dia uno - mejor amigo
it wasn’t fair that i had three that i had to pick from, so i chose the one i knew the longest.
i met her in the summer of sixth grade—bright and big-eyed and excited to show me her side of the world even though i distinctly remember rejecting the offer. she was joyous and was not hesitant to spread her happiness disease with me, while i was stoic and had to put much effort to smile.
after that meeting we hit it off right away—sleepovers went on for as long as a week and our moms could not figure out what in the world we would be talking about that kept us up until the wee hours of the morning. we looked for part-time jobs together, experimented and failed with makeup together, and criticized each others’ crushes until we had to leave the poor oblivious boys alone.
despite the constant bickering and hidden competitions we had in our growing years, you could say we complimented each other perfectly. besides adding too many unsettling colors to my uptight world of black and white, you can say she teaches me one constant lesson every time i meet or think of her—
—relax.
v: ah, im getting fat and insecure
j: why?? you’re fine just the way you are
v: no im not. time to starve myself and throw food up!
j: get rid of those vog magazines!!!
ahahaaha j <3
coward
i often wondered why when i entered college my discipline for studying disappeared.
i thought i was just flowing in synch with the rest of my non-bio colleagues whose hard-work and unrivaled dedication for academics were traded for the booze and sex.
but i realized that as i saw myself and my behavior for how i studied, how erratic and inconsistent it was—how like a bipolar woman i would study profusely one moment and seriously consider just dropping the class the next, i saw that this lack of studying is in its entirety the result of me losing to my fear of failing, how i would rather not try so that i could say i never failed.
my dream is to change the world to the motion and rhythm of gods. to leave an imprint of myself that has changed so rapidly in god’s and thus leave the essence of his hands through me.
im not those people you see on college ads advertising trade school opportunities, nor am i a face on a world vision volunteer screen. i wont disappear within a generation nor with a flick of a remote control. i will be remembered when children need hope and they see how i’ve done it, when teenagers need inspiration and they think of what i did to get it, when the elderly want to live again and find the youth that i’ve religiously kept by staying true to my self. all by the power of christ.
but these days…i feel like it’s me against the world. and god, i feel so small against it. i have these dreams that i want to fulfill, but none had ever done it before—or rather lived (and stayed christian) to tell it. there are tidal waves, storms, and deep blue seas to drown in with no land in sight.
and its when im in these places—where fear reigns and troubles seep into the deepest of your skin—that i realize a beautifully formed pact, that we all must be the peter that doubted jesus to become the peter that honored him by crucifying himself to the cross.
mirror
there’s been this searching that i’ve been doing, you see.
everything that is around me—the vibrant colors, the hidden texts, the massive light whose source is just the opposite—it’s all becoming so much more meaningful than it has ever been.
i used to think that the order of everyday life—the tiles on a bathroom floor, the ruffles on a skirt—was not significant until popularity danced alongside it. therefore, an object did not flutter with its own life, its own characteristics and existences until a few others (actually many others) loved it too.
but now things are different. there’s a growth in me you see, as if someone has watered the cords connecting my brain as they would to a redwood tree.
im beginning to feel, smell, and taste the objects around me as if they were dishes gathered for my next feast.
i see the pastel pinks mixed with sky blue of bedsheets and before i am appalled at how dare she mix those two colors i whiff the memories that they have carried. it reveals that it’s not only about those bedsheets, but of how her tendencies to mix awkward colors have surfaced. of what past happenings shaped her to mix pink and blue. or may be they have impelled her to be so random in choosing pink and blue.
then i look at his neatly organized desk, with not a speck of dust in sight. i see the lamp wiped clean from hours before, and the books stacked from biggest to smallest. if not for its familiarity i would be in utter amazement. and i wonder, as i sit on the grass of my home lawn, what makes him do that? what childhood remnants did he pick up like seashells on the shore and keep with him ‘til this day that he is still peering for dirt on his possessions although he is clearly aware that he has done it a few seconds ago?
they are quite strange.
as am i.
then i tried to resort to my own objects to find myself…i dug through mountains of shoes, a rusted silver bracelet, a much too expensive foundation powder now cracked, and saw that these weren’t me, but just piles and piles of junk accumulated according to what was pleasing to others and how i wanted to be presented.
so i started looking at myself in the mirror, not out of vanity, but to trace my lips, my nose and my eyes in a frantic attempt to see beyond the shadows of my parents. to see what was behind the facade i put on ironically not in front of others, but in front of myself. in order to see the true self of me, i like to call it.
its weird. but im not crazy.
but whenever i look, it’s not me i see. but a pair of arms engulfing me in a warm embrace.
maybe i am crazy then. the world sure tells me im crazy. it’s not normal to feel peace when a bearded stranger is hugging you. nor is it sane to call Him your daddy when He’s clearly white with neatly folded eyelids while im stuck with tiny eyes and sunny yellow skin.
i have to stumble for words to defend the imaginary arguer, persistent in proving me wrong. it feels like it’s me against the world.
but before i dash out into the battlefield, i feel a sense of letting go. pointlessness would be too inaccurate, but surrendering is holier than i really am. but i choose surrender when i realize that it’s not me whose doing it. but He.
and thus i am at peace.
i looked intently to find myself but i found Him instead.
so i think, how nice would it be to melt here for a while. just a little bit more.
little things
there are lots of nights like this when sleep comes to me easier then it usually did, when due dates, midterms, and expectations are suddenly nonexistent for the sake of dozing off.
it makes me remember years ago when there were nights i would hear my dad groaning with pain from the other room, where my immediate reaction from my sleepy stupor my eyes would fling open in a second, fists clenching the blankets, adrenaline pumped into the cerebrum of my brain while the rest of my body remained still, as if the brief cries alerted time to stop.
it was like that for a few minutes, until i waited to hear either my mom’s movements of panic or her hushed talking—which signaled me either to begin dressing or exhaling a sigh of relief. luckily it was usually the latter.
and then i remember, as air danced right back into these healthy lungs—which because of my dad i’ve learnt to so religiously take care of—i would lay awake for hours, despite that ridiculous time high school students had to wake up to—wishing sleep would come back to me and wondering why despite exhaustion and the awareness of tomorrow’s schedule i couldn’t fall back into it.
which leaves me at a considerable amount of gratefulness, right here, right now. despite the fact that i have two midterms to write and study for, that i would be able to drift away so easily if i wanted to. that i would not lie awake wondering and worrying about things because birds don’t do that either. and im much more important than birds to Him.
which leaves me to another final note. that amidst praying for great things like church revivals, abortion, the redemption of fathers and mothers, which is great in all of its glory, i find myself forgetting to pray for the little things—the things that make life livable and plausible. the true pleasures that i was meant to enjoy. and as i think of these, i can’t help, but fall asleep.
