That soul taught me…to solve my own Math problem by using a scientific calculator or Google, as the case may be.
Debates happen every single day.
Tonight, though, there were no debates. My thoughts agreed, profusely, with my eagerness to write. Finally.
Minutes ago, I had been to a familiar world of papers turning reality into a cornucopia of bliss and magic. As a matter of fact, and for a single split of second, I decided this place should be real. The fiction slapped me, slowly, but powerfully…indeed, that’s the point of fiction. It makes you fall in love until cold water, gently, pours down on you saying, “It’s time to wake up, dreamer. This is a work of fiction.” In short, I came back to reading the old, overused romance novels I had in high school.
The idea of spending few minutes to read them in between my breaks from the “bloody review” doesn’t matter to me, anymore. Numbness is not the word. Passion, in the middle of the war zone, is what I aim for.
I guess, every human soul yearns for love. Not admiration. The human soul thirsts for the deep, blue water, instead of a make-believe pool of affirmation.
So the thought of another human soul knocking on my door made me lose my balance. I guarded myself too well that I didn’t notice I was caught off guard. That soul taught me: to laugh amidst few broken lines from a song, to keep my ears open for words I wouldn’t expect to hear, to simplify things for better understanding, to ask questions with no answer, to solve my own Math problem by using a scientific calculator or Google, as the case may be, and to hope for victory even if I have, only, 1% chance of winning.
From that moment on, I saw things from a different perspective. I was dancing through every page of my life, when I should be walking or running. It happened so fast and only when I realized this soul could do more that I lost him.
I discovered: that soul doesn’t believe in love. That soul, I believe, was hurt by love. That soul doesn’t want love, when in fact mine is beginning to fall like ashes on the ground
“Eazy-ly”, I understood things with him, but it’s harder to make him understand that love exists. It’s ironic. And painful.
Painful because that beautiful, broken soul had chosen to close himself in a cocoon from the remnants of this cruel world. It’s heartbreaking that you wanted to unleash his beauty but he just wouldn’t leave his place because he’s not, yet, ready. That soul was, surely, broken, and he needed to heal himself. Until when?
If only his soul would allow mine to heal with him. Ah!
Despite this poverty of spirit, my longing soul remains faithful that one day, maybe, that other soul will see life in a more colorful perspective. Maybe he will see it the way he made me see a deeper blue color of the ocean from afar. Or maybe he will heal and feel the same way I feel.
Fiction might have awakened the magma inside my volcano of thoughts, but I was thankful, at least, because this time I was not debating with myself. Slowly and beautifully, the molten magma flowed and created this post. Ironically and instantly, the rain poured so hard…waking me up and saying, “This is not fiction. Continue living, fighter.” What a wonderful story it has been!
Starting today, everything will be different. The fact that I am writing this instead of finishing my exams makes it a lot more different than the previous months. You know that I blog per pressure, but this time, I feel so numb that I can write without tears pouring down from my very eyes.
For over a year, I’ve had countless arguments – mostly small and few of them were pretty small that you’ll soon realize that they are not worth talking about. I admit to being an argumentative person, especially when I already knew the truth, and yet, things like that are kept hidden to me. Yes, I am argumentative but I do not like arguments as much as I love discussing issues over and over.
Up to now, one thing is banging my head and I am not certain on how to address this, that is why I keep on typing words here. If I go straight to the point, what is the point of blogging? But tonight, my mind was cleared. Letting go is not the answer; walking away is my response.
We have been together for so long and I wouldn’t write here how long that was. Consequently, all conflicts were solved, efficiently. It has been a part of ours to have these so-called “quarrels” for they made us even a stronger couple. But one day came that I had remained silent…so silent than the dusky, summer night.
Maybe this is the best option for the both of us; maybe this is the right time to walk away; maybe letting go is the answer to this dilemma; maybe this has been haunting us from the beginning and we need to finish it; maybe forgetting can be the start of another beginning.
