Because of the tragedies that's happening everywhere this past few months, someone had asked me if I do believe in justice.
Justice. According to Miriam-Webster Dictionary installed in my android, justice is the process of using laws to fairly judge and punish crimes and criminals. Fairly. Fair. Treating people in a way that does not favor some over others. I like to think justice is similar to the phrase getting what we deserve.
I can answer him without second thought. No. I don't.
I like to think myself as an observer. I see things, more than what is visible. I hear things. I notice them. I watch and analyze people, and for me, justice is an illusion created by humans to cope with all the cruelty we experience. For all I care,there are only two kinds of people in this world: those who gets what they don't deserve and those who don't get what they deserve. The powerful and wealthy are the ones who create laws that favors them. There are those who never gets punish for all the crimes they committed and there are those who suffer for the sins they never made. There's no justice. Not at least in this world.
I don't believe in equality. We don't always get the same things as others did. I don't believe in peace. There is no peace in this world. Not in this lifetime. As long as there is love, there will be hate. As long as we continue to hurt each other there will be war and injustice. As long as classifications exist, we would never achieve true peace. Muslims and Christians. Idealist and realist. The wealthy and the savages. The deprived and those who cannot ask for more.
This is a cruel world we live in. But don't you think it's funny? That the world is still a beautiful place despite everything?
Saturday, March 28, 2015
QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS
I remember this one girl who asked Pope Francis, during his visit and mass in Luneta, a very thought provoking question: Why do bad things happen to little children like her? I remember her pushing back tears and trying her best to untie that tight knot in her throat. I remember how she embraced the highest official of the catholic church, as if doing so will answer all her questions. I can almost hear her asked with all earnest the follow-up questions: Why does God allow worst things to happen to them? Why do some of them get rape, abuse and murdered? They're children. They're defenseless. They do nothing wrong. They are only victims of society. Why? Why? Why?
And I remember myself asking the same question when my sister died.
She was adorable. She was kind. She can't even hurt an insect (except kill a flying cockroach). There's a lot of things she hadn't witness yet. There are a lot of great things for her ahead. She's yet to experience first love, first dance and first heartache. She's supposed to graduate, to go to college, to spend many nights making researches.
And I can't help but feel guilty.
Since she was born, I tried my best to protect her from all kinds of pain as I can and I came to hate many things. I hated myself for not noticing the symptoms even if I'm in my second year studying nursing. I hated myself for watching her suffer for almost two weeks. I hated myself when the nurses brought her lifeless body for us to see---the fact that I didn't dare whispered goodbye twenty minutes after she died. She could have heard me if I did. I hated myself for still breathing months after the funeral. It should have been me. It should have been me who died because I'm the stronger one. I'm the eldest and it's my responsibility to protect my siblings. I'm the one who can tolerate pain and sadness and loneliness. I'm the one who did many wrong. I should have been the one who lied on that deathbed. It's supposed to be me.
But it isn't.
The sudden sickness took her away and I was left in the darkness, despising my own existence. I'm the one left walking alone in that path of self-destruction. I'm the one filled with unanswered questions. And you know what's worst? I'm the one left to live. I came to realize that we all have our own tragedies. That little girl I mentioned earlier is that she lost her parents. Some have to endure different kinds of sickness and human cruelty. My parent's tragedy is that they lost one of their child. Mine is that... I have to live.
Why does God allowed it all? We didn't kill anyone. We're not the ones sitting in corrupted government chairs stealing millions from starving people. Why? Why does God allow bad things to happen to us?
After almost three years of trying to understand it all, I am still offered no definite answer. I read many stories, christians and self-help books. I listened to sermons and true to life sharesBut nothing ever made sense. I found myself digging for more questions. But I came to arrive on a conclusion. I became focused on asking that I failed to see that because God is God... He has no obligation to explain Himself to me. His ways are not my ways and His thoughts are not my thoughts. He's everlasting and flawless and powerful. I am but a mere fragile creature in His story.
