Of Pain

This day three years ago, I held your hand for the last time.

It was bittersweet. I did not know how to feel. Was I sad? Hurt? Mad? Why? All I know was pain. So much of it. I was angry because there were things left unsaid. I was at loss for words. I did not have the courage to comfort the soul longing for answers.

I knew it was time. We knew. You needed to go. But why did it hurt like a thousand knives piercing into my heart?

I am sorry I could not do more for you. I know you were disappointed that I did not try harder. I am sorry. I regret not being there beside you when you needed me most. It is too late now and although most have forgotten, I have not.

Three years ago, you left us. And I missed you every day since.

Self Love is True Love

“I have struggled with my weight for so long.”

This is a very common line we hear from women nowadays. Many of us have had weight and body image issues. Although some of us were able to overcome the crippling pressure of society to look a particular way, many (myself included) still misunderstand what it truly means to truly accept what you are and love yourself, lines and flaws included.

I recently saw a brand’s advertisement where women were prompted to choose which door to enter in a shopping mall. There were two doors, and each door had labels on top which read “Beautiful and Average”. The idea is to show how women perceive themselves. As expected, many women walked through the “average” door. Although some confidently strutted their stuff through the “beautiful” door, a lot of them were hesitant at first; some had to stop and think before deciding which door to enter while others had to be pushed by their friends. A very striking part of the commercial was when one woman couldn’t decide which door to walk through and she eventually just walked away. This, unfortunately, happens a lot. We choose to run away from questions that matter.

It was powerful and meaningful, but at the same time it also questions your stand on the way society enforces how women should feel about themselves. Every now and then, I reflect on the concept of “loving your body”. It is an advocacy often miscommunicated as it is misunderstood. Fat-shaming is bad, and so is thin-shaming. Like everything in this world, people need to know that we must always seek balance. There are hundreds of articles about women telling the world how they have learned to love themselves, and yet they also go on telling others who are different from them that there is something wrong about them.

I don’t advocate any look. What I believe in is that whatever you choose for your body, it must be for a good cause. My opinion about your body does not matter. What matters is what you think, but more importantly, you have to decide why. Why do you choose to ignore the extra pounds? Why do you choose not to ignore it? Loving your self does not mean discarding what is causing you pain or agony. It simply means knowing what you want for yourself and doing the best you can to be the best you.

Life

Today, I am grateful for the little voice in me that says I am blessed to have more than what I need; a roof on my head, food on my plate, clothes on my body, and most especially a loving husband who never fails to make me smile.

I do not have everything I desire, but I have what I truly need and it is more than enough.

Of silhouettes.

I long for you like the moon drawn to the sun; safe distance.

You have an angel’s face. I sometimes wonder if you are real. You are like a dream; surreal. 

I crave your deepest, darkest desires. I want to keep you to myself but it is wrong. You soar high, and a cage for you does not make sense. 

So I wait, at a distance. I ran my fingers through your silhouette. So long as I can draw you, I can love. 

Little Thoughts 

One night, I sat in the dark.

My heart has felt uneasy, weary. I asked why. It whispered back, ever so faintly. “I want to be happy while I can. Before it’s too late…” 

I wasn’t sure how to respond. 

“Take it easy.”

Some nights I struggle to find the words. 

Poems

I am an ocassional poet. It is mostly driven by emotions, mood swings to be exact. Almost always, I write feelings that I cannot put into words. Ideas such as love, loss, pain, dreams are my favorite. I think it is a disease. Not the sort that kills you physically, but something that disintegrates your very soul. Others call it depression. I do not acknowledge that. Depression is far worse, I think. I do not want to compare my ocassional bouts with unspoken thoughts with something so much darker, and crippling. I do acknowledge the fact that everyone gets depressed, albeit on varying levels. How well a person handles the condition is not universal. This is the tricky part. Studies have shown that people’s personalities, past, relationships, and thought-process all determine how they deal with depression.
I would like to believe that I am borderline. I am generally a happy person, and I have days when I just feel like crap. And on days when I feel like it is the end of the world, I just want to write. It is my way of venting out, and it is also my way of healing myself. I revert back to poetry to cure my boredom, my idleness, my pain. Just like how it opened a world of ideas to me, I go back to it to find myself. Oftentimes, it helps. It has power to soothe even the weariest mind. I enjoy scribbling words that do not really make sense. No one reads my poetry anyway. Some days, I go back and read what I had written and I always find myself amused with the fact that I had so much emotion. I laugh at my silly ideas, my overly emotional posts. And that is how it heals me. It feels like reading another person’s writing, it always feels foreign.
Poetry has been some kind of therapy for me, and as long as I need healing, I will keep writing.

To Kill A Mockingbird

The title may sound like a book report, but I assure you it is not. I read that Harper Lee’s second book will be released soon and I got all excited so I thought it was timely to write a short piece about her first book. I have no news as to when it will be released, but as of reading, it is already a best-seller in Amazon, so good luck to me finding a copy.

A few years ago, a friend gave me a book for my birthday. It is not uncommon to get books as gifts, but it felt more special that time because I had been meaning to get that particular book for myself. My bookish friends have mentioned countless times that I should read To Kill A Mockingbird. Somehow, I was the only one among my friends who hasn’t read that book. I first heard about this book back in high school when my English teacher in sophomore year asked us to define what a classic is. No one spoke a word.

I was ecstatic when I received To Kill A Mockingbird. I was immediately drawn to Scout’s character because of her naivety and wittiness. As I turned the pages, I envisioned Scout and Jem, what their house looked like, the street, Atticus and his hat. I imagined them running across the street, playing, bothering people like the little mischief that they are. I kept reading but didn’t really think much about the book until Boo Radley’s character was introduced. To me, this was the first turning point in the book. It turned the mood from a homey, feel-good setting to something more mysterious and dark yet exciting. From this point, the characters grew so boldly, yet delicately. The underlying themes became more evident, and the story just spiraled into a smorgasbord of emotions. What I liked most about To Kill A Mockingbird is how the characters were carefully crafted. Harper Lee powerfully mixed in all types of people in the plot without overwhelming the reader; from Atticus Finch, who is well-mannered, educated, just man trying to teach his children how to be good people, to the Ewells who are on the opposite end of the spectrum. The story in itself is very powerful. If you are familiar with the book, you know what it is all about. I think that it is very challenging to bring issues of race, rape, justice, equality  and innocence all together, and simplifying them as narrated by a child. It is beautifully written, and the evolution of the language went perfectly well with the characters. The innocent, child-like humorous tone of the book adds ease when reading the story. Although it tackles profound subjects, it does not drown you. Instead, Scout narrates the events in a very subtle, funny way. 

 When I found out that a second book is on its way, I was very happy. I am excited to see how Scout’s character has grown and how things have changed in the new book.