WRITE IT

Of all the things I've learned to do, I am most thankful that I can write.

Writing is for me, the only thing that keeps me sane in this insane, ever-changing and cruel world. I am so thankful for all the authors I've read, they gave me the freedom to go into the worlds unknown. They taught me fly and slay dragons. They allowed me to have friends and face monsters with them and above all, they let me live a life.

I know I'm too sentimental right now but I just feel so thankful. So thankful that I grow up reading. That I'm known as always-the girl-with-a-book-in-her-hand. I couldn't imagine how some people can go through this lifetime without reading or writing. We are creatures of feelings. And yet we eventually forget how we feel about a certain moment because we are also limited by time. Time is the greatest thief there is. First it fades the emotion, then it steals the details. No matter how beautiful or tragic a moment is, it is always bound to be forgotten. That is why writing is important. We should write down everything that made us happy, sad, and all the emotions in between. Even the times when we don't feel anything at all. We should write our lives in whatever form we choose. Because that is all there is to it. Because writing allows us to live after we die.

EVERYTHING ABOUT ME IS SAD

It's lonely. No matter what I do, it's still lonely. Sometimes, I want to cry hard so that my sadness may be wash out away. Funny isn't it? I feel more real in sadness. There is so much reality in agony than in laughter. The world is so lonely. I am doing what Im doing just so I could pass the time. I feel trapped. Imprisoned in a life I never choose for myself. And even so, I couldn't change it. Choosing the life I always dream for myself would be selfishness. What am I doing? What am I doing watching and reading different series. I just get envious of the characters. I feel like they're more alive than me. They have a life. I don't feel like I have one  They go on adventures. And my loneliness increases everytime I finish one. Why is there that no fiction last forever? Why am I not allowed to grew up with the characters?  "Life is too cruel," says Katherina Petrova. "If we cease to believe in love, why would we want to live?" But love is fragile. It breaks easily. There are many kinds of love in this world but they are too short-live. Many people fall out of love everyday. And what happens then? What is there after love? It's lonely. I couldn't even believe how lonely I feel right now. Is this the loneliness Kate Spade, Jonghyung and Bordain felt? Is there a way to know when sadness is too much? How can I go on living like this? What is there for me if I ever go on? I am too sad right now.

But I don't want to give up. Not yet. Maybe the only way out of this is through. Maybe tomorrow is a better day. Maybe I'll be able to see things differently if I go on. Maybe I'll be able to write the stories in my head if I continue living despite the loneliness. Believe me, I just want to go on. But it's getting hard everytime.

POCHOLO

There has to be a place for dogs in heaven. I mean, I believe even animals have a soul. They feel and they love so why wouldn't they have souls that wouldn't go to heaven?

My family lost one of our dogs today. Pocholo was an aspin. A breed typically found anywhere in the Philippines. I brought him home when a co-worker gave him to me. He was just a month old and my mother doubt that he would survive not having breastfed. He was so small. Just about the size of a large palm. It was my first time bringing home a dog. And it gave me a sense of responsibility. I have to take care of him because I brought him home. He bacame my instant son. But my work kept me from being with him everyday. So the responsibility of taking care of him was given to my father. My father was the one left in the house while we work so Pocholo was a blessing because he provided my father a diversion. And as the months passed, Pocholo became my brother. My mother loves him because he was also like a son to her. We love him. He was a friend, someone you know would be there barking to welcome you home. He has this habit of hugging us when we arrived home. And his eyes, I tell you, his eyes convey so much love for us it was like looking in the eyes of a human.