I never had any intention of forgetting what happen to my sister but I came to accept everything. I accepted that I will not be given any answers. Not at least in this lifetime. Nor will I hear some divine explanation from Him. No. He doesn't have to explain Himself to me. And that's how I started forgiving myself. That's how I regain my courage to still go on, to move, to dream dreams for the both of us. I think that because it should have been me who died, I owe my sister a life. If I cannot live for myself, I have to live for her. I have to find a reason to live because I'm the one left in here. I'm the stronger one, am I? I have to live no matter what. I end up looking forward to meeting her again with all the wonderful stories I experienced. I decided to fill my life with stories because one day, we will sit across each other and talk for eternity.
I'm not claiming I undestand everything. If that little girl will read this and accepted that God really allow bad things to happen to us the way I did... I don't know. I'm offering her nothing. I do hope she realize that God is God. And I do hope she lives. May she lives a good life.
And I remember myself asking the same question when my sister died.
She was adorable. She was kind. She can't even hurt an insect (except kill a flying cockroach). There's a lot of things she hadn't witness yet. There are a lot of great things for her ahead. She's yet to experience first love, first dance and first heartache. She's supposed to graduate, to go to college, to spend many nights making researches.
And I can't help but feel guilty.
Since she was born, I tried my best to protect her from all kinds of pain as I can and I came to hate many things. I hated myself for not noticing the symptoms even if I'm in my second year studying nursing. I hated myself for watching her suffer for almost two weeks. I hated myself when the nurses brought her lifeless body for us to see---the fact that I didn't dare whispered goodbye twenty minutes after she died. She could have heard me if I did. I hated myself for still breathing months after the funeral. It should have been me. It should have been me who died because I'm the stronger one. I'm the eldest and it's my responsibility to protect my siblings. I'm the one who can tolerate pain and sadness and loneliness. I'm the one who did many wrong. I should have been the one who lied on that deathbed. It's supposed to be me.
But it isn't.
The sudden sickness took her away and I was left in the darkness, despising my own existence. I'm the one left walking alone in that path of self-destruction. I'm the one filled with unanswered questions. And you know what's worst? I'm the one left to live. I came to realize that we all have our own tragedies. That little girl I mentioned earlier is that she lost her parents. Some have to endure different kinds of sickness and human cruelty. My parent's tragedy is that they lost one of their child. Mine is that... I have to live.
Why does God allowed it all? We didn't kill anyone. We're not the ones sitting in corrupted government chairs stealing millions from starving people. Why? Why does God allow bad things to happen to us?
After almost three years of trying to understand it all, I am still offered no definite answer. I read many stories, christians and self-help books. I listened to sermons and true to life sharesBut nothing ever made sense. I found myself digging for more questions. But I came to arrive on a conclusion. I became focused on asking that I failed to see that because God is God... He has no obligation to explain Himself to me. His ways are not my ways and His thoughts are not my thoughts. He's everlasting and flawless and powerful. I am but a mere fragile creature in His story.
I never had any intention of forgetting what happen to my sister but I came to accept everything. I accepted that I will not be given any answers. Not at least in this lifetime. Nor will I hear some divine explanation from Him. No. He doesn't have to explain Himself to me. And that's how I started forgiving myself. That's how I regain my courage to still go on, to move, to dream dreams for the both of us. I think that because it should have been me who died, I owe my sister a life. If I cannot live for myself, I have to live for her. I have to find a reason to live because I'm the one left in here. I'm the stronger one, am I? I have to live no matter what. I end up looking forward to meeting her again with all the wonderful stories I experienced. I decided to fill my life with stories because one day, we will sit across each other and talk for eternity.
I'm not claiming I undestand everything. If that little girl will read this and accepted that God really allow bad things to happen to us the way I did... I don't know. I'm offering her nothing. I do hope she realize that God is God. And I do hope she lives. May she lives a good life.
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