Dear Beryl at 29,

Happy birthday!

We’re writing this two months late, because I didn’t realize I wasn’t able to write my annual letter to self on my birthday. Probably because I got swept away by all the gifts and cakes I received.

But whatever. The important thing is I am writing it now, on day 2 of the blessed 9 days you get off from school.

As we write this, we’re on bed, and we can hear the washing machine is doing its job right outside the window. It’s a Sunday; the first Sunday since April this year that you missed out on attending the Holy Mass, the Feast and the Singles monthly gathering. Why?

Well, mostly because you’re disappointed that your Feast crush is probably no longer available, and the girl who snagged him is also in the ministry, and you just feel foolish and ugly and really bad about yourself, and you wanted to hide.

I reread that sentence. I guess it sounds as pathetic as it does now, but you know us. We can’t help ourselves. It also doesn’t help that we have our period, so our hormones are getting extra dramatic, to the point that we are now starting to wonder if God is trying to tell us something.

I mean, we’ve never been in a relationship. The only time someone gave special attention to us, we turned him down, because it just wasn’t the right match. We don’t regret it; it was the right thing to do. But we wonder — or at least I do, right now — if we’re just not meant to find and have a person in our lives, that is just ours? Someone who will accept and love us no matter what, because he chooses to do so, because he sees something in us that is appealing to him, and complementary to what he needs in his life. Someone who will stick by us, through whatever, and be our ultimate go-to Person.

Someone who will not reject us. Someone who will listen and teach us. Someone uniquely created just for us.

I fervently hope that as you read this a year from now (well, ten months from now, at least), that all these questions have been answered. Because, if not, I seriously don’t know.

To be clear, I do want to serve God. I want to give back to Him all that He has blessed me with, undeserving that I am. I want to devote my life to serving Him through others.

BUT… I also want to experience true, unconditional, romantic love. I want the intimacy, both physically and intellectually. I want the connection, the bond that has no concrete match, but is there. I want long, late-night conversations about nothing and everything. I want tight bear hugs, forehead kisses, holding hands while walking, cheesy romantic cliches (in the park, beach, mall — everywhere!), cuddles and spooning, calming silence and sweet endearments. I want a partner, someone to lean on and run to, someone to build and create with, someone to be inspired by and of, someone who will push and pull me out of my (weekly) dark days, SOMEONE REAL AND HONEST AND LOVES GOD AND PERFECTLY IMPERFECT.

I want my match.

The thing is, I have no idea how or what I can do to meet him. Like, how does that even happen anyway? All my life, I’ve fallen in like and heavy infatuation with guys who are, clearly, not for me. I’m so tired of it — crying my heart out, begging, bargaining, saying that I will let Him take over, when I really… don’t.

Because I have this strong feeling that He wants me to choose the other side of the coin, that is, single-blessedness.

BUT I DON’T WANT THAT.

I can’t. Not when I am always fantasizing of a big family dinner, with my kids and grand kids, and me telling them “during my time” stories that I’ve told about countless times. Not when I can clearly see myself with my children, reading Harry Potter and Narnia, analyzing and criticizing movies, listening to music, playing card and board games, laughing, learning, loving, SERVING GOD. Not when I know, that I am meant to be a mother.

And I am absolutely terrified that I’ll never be.

I am 28 years old, and I know nothing.

I hope that a year from now, I’ll know at least a little bit more.

Stay strong.

Bee

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Show up. Be there. Be present. Reach out. Lend a helping hand or a listening ear. Have a loving heart. Forgive. Say sorry. Empower. Push. Motivate. Cheer. Support. Guide. Give a pep talk. Call me out when I go out of line. Tell it to my face. Be true. Be honest. Hug me. Smile.

Be here.

Be my friend.
Be my confidante.
Be my Person…

and I’ll be yours.

All my fears and worries about the unknown and unclear tomorrow, I surrender and lift up to You.

I know You know what I want.