But then sickness came over him. He was a parvo survivor when he was a year old but he fought bravely and lived through it. About three weeks ago, he was inflicted by demodectic mange. He never had contact with any stray dogs. We never fed him any raw meat, fish or processed foods. We don't know on earth how did he acquire mange. We tried all known medications, organic and chemical, but mange is slowly taking him away. He lost appetite yesterday and today, I witnessed my brother, my son and my bestfriend as he drew his final breath. He suffered for an hour and all we could do was be with him. I will never forget his eyes. Though with ragged breathing, his eyes never lose the love in them. He locked eyes with me during the final moments. I knew he was trying to say goodbye. That he knew he's just minutes away from death and that he wanted to know that we'll be okay. I told him silently that it's going to be okay and that's when he slowly slipped away. He let out a whimper and took a very deep breath, the one he will never took again. He joined my sister in heaven. It was painful. So painful I don't know the words. We will miss that guy terribly. We will live the days missing that white, sweet, little man we lovingly called Pocholo.

I love you, Pocholo.

Tatay, Mama and Jannel loves you. We will always remember you. You were one of our best three years.

Run free, my love. I will see you again in rainbow bridge. 'Til then, sweet guy. 'Til then.

Pocholo

April 2016-June 11,2018

INTIMACY VS. ISOLATION

It seems to me that as the internet keep on making the world small, the trend nowadays is whether you are inlove or in the process of being there. People keep talking of love for all I care. As if its the most understandable thing in the universe. My relatives keep asking me if I am inlove. My few longtime friends hope I finally found someone to spend the rest of my life with. We rarely got any conversation besides love. Everyone at work, if you would ask them what they want for me, will tell you that they can't wait for the day I introduce them a man I will call boyfriend.

I never got a boyfriend before or someone as close as a boyfriend. I fell in love thrice in different guys in my twenty five years of life and each was never the same. I am more mature each time. Can you blame me if they weren't? Some says I should do this thing called fling or hooking up but I don't want to. It wasn't for me. I don't like to waste time dating guys I can never marry.

Come on, my belief that I am boring proved wrong. People love to talk with me. I know things to keep up on any topic preferences. I don't think it's my physical looks either. Some says I'm cute and pretty. I have a stable job. I do think I'm living healthy. Is it me? Is it because it's just not the time yet? Is the one for me have some serious illness or is already dead?

But as odd as I am, I know in my heart that I am not afraid to be single for the years to come. I couldn't imagine myself raising children. Children are expensive. They are yours one day then poof, before you know it, they're gone. They become people you don't know, eventually. I believe it's part of being a parent but that is not something I have knowledge of yet. But I believe love is sacred. I believe that if someone is for you then its for you.  There's this invisible string that connects the two of you and its getting shorter as the days go by. I believe that one day if the two of you finally met, the string is short but tighter until it explodes and form a heart that the two of you will share. It is always a matter of time. I believe in the myth that our soul is divided in two and we spend many years of our life looking for the other half, only when we found the other half could we finally go beyond the happiness of this life. And I believe that there are those that have their soul as one. I like to think mine is created that way. I think I will never marry and have children because life for me, is greater than that. There is more I could do than becoming a wife and a mother. But who knows? Who knows what the days ahead has in store.

A TIME LIKE THAT

It was when the weather is between it would rain and maybe it wouldn't. When you were out under the open sky. When the wind brushing your beauty-creamed face doesn't hurt. When you never mind the sun peeking through the clouds and touching your skin. It was when your mind momentarily forgets all the deadlines and bills. When you know that all the ones you love are okay. When you suddenly believe that you are where you always wanted to be. It was when you look up, take a deep breath and feel an innate feeling that maybe despite all the violence and injustice you heard, watched last night and read in social media, maybe, just maybe there is still so much good, so much kindness and loving in this world. And that is how it is. It is like that before you were born and it will be like that even if you were not around anymore. It is when you suddenly become aware that you are one with the universe. You would know what I mean by then. You would know that it is during those moments, within that fraction of time, is exactly a good time to die.

