The thing is we are all gifted with the ability to dream.
We all see ourselves in a way beyond what we are now. We've been there. Standing in front of a mirror and see not what we are now but what we will be tomorrow. There is always a person there, staring back and smiling. As if reminding you how hard it is to reach what you will eventually reach if you never give up. As if telling you that hard work really pays off. As if whispering the words you too dream of hearing; I am so proud of what you've become. You can almost hear someone thanking you for your existence. That because of you someone persevere.
But there are also times when the person looking back at you is someone you knew well but doesn't want to see. Someone with big puffy eyes too tired to even explain what even going on. Someone wearing all the burden in the world inside that dark eye bags. Someone who's cheekbones become prominent from all the sleepless nights battling with demons whispering every ways of why it's impossible. It is these times when you feel like you just can't. You are so tired to even believe. And you will never get off this alive. The only thing you can do is give up and admit defeat. We are all afraid of failure. But not as much as the thought of being called one. Everyone feels like perfect. It is just you who the world is against of. It is just you who seems like there is no way but to surrender.
But I want to remind you that only those who give up are failures. It may be dark right now on where you are but it will be darker if you stay there. You have to remind yourself of what you want to become even if it feels nothing. You have to gather all the strength left in you to see the image again, of that better person in the mirror that you want to stare back at you someday, even if its blurred. What people around you says doesn't matter. All their encouragements are nothing if you stop believing that you will make it. I believe that eveything we need is in all that we are. We are all capable of greatness. It is born with us but like every organs in our body we have to take care of it.
We are all capable of reaching our dreams. This is one quality that makes us beautiful. And what are we if we don't have them? What it is to live for?
I just want to remind you how beautiful you are. And yes, be even more beautiful. Reach your dreams.
Tuesday, November 8, 2016
Tuesday, November 1, 2016
NOVEMBER 1
Its been almost two years since I last walked the graveyard where the physical body of my sister lies. Almost two years. Almost two years my career did hinder me a visit.
It was a refreshing day. The weather was warm. Thin clouds cover the sky and the wind blows cold. It even rains before we left the house. It was a perfect day for a visit. This year, my other sister's career made her unable to be with us since she was on duty that morning. So it was just me and my parents. We retraced the path of the graveyard with an emotion I know we all share but I couldn't name of. I walked behind them, watching as they took every careful steps that will lead us to her resting place. My mother holding my father's arm tight.
It was always with comfort to visit her during this season. The graveyard was packed with people. Families are gathered around tombs. Everyone was dresssed in gray or white clothes. Loud party music are prohibited. No burst of laughters can be heard. It is comforting to know that we are not the only one who lose someone dear to us. That death was fair in making each of us suffer because we are the ones left behind. I traveled the path to her tomb slowly. My mind drifted to the times I've been there. Head lifted and eyes looking forward to see that fuschia pink piece rectangular shaped stone. I suddenly become aware that I feel naked. As if everyone can see through me. As if everyone knows I lose my youngest sister five years ago. Five years ago, we were with relatives and friends. Five years ago, they still remember what we lose to that place and swore with us to never forget, to always remember that she too once lived with us. It was just five years. But it seems like we are the only one left to remember her. Six hours in that place and yet no one we knew came to visit her. Her friends stopped visiting us too, two years ago. Everyone felt like they've move on.
It is funny how I imagine her sitting with us during that day. Listening to me talking to our parents about relatives. Seeing how old our parents are now. My father enthusiastically repaints the letters of her name with gold acrylic. I imagine her hitting my father's head. Did she notice how our parents are now? Or how I look with my haircut? Did she felt too the way we learned to accept that we can never be whole again, not until the day we see her again? I imagine Bod too, a character from Neil Gaiman's The Graveyard Book. I imagine all the souls in that graveyard. I imagine how they must have felt being with the ones they love and seeing how time changes them. What must these souls feel like when they realized that time stopped changing them while their love ones grew old. White hair noticeable in every strand, their skin gets a little darker or whiter, small ones grew more height, even the way they talk change. Did all the souls in here felt a pang of pain too? Knowing they will never be able to tell the ones they love everything they want to? Not yet now. Maybe tomorrow.
Five years of not being with my youngest sister also changes me. The idea of dying doesn't seem to scare me for all these years. There is nothing to be afraid of. She will be waiting there on the other side. But the stories. I have to live for the moment so we will have many things to talk for eternity. This is what I realized under the sky beside her tomb. For you, my love, I will keep on living.
It was a refreshing day. The weather was warm. Thin clouds cover the sky and the wind blows cold. It even rains before we left the house. It was a perfect day for a visit. This year, my other sister's career made her unable to be with us since she was on duty that morning. So it was just me and my parents. We retraced the path of the graveyard with an emotion I know we all share but I couldn't name of. I walked behind them, watching as they took every careful steps that will lead us to her resting place. My mother holding my father's arm tight.
It was always with comfort to visit her during this season. The graveyard was packed with people. Families are gathered around tombs. Everyone was dresssed in gray or white clothes. Loud party music are prohibited. No burst of laughters can be heard. It is comforting to know that we are not the only one who lose someone dear to us. That death was fair in making each of us suffer because we are the ones left behind. I traveled the path to her tomb slowly. My mind drifted to the times I've been there. Head lifted and eyes looking forward to see that fuschia pink piece rectangular shaped stone. I suddenly become aware that I feel naked. As if everyone can see through me. As if everyone knows I lose my youngest sister five years ago. Five years ago, we were with relatives and friends. Five years ago, they still remember what we lose to that place and swore with us to never forget, to always remember that she too once lived with us. It was just five years. But it seems like we are the only one left to remember her. Six hours in that place and yet no one we knew came to visit her. Her friends stopped visiting us too, two years ago. Everyone felt like they've move on.
It is funny how I imagine her sitting with us during that day. Listening to me talking to our parents about relatives. Seeing how old our parents are now. My father enthusiastically repaints the letters of her name with gold acrylic. I imagine her hitting my father's head. Did she notice how our parents are now? Or how I look with my haircut? Did she felt too the way we learned to accept that we can never be whole again, not until the day we see her again? I imagine Bod too, a character from Neil Gaiman's The Graveyard Book. I imagine all the souls in that graveyard. I imagine how they must have felt being with the ones they love and seeing how time changes them. What must these souls feel like when they realized that time stopped changing them while their love ones grew old. White hair noticeable in every strand, their skin gets a little darker or whiter, small ones grew more height, even the way they talk change. Did all the souls in here felt a pang of pain too? Knowing they will never be able to tell the ones they love everything they want to? Not yet now. Maybe tomorrow.
Five years of not being with my youngest sister also changes me. The idea of dying doesn't seem to scare me for all these years. There is nothing to be afraid of. She will be waiting there on the other side. But the stories. I have to live for the moment so we will have many things to talk for eternity. This is what I realized under the sky beside her tomb. For you, my love, I will keep on living.
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