The unspoken thoughts and fuzzy feelings are unfolding. The rain is pouring over the roof of uncertainties. Oh, rain, can you take me away? Make my soul pour over like a raindrop to his head, and from his head down to the sole of his feet. I want to feel him, again, even for the last time. And soon as I leave his glorious body and found the cold, wet ground, make me flow until I no longer can for I already precipitated. One day that I, again, reached the clouds, do not let me fall. Please give me that enormous feeling that I will get to see his face from up above. The connection between the sky and his sight will be no less than amazing and I couldn’t be more thankful than that.
The thought of parting ways has a different vision to me like that of a raindrop. He might have tried to let go of me, as the raindrop flowed quickly down his feet, I will still go back to him in another form. Up in the sky, I am watching him. And I will be glad one day that I will be with him, again, without him noticing that it was me, the old raindrop – the same girl he used to love before.
Many droplets will come to him for years, I know. As long rain exists, so do I. And even if the sun has set, I will always wish for a rain. Now that it is raining, wherever he is, I hope he is out there, waiting for a single drop of rain to pour down from his head. You have no idea how much I miss this man, that I am going to take risks just to be with him, again, and forever. If my life was life was all I had, how could not I offer it for him?
If he is reading this now, hand him a white cloth. I do not want him crying over this letter or so. Please wipe his tears, if he ever cried. For a moment, comfort him. Tell him I’ll be there at any minute he wishes me to. For I am just up above, watching him and waiting for another rain to come so I can be with him again for more than…ETERNITY.
by: Samantha C. De Guzman
I asked my male cousin, “How do you mend a broken heart?” Geez! He didn’t seem to be surprised at all. Needless to say, I know the answer, yes. But I am confused.
For two days, I have been trying to compose myself…to clear my mind and to conjure up my thoughts. There were a lot of topics to blog. In fact, I prepared more than 3 outlines and photographs were all ready. Every night, I do check my notifications here on WordPress. Blessed as it is, I am lucky. Thank you for the continuous likes, guys!
But those nights, too, my mind was soaked. Different ideas and doubts were ironically flying through my head. I had a lot to compromise and I was so excited to share happenings in my life, but I couldn’t find the courage to do them, quickly.
This quote I wrote before, “A writer does not write everyday, neither nor he writes every other day; a writer writes on a day beyond his control.” is living my principle. How can I write while my mind has been tied up in knots? Maybe I can, if I try too hard, but eventually, I will be killing myself for that. I need rest, so does sleep. For that, excuse me, Ma’am, for being absent in WordPress class.
“That’s a pretty tough question, cousin. You just have to give yourself a break. I know it’s hard because you lose your attention to what you are doing. And worst, people around you don’t notice it because you are a good clown.“ Alfred, an experienced lover boy, said it, quickly.
Bingo! He is surely my cousin. “Exactly, cousin. This is hard, though. I can’t focus. Spending my leisure time thinking about it hurts me more.”
As a writer, experience is your friend. Without it, you can’t make your work appealing. Fiction writers, too, got a big house of experience, plus their wide imagination. My point here is, when you write, you write by heart because your mind will follow, accordingly. When you are out of words, do not call Mr. Webster, immediately. Pause. Meditate. Ask for His guidance and the Holy Spirit will usher through your thoughts, like a dawn’s flower blooming in mild dew.
Less often than not, when I get too depressed, I simply write my heart out. This way, I am expressing the feelings I hid a few minutes ago. The other way, I am still attuned to my endless sob while I am writing.
“Distract yourself. Do the things that make you happy,” Alfred suggested in a cool tone.
I remembered what I did the whole day: In the morning, I woke up with the sun smiling at me. The look in my eye is cheerless. “…Lord, thank you for this day. Guide and bless me and my family forever.” After casting a prayer, I didn’t get out my bed, yet. Instead, I think about the whole thing, again and again…
Lunch wasn’t that hard for me. For a few hours, my attempt to go out of the melancholy, succeeded. I hope that lasts until tomorrow…or until more days passed.
Oh, sorry. I have to end the post here…right here. Evening’s fine, though. Goodnight!
by: Samantha C. De Guzman