ONE SAD DAY

The most hateful part of suffering with depression is that it makes you someone you are not. It is like a person knocking on your the door the day after you spent the night together with all the people you love, celebrating you for being just who you are. You opened the door and find it there standing in front of you. It was wearing the same clothes you wore last night, only that it was stained with coffee-like spilt. Its hair was messy and it smelled. It was hungry. And you can feel that its cold. Your instant reaction was to close the door. To pretend it never knocked in the first place. But you know it's too late. You already looked into its eyes. You already realized that those teary eyes staring back at you, is you.

When you grew up suffering from depression every once or twice in a year, you are aware that you are suffering from it. You know that it is not just sadness. It is not just you having a bad day. Yes, at first you will try to fool yourself. You will go to your most trusted friends and try to be happy with them. You will try to talk yourself out of it. "I have family and friends, what more is there to be depress about?" But you will not try to tell them what's bothering you. How could you? How could you tell someone that you're sad because you don't know. That you want to cry right now because there is something wrong deep inside you and you want to cry but you don't know why. You would want to make them understand something you yourself couldn't. And after some days, you will realize that the sadness you feel wouldn't go away the way like "normal sadness" goes away. It didn't work that way. You know it isn't. Depression isn't just you lacking of support system. It is you suddenly not wanting to do anything. You don't want to eat because you're not hungry. Sometimes you are so tired even if you just woke up from twelve hours of sleep. Sometimes you can't fall asleep even if you are awake for two days. You feel so isolated. Your family and friends are reaching up but you couldn't even extend a hand to meet their's. You don't want to explain anymore because you think they haven't been there and they will never know how awful it feels. That's how it is. Depression makes you someone they don't know. It is not loneliness you feel but isolation. As if you are the only person in the world that experiences it. It makes you selfish. It robs you of yourself from yourself. You stop from taking care of yourself. It makes you think that there is nothing worthwhile to do. All the parties, the small talk, the smiles... they don't mean anything. Life, suddenly becomes meaningless.

God only knows how much I try to win over this debilitating illness on my own without the help of medications. I am afraid that if I start taking serotonin inhibitors, I will be dependent on it. That even if I go on very small amounts at first, I will eventually be needing an increase as I suffer until I become resistant. So I tried online therapist, suicide hotlines and support groups. I tried reading self help books and religious counselors. But when you are there at the center of a dark circle surrounded by depression itself, none of this would work.  Advises that consists of "You should go out more often" "Happiness is a choice" and "We are here for you, all you have to is tell us what you need" all feel like an insult.

I have to stop here. This is not a self help story and I wouldn't come out with something I did to overcome depression so I don't know what else to say. I just want you to know, you who's reading this, of my experience. That maybe you feel the same way and yes, I am not alone. You are not alone. I know and you know (more than our families and friends know) how terribly we suffer from it. But I believe we will heal. Our bodies will heal. The wounds will form a scar. We will be able to overcome this. Depression doesn't have to define us. We should struggle so that it will never have to be us. And maybe one day, when that teary eyed gloomy person that knocked on your door leaves, maybe it will never return again. And we will be free.

MAY YOU GRIEVE WELL

A friend of mine had just lost his beloved mother from respiratory failure a few days ago. It was sudden. Things happen from his mother laughing and with so much life to a person who lies now inside a wooden box. I went to his mother's wake last night together with some collegueas. He was a dear friend. Someone who helped me while struggling during my early months working. He was always there. He was always, always ready to listen to my childish whims. And it broke my heart to see him suffering just as he is now. It broke my heart to listen to him as he tried to make sense of everything that happened in the last few days. His mother was taken in an instant. "Too young," he said. "There is more years ahead of her... why, why does this happen?" It broke my heart to see myself again through him.

