There is an uneasy feeling in writing about this, honestly. No, thankfully I am not anymore encumbered by the bitterness that I've had before. And even more thankfully, I can now proudly say I've left "that track". Although of course I don't shy away from the possibility of being "back there".
Where does the uneasy feeling then come from?
I guess it's from the fact that there cannot be enough words to describe what it feels like. There are patches of it in my memory now. There are those that I remember clearly and those that are only slightly distinct. Truth is, most of what's happened is lost within me. Only two parts can I recall best.
First is the pain. No, not the crying-at-night pains nor those that transcend to forced numbness. It is more than that pain that makes one listen to angry music, or drown into alcohol, or smoke to breathlessness. It is that kind of pain that has no explanation. That which just makes you feel heavy every single day until you start thinking there is something wrong with your relationship with the entire world. It is the pain that floats around, leeching off your whole person.
Second is letting go. Of course there has to be this part. Where just as suddenly as the pain jabbed at your heart, you are smiling. Not the pretentious smile that says "hey I'm okay but I cry at night". It's the smile that says water has already unfrozen the biting ice. This is a many-non-splendid thing, though. Letting go demands a lot from people: time, effort, emotions, life. It exhausts a person until there is nothing left--or so it seems. Most importantly, letting go inflicts another kind of pain. In so large amounts one cannot help but feel like drowning yet again.
But if you are any wiser, and stronger, you would also know that pain and letting go are essential points of life. They are everywhere, in different magnitudes, with various causes and just as many effects. And every time you come face to face with them, you are being hurled into a classroom of valuable lessons where you learn the difference between the ideal and the real.
So what have I gleaned from that room? Plenty. I have learned about the importance of being true to your feelings, of waiting, of timing, of fate and faith, of choices, of honesty, and of acceptance.
All of which, I feel, are linked together. We have to accept what is happening, what we have lost, and what we have done. But we have to be honest enough to do this. Be honest with ourselves and of our emotions. If in pain, do not deny yourself the many days and nights of crying and withdrawing. If we have made choices, be honest enough to own up to them.
There are choices that either make us or break us. There are choices that we make available to people. And with that, we gamble as much as ourselves. We risk being left for something else. We risk not being chosen. We risk hurting people and getting hurt. Coping with the consequences of these choices can be as hard.
But coping is not something shaped for general usage. There is no right or wrong way of getting by. Do what it is that makes things easier for you. Remember who you are and who you're trying to be and which way would you be more satisfied taking. Avoid relying on people who says they "have been there". Because each pain is unique as in the individual that feels it. In time, the coping mechanisms would also be lost, stored away in some part of your self where they would wait again to be called forth.
Yet time is often as inconvenient. We rely on it too much so, that when we are at a loss we simply let ourselves live away. But time demands attention and discernment. It is not which people consider magical, healing wounds that are bigger than any bandage can take care of. Because one can only rely on time when there is a journey toward the better neighborhood. Spend the time you are in pain to make way for your healing. No one and nothing can do that for you. Not even that person you wait for.
And how long are you going to wait? And why would you even do so? Because whoever has left keeps coming back? Or because you want whatever it is that you've had again? Imagine this. Suppose your mother has left you alone at home. And she says you can make yourself busy while she's away. And that she'll be back. When she leaves, how do you spend your time waiting? Or do you even wait?
Suppose you wait, that promise of being back hanging around you. You do the laundry, wash the dishes, and make dinner with that promise still in your mind. When your mother comes back and she asks you what you've done while she's away, what do you tell her? That you've done the chores because you want to have something to do while she's gone?
Suppose you hope more for the promise of being back than wait for it. There is a difference, please try to see, between hoping and expecting. You hope, then let that hope burn alive in your heart. But your mind is already free. There is hope that your mother comes back. But there is the acceptance of the possibility that she may not. Then suppose you do the same things. You begin noticing that bleach doesn't work for stains in colored shirts. Or that onions make you cry. Or that glasses are less dirty than spoons. When your mother comes back and she asks what you've done while she's gone, what do you think would you be able to tell her? That you are a better homemaker, of course.
Consider the analogy when you wait for someone to return, long after you've cried over their leaving. Do you prefer to tell them you've waited? Or would you rather say you've hoped and therefore has done everything that would make you a better person through that time?
But what if neither happens? And you know for certain there is no coming back? Then we go back to acceptance. Of the fact that you have to move on, that someday you'd have to let go.
It all comes down to one thing: even letting go is marred with possibilities, diverging roads, and choices. No one hurries through it. Because in as much as letting go burns logs to embers, it is generous.
For love, which enables that letting go, is as generous.
There are choices that either make us or break us. There are choices that we make available to people. And with that, we gamble as much as ourselves. We risk being left for something else. We risk not being chosen. We risk hurting people and getting hurt. Coping with the consequences of these choices can be as hard.
But coping is not something shaped for general usage. There is no right or wrong way of getting by. Do what it is that makes things easier for you. Remember who you are and who you're trying to be and which way would you be more satisfied taking. Avoid relying on people who says they "have been there". Because each pain is unique as in the individual that feels it. In time, the coping mechanisms would also be lost, stored away in some part of your self where they would wait again to be called forth.
Yet time is often as inconvenient. We rely on it too much so, that when we are at a loss we simply let ourselves live away. But time demands attention and discernment. It is not which people consider magical, healing wounds that are bigger than any bandage can take care of. Because one can only rely on time when there is a journey toward the better neighborhood. Spend the time you are in pain to make way for your healing. No one and nothing can do that for you. Not even that person you wait for.
And how long are you going to wait? And why would you even do so? Because whoever has left keeps coming back? Or because you want whatever it is that you've had again? Imagine this. Suppose your mother has left you alone at home. And she says you can make yourself busy while she's away. And that she'll be back. When she leaves, how do you spend your time waiting? Or do you even wait?
Suppose you wait, that promise of being back hanging around you. You do the laundry, wash the dishes, and make dinner with that promise still in your mind. When your mother comes back and she asks you what you've done while she's away, what do you tell her? That you've done the chores because you want to have something to do while she's gone?
Suppose you hope more for the promise of being back than wait for it. There is a difference, please try to see, between hoping and expecting. You hope, then let that hope burn alive in your heart. But your mind is already free. There is hope that your mother comes back. But there is the acceptance of the possibility that she may not. Then suppose you do the same things. You begin noticing that bleach doesn't work for stains in colored shirts. Or that onions make you cry. Or that glasses are less dirty than spoons. When your mother comes back and she asks what you've done while she's gone, what do you think would you be able to tell her? That you are a better homemaker, of course.
Consider the analogy when you wait for someone to return, long after you've cried over their leaving. Do you prefer to tell them you've waited? Or would you rather say you've hoped and therefore has done everything that would make you a better person through that time?
But what if neither happens? And you know for certain there is no coming back? Then we go back to acceptance. Of the fact that you have to move on, that someday you'd have to let go.
It all comes down to one thing: even letting go is marred with possibilities, diverging roads, and choices. No one hurries through it. Because in as much as letting go burns logs to embers, it is generous.
For love, which enables that letting go, is as generous.
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