I know You have even better plans for me, beyond what I can even imagine to want or even believe to deserve.

It is not easy to let go of the control. You have created me to want to be in control, because You want me to choose to let go, on my own free will.

I have, long ago, said that I will. But it is extremely difficult to go against how one is made. Still, “difficult” is not “impossible”, and because You are You, I know I can. In You, with You, nothing is ever too difficult to be impossible.

I rest my soul, upon Your caring and loving Hands.

Your Time.
Your Will.
Your Plan for me.

I will obey.

I love you Lord God.

Thank you for everything.

One of the most calming things in the world is to look up in the stars, and let yourself be reminded, that no matter how hectic, stressful, strenuous, or terrible life can get, we remain to be a mere dot in the vast scheme of things. The world is greater than all our anxieties combined, and even better to remember, the God who created it all is immeasurable in His glory and greatness.

Remember that, and keep the faith.

Dear Daddy,

Happy Father’s Day!

I’ve been thinking of how to begin this letter to you: should I mention the sad fact that we never actually got to celebrate father’s day together? Or should I just leave that unmentioned, because it just hurts too much to realize that I’ll never be able to celebrate this day, because you’re no longer here? Maybe, I could just mention it and leave as it is, since I can’t really do anything about it. Or maybe, the more I allow myself to hear/ read it, the more I can learn to accept and/or numb myself from the pain.

The last time I wrote you something was on my 27th birthday. I went by your resting place — at least the one that we living humans have as a symbol of it — and I think I told you just how difficult it is to live up to your wise words, the one you had written on my 7th birthday card: “Always have a happy heart.”

How did you know, daddy, that this would be my struggle? How did you know it would be so damn difficult for me to be happy? What or who gave you this quote, and what or who motivated you to pass it on to me?

Most importantly, if you knew how difficult it would be: why didn’t you stay?

I know all these questions will remain as they are. I know you’ll never get to answer them. A part of me has accepted that. Or maybe I’m just numbed out from the pain of disappointment, that the man who was supposed to protect and rescue me isn’t here anymore, and all I have is this rather vague reminder that I have used as my guiding light for so long, yet I still don’t understand it.

Why is it so hard to be happy, daddy? Why is it so hard to see the good in the bad, the light in the dark, the beauty in the ugly? Why can’t I stop?

I’m so tired, daddy. I’m so tired of fighting to keep my heart happy. Of wishing for things and people I cannot have. Of smiling and laughing when deep inside, I am shouting and crying.

I’m tired of pretending to be happy because you told me to keep my heart happy. It doesn’t seem to work that way.

I think it needs to start inside for it to be true outside.

So I’m going to try again, but this time, I’ll work on the inside first. Maybe this time, I hope, I’ll be able to do it.

Help me, daddy. Stay with me. Guide and protect me. Give me more patience, more understanding, more love. I need you, daddy. I can’t do this alone.

I don’t want to do this alone.

I’ll probably write you again, soon. If you can, please do try to visit me in my dreams.

I love you, daddy. Thank you for… everything.

Love,

Your Baby Dalaga

You weren’t there when I was a mess.
When all I needed was someone to listen as I confess.
That I knew I was wrong
And I was living a lie all along
I kept up a face and wore a mask
Pretending to be happy became less of a task
I wanted you to save me but you were too busy
I guess that’s just how it was all meant to end really
Now I am better and stronger and wiser
Your abandonment taught me to be a fighter
You don’t know this new me — I am not sorry —
I have put back my pieces, differently.

Dear X,

I miss you. There. I said it. I would never have said it to your face though. I have too much pride. And it’s the only thing I have left, which is why even if I know it’s also the thing that is holding us apart, I can’t let go. I can’t just let go. You’ve hurt me too much, too many times. And yet, I still can’t help it. I’m still in love with you. I’ve tried to fight it. I’ve tried to kill it. I’ve tried to stop. But even if you’ve broken my heart so many times, it still beats, and it beats your name. Only yours.