But unlike me who faced the same situation, I can say that he was strong. He may not know it now. Many will encourage him to be strong but they don't know that he's already is. He was the source of strength of his father. He was the one who made decisions since the moment his mother was rushed to the hospital. Its ironic how he remembered not knowing what to do during those critical moments. He was a nurse for almost a decade. He witnessed countless codes and deaths. And yet when his mother was the one lying in that hospital bed, her heart slowly giving up, he remembered not being a nurse at all. He became just as a son. He became like one of all our patients' relatives praying hard that the Almighty may allow them more time. In the face of death, all knowledge and reasons became nothing. And he continued to be strong as he made all the funeral arrangements. He couldn't grieve yet. There is much to do. People are coming. They need someone to see them. They need someone who could tell them what happened. And its not time to compliment him, but I really admired him when he recall to us those final days and hours. He had been so strong during her final moments. He, for all its worth, was able to say goodbye.

I didn't.

I never expected that I will.

I remember myself during my sister's final hours. I was there. But it feels like I wasn't there. I remember wishing I am not there. I believe one will never true pain until one witness a loved one dying right before one's very eyes. There are many pain and agony in this world but nothing will ever compare to losing a beloved from sickness. There is so much hurt in witnessing a body battle against something that's killing it from the inside. I remember as my sister was being brought out from the operating room, lifeless and feels like not my sister at all. I wasn't able to say goodbye. And I will never be able to in this lifetime. I'll never be able to escape from that memory as long as Im alive. Unlike my friend, I had not been strong enough. My mourning continues until now.

"It will get worse," I whispered to him as he ushered us outside. The long days and nights will start after they buried the body and all that's left was an empty side of the bed, unwashed clothes, personal belongings everywhere waiting to be pick up by the one who owns it but the one who do was nowhere. Sleep will be the only thing that will momentarily stop all the pain but you will be afraid of sleeping. It is so painful to because you have to close your eyes. For months to come, the only thing that you will see when you close your eyes and the moment you open them was the sight of your beloved on that hospital bed. Of the days she suffered. Her every face will haunt you. Her voice will echoe in your head. You will always hear her calling your name with so much life. Her voice, which sounds like a sweet laughter from a distance, will keep calling you like an itch in the back. And you will find yourself turning around, expecting to find her there--- sitting on the edge of the bed or standing beside the table like she used to, but she wouldn't. It will be her voice you will treasure most. The sound of laughter, of shouts, of the cries and whispers. You will be afraid of the dark. Not anymore because of the darkness itself but because it brings along severe loneliness. You will be very afraid to be left alone. The void. The emptiness. Its as if you can see it coming for you when you're alone. You will want to go somewhere. Anywhere will be fine as long as there is noise and people.  And you will find yourself aching to be heard. You will want someone to talk to. Someone who knows exactly what you're going through. You don't want just someone who will listen but someone who knows what it's like to be on your shoes. Someone who will tell you that you're not okay. That nothing will be okay again. It is so painful. Everything about you from now on will be aching. There will be a time when you will wish in every moment of your waking hours for someone who can take the pain away because you cannot bear it any longer. But you will never find anyone who could. The only one who can was gone. Birthdays and holidays will never be the same again. They will no longer remind you of how fortunate you are to be given another life but of how close you are in seeing her again. You will lose all fear of your own death because you will realize that the other side will not be an abyss like you believe it before. There will be someone waiting for you there. And you will live with that hope. You will cling on to that hope like air you needed to stay alive. And then one day, you will wake up and find yourself on the other side of that pain. You will learn to live with it as I did. It will never go away but you will learn to live with it. Time will heal nothing. The wound is too deep to form a scar but you have no choice, either you live with it or you take your own life. I was given no choice but to live until now. And there will come a time when you will do too. Not for your sake alone but for her as well. You will decide at one point that you have a duty to live your life as fully and as long as possible because it is the last thing you can do to honor the life she lived once. You will realize one day (it will take years and years from now because you will suffer first but you will someday) that your life is actually an extension of hers.

I believe, with everything that I am now and with all that I will ever be, that one day, I'll find my own peace with what happened to my sister. That maybe my broken family will be whole again. That maybe after a long life, we will find each other again in a place free of sickness, injustice and death. And that is what I want him to know. "It will be worse but you will live through it."