My friend’s most recent blog entry took me back in time—three years, four months, and seven days past, to be exact—to that fateful morning in which I woke up to the unbearable sound of tears. It was the almost tangible feeling of disbelief rather than my mother’s sobbing that brought me to full consciousness: could it be? Could it be that, after two nights of uncertainty and anxiety and searing heartache, that my grandmother is…
I never really finished that sentence in my head. It took me quite a while to finish it (and now, three years hence, have I really?). Because, not until I was inside the ICU, seeing her lifeless form, breathing in that miserable, grievous smell of hospital disinfectant, and feeling her cold hand as I lifted it to my forehead—my final mano to my beloved grandmother—that I finally let go of that cumbersome feeling of disbelief and gave in to that inexplicable crushing sensation in my frail heart. Was it grief? Was it guilt? Was it—dare I say it—relief? I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, bring myself to give it a name. All I know is that it was one day before my seventeenth birthday, one year before my debut, and eleven months before my high school graduation (the end of four years that my grandmother worked hard for, prayed for, and cried over just to be able to pay my hefty tuition fees), and the feeling of loss was far greater than all the happiness and triumph I could ever anticipate to feel when those days come.
Jori dear, may your grandmother rest in peace, as I know mine is.
Before you can grow up, you must fall in love 3 times.
Once you must fall in love with your best friend, ruining your friendship forever. This will teach you who your true friends are, and the fine line between friendship and more.
Once you must fall in love with someone you believe to be perfect. You will learn that no one is perfect, and that you should never be treated as any less than you deserve.
And once you must fall in love with someone that is exactly like you. This will teach you about who you are, and who you want to be.
And when you’re through with all that, you learn that the people who care about you the most are the ones that you hurt, and the ones that hurt you are the ones that you needed the most.
But most of all, you learn that love is only a concept and is not something that can be defined, it is different to each person that experiences it. And you will learn to respect each and every person on this earth, knowing that everyone only wants to be loved.
“When your past becomes all that you think about, and it begins to swallow the present. Then and there, you stop creating history. You’re merely repeating, repeating, repeating. There’s no impact, no challenge, no difference, no change. Just a daily routine of remembering. The whole world around you keeps on turning and the people around you continue living, loving and learning. But you; well you’re merely existing. The sad fact is, you know it, you see it, and yet still- you embrace it. The question I have for you; why? Why live what you’ve lived, do what you’ve done, and get what you’ve always gotten. The future is unwritten for a reason; so write. Someday someone will pick up your book- and lets face it; no one wants to read the same page seven hundred times.”—
I think it lacks personal touch. It reads like any traveler’s experience of Venice (though hopefully those travelers won’t have the same exact writing style as mine). I am still having a hard time writing about my experiences without using “I” and other personal pronouns. *le sigh*
Or maybe I just disagree with the methods and I’m really stubborn about it. Oh well… It’s really difficult to be stubborn and GC at the same time. :))