A part of me wants to hate you. I want to get angry. Get really pissed. Push my self to hurt you back. Push my self to make you suffer as you’ve made me. But I can’t even do that. Because when you’re hurt, I’m hurt as well.

Which is probably why this — our situation — is worse on me. I know you said you want me back. I heard everything you said, and I felt what you felt. I know that if I can only let go of my pride, of this fear of being hurt again, by you, we may find the happiness we both crave. With each other.

Because it has to be with each other.

But I don’t know how. I don’t know if I deserve happiness. Not after everything. Perhaps the universe really doesn’t want us together. Perhaps we’re just not meant to be happy.

Grieving

I posted my last post about my dad’s passing on Facebook and people are reacting and commenting. In a way, I find it comforting, to see people care.

I’ve also gone to visit dad’s tomb in Loyola; it badly needs some TLC and I’m going to work on that once I get my employment requirements done.

I’m so tired of crying. I’m so tired of feeling like my heart is breaking and I can’t breathe.

And all I really want right now is to talk to my brother about it.

But… I don’t know how.

Which is why I am writing this instead.

One day, if you read this little brother, I want you to know, I needed you today.

I needed you to listen and let me talk; when you borrowed that P 500 and told me that you were leaving for work early, and I wanted to let you know that I need you to give your share because the electric bills are due, and you couldn’t give me a chance to finish talking, with your voice rising, and your face crumpling into a frown, and your body language just shouts “I want to get out of this fast!” and all you really cared about was the money… You broke my heart.

And now you’re coming in and out of your room, with my door open. I am waiting for you, little brother. I told you I went to dad’s and you asked me why. I told you it’s May 2.

It’s May 2! It’s freaking May 2! He  — our father — died on May 2!

Or have you forgotten?

Or don’t you care?

You can see me crying right now, and you keep yourself locked in your room. I don’t know why.

And I’m too scared to ask, because you might hurt me even more than I am already hurting.

I hate this day and all it signifies, and I wish I could share it with you because you’re the ONLY PERSON WHO WOULD GET IT.

Mom’s loss is different from ours; she at least had more moments with him.

You and I pretty much had the same amount, and more importantly, we were his children.

We both share half of him in us.

And I really just… I wanted my brother.

If you haven’t noticed, I kept asking you yesterday if you were coming home.

I needed you. I need you.

But even if our rooms are right beside each other, even if I am merely a few steps away from you, we might as well be in different oceans.

Planets, even.

And it’s sad.

Still, I’ll be okay. I’ll post this on my blog and move on.

And when the time comes, that you’d need me… I WILL be there, little brother.

I promise.

People die.

This is fact.

It hurts when they die.

This too is fact.

People know these facts.

But people are stupid.

They don’t learn.

They still take other people for granted, thinking that we all have an infinite time in our hands.

But we don’t.

No one does.

So we keep on going into this cycle.

Of regret.

Of nostalgia.

Of resentment.

Of belated forgiveness.

Because people keep assuming, that what we have now, we can have again… and again… and again….

And in a way, they are right.

We fall, we rise, we fall again.

We rise again.

So maybe people have figured it out.

Or maybe not.

I don’t know anymore.

I just know, that if I knew that my moments with you were going to be few, I would never have allowed you to leave my side.

I would have listened to that voice in my head that told me not to let you go.

Because if I had, I wouldn’t have to wonder, if I was one of those people who assumed that I had time… even if I knew, I didn’t.

I always look up when I walk around the village, especially at night. I am fascinated by the stars that I know are always there, and yet we only get to see them when darkness falls. It’s like a metaphor for the harsh realities of life: you only get to see the bright spots when you are being haunted by the lack of light.

I have noticed that when I walk around the village, and I look up in the sky, people who see me tend to look up as well, wondering why the hell I’m looking up. I think they think I’m a little loopy, and they’re probably right, to some degree.

But I still like looking up in the sky; it’s easier than admitting what I truly feel.