really high chance the men I meet now are not the men I would someday marry. So I would have to wait, because he is out there, somewhere, maybe looking for me. There is something so beautiful about things that take time—like stalactites and stalagmites and rock formations and diamonds. They make us realize that the most astonishing of things take time. And, if he is the one, he really is worth the wait.
To finish off, I believe that my greatest learning remains to be yearning for change. Our teacher taught us that if we really are affected by what we have been finding out about ourselves, the natural response is to strive for the better, to yearn for change. They always say that nothing in this world is constant, nothing but change. This, for me, means that we people could always change who we are, so long as we really want to, as long as we will ourselves to. But change does not happen overnight—like diamonds and stalagmites, too. It is a constant process that takes time. But if we really are willing to change, we would take all the time we need.
But despite wanting some cosmic transformations and changes in my life, I’d say this is still me. Me, only better.
plain subtleties 