Dear _________,
Thank you. You have brought me so much this year that I apologize in advance knowing that I have forgotten about some, most of them. But I hope you know that all the things I am thankful for, and will, I have kept as treasures in my heart.
Thank you for your faith in me, your trust, and the love that abounds. Thank you for the prayers, and the kind words and thoughts, and thank you for the messages that made me smile, that me light up, that made me alive again. Thank you for your patience, and the guidance, the wit and the silly conversations via notes, the phone, e-mail, Facebook, and face to face. Thank you for the gentle and sometimes pointed reminders of things that I have missed, lessons I needed to learn, and encouragements that have held me together when I doubted.
Thank you, if you have not heard me say these words. Thank you. I am grateful for humbling me down, with tears, with hurt, with heartache, with disappointment, with loss that I have shared with amazing people, some individuals I only recall through vague initials or shared moments. I can only thank you for your strength, and your determined drive to endure. I can only stand back and bask on how much is out there, how little I give and how much I gain.
Thank you for being the wind beneath my wings. Thank you for laughing along with me. Thank you for taking the time out of your equally busy life to share a simple but heart-filling and heart-warming meal with me as we take this adventure together. Thank you for being there when I needed someone to chat with, even at 1 AM and you have responsibilities later. Thank you for remembering my birthday, and I am sorry if I greeted you late on yours. Just know, I meant my birthday wish with my whole heart.
Thanks for being firm with me, honest, and being a real friend. Thank you for keeping me in check, and prodding me, and saying no when I needed to hear it. Thank you though for reminding me to have fun, to ease my rigidity, and live this one life I have with intent and laughter. Thank you for going to the movies with me, for singing loudly along, and spending time to just hang-out. Thank you for taking pictures of me, with me, of us; proof that yes, those are real moments and not just hazy memories.
Thank you for reconciling with me. That was probably awkward and painful for us but what matters more is us being okay and mending. Thank you because even when I wasn't there for the worst parts of your life you don't hold those against me. I am sorry though, and I hope I will be a better friend, sister, daughter, aunt, grandchild, niece, classmate, and random stranger. Thank you because you inspire me to be better, and more. I love more now, and laugh more, and cry easier, and hug a little bit tighter. Thank you for teaching me how to be.
Thank you for being a mentor, a friend, my mom, my dad, my brother, my sister, my brother in law, my niece, my cousin, my uncle, my aunt, my grandmother, almost in-laws, comrades in school, and all those things in between, like being someone who knew what to do with my dead car batteries, or the person telling me directions after I got lost for the 3,127th time.
Thank you because even though I don't name names, you know I am thanking God for you, because hopefully I have already said those words to you at least once. If not, then I hope you know now.
Thank you God, for all these things, and all those people, and all those experiences that you have brought in my life to make me more, and better. And thank you, for so much more, for the love, there's so much love that I cannot help but smile and breathe deeper.
Thank you is just one tiny part of the huge balled-up tangle that I feel.
With the hope that you love always,
Kat.
November 25, 2010
October 10, 2010
Velleity
Velleity. It's a word I stumbled upon at 3 in the morning, after typing words on my laptop's Dictionary and clicking through words I have forgotten and have not encountered, and their origins in Latin, and Dutch, and French, and Old English, and Welsh. I found some amusing and most of them interesting, and then I remembered wanting to look up the word 'vellum', but 'velleity' came up first. And made me pause and wonder what it meant sounding it in my head and mouthing the words aloud. It means 'a wish or inclination not strong enough to lead to lead to action'. Like saying 'almost'; I almost won or I almost missed my TV show. But also not quite. There is a similarity in the sense that what was desired may or may not have been fulfilled, and in the case of 'almost' it is fifty-fifty but with 'velleity' it just never happens at all. What you thought of doing never translates into anything, there is no effort or even luck at all.
It's actually tragic, pathetic even; and this thought is what niggled at me, that lead me to think of how many times in a day that occurs, well at least in my life. Inaction, either deliberately or mistakenly. From there, the thought segued to Newton's Third Law of Motion, of how for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. I wondered whether my not having an action also results in an equal and opposite reaction or if that just cancels out like a math equation where you get zero if you add two zeroes together and such. (I guess the first law would apply to this so yeah). But more than physics and math and plain english, I thought of how much I don't want that to happen. That no matter how much I procrastinate and bemoan my current life as a student, I do not want to be inactive, non-productive, or not strong enough to make true my wishes and goals. And this is probably too philosophical or taking the context too deeply and out there, I will blame this whole thing on jasmine tea with strawberry lemonade for keeping me up with think-y thoughts. It's not about being successful or self-gratification, or Abraham Maslow's tier of self-actualization (some or most may argue differently), because I know that there is a part of me that can coast through life like a professional slacker (Hello, high school years of my life and then some). The part of me that is greatly disturbed is the person that I am now at 21, not me at 16 or me at 20, because I am seeing an incongruence at this current age and the past and I know that I have change. And will continue to change. (Just observe how differently I have been writing, grammar where are you and incorrect punctuation marks, hello.)
Slowly but progressively, I am changing, hopefully into a better and more pleasant something of a person. I no longer want my world or my life to be just about me because there are so many people in the world right now that I want to get to know, and help, and inspire, and be inspired by. I no longer want to be the person who's sister, or parent, or whoever else is holding their hand. I want to be the one who reaches out and comforts, be the shoulder to cry on, have the hands that hold someone else's. As optimistic, and idealistic, and uncynical (I blanked out on this word because it has not been part of my vocabulary for a year and some months now. And idealistic and cynical are totally antonyms anyway) as I sound right now, I am sorry I cannot help it and I do not want to. Because I have seen heartache after heartache, tears, and more-than-a-knee-jerk type of response to pain and loss, and I have felt the same and you have too. I cannot stop any of these but I can help and offer myself because I want to even when this is not enough and does not even come close to what you need, it's a start. The only way from here is up or to move forward. I don't want to just wish or have a notion intrigue me and have it remain a velleity. As easy as it is to give up without even trying, I do not want a life of regrets on things I could have done with people and for people.
There was a point to this before I just collapsed into a ramble and got into a tangent. I tend to talk about five things at once and confuse everyone even myself. So yeah. At the end, it's more of a declaration of personal intent really. So what's yours?
It's actually tragic, pathetic even; and this thought is what niggled at me, that lead me to think of how many times in a day that occurs, well at least in my life. Inaction, either deliberately or mistakenly. From there, the thought segued to Newton's Third Law of Motion, of how for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. I wondered whether my not having an action also results in an equal and opposite reaction or if that just cancels out like a math equation where you get zero if you add two zeroes together and such. (I guess the first law would apply to this so yeah). But more than physics and math and plain english, I thought of how much I don't want that to happen. That no matter how much I procrastinate and bemoan my current life as a student, I do not want to be inactive, non-productive, or not strong enough to make true my wishes and goals. And this is probably too philosophical or taking the context too deeply and out there, I will blame this whole thing on jasmine tea with strawberry lemonade for keeping me up with think-y thoughts. It's not about being successful or self-gratification, or Abraham Maslow's tier of self-actualization (some or most may argue differently), because I know that there is a part of me that can coast through life like a professional slacker (Hello, high school years of my life and then some). The part of me that is greatly disturbed is the person that I am now at 21, not me at 16 or me at 20, because I am seeing an incongruence at this current age and the past and I know that I have change. And will continue to change. (Just observe how differently I have been writing, grammar where are you and incorrect punctuation marks, hello.)
Slowly but progressively, I am changing, hopefully into a better and more pleasant something of a person. I no longer want my world or my life to be just about me because there are so many people in the world right now that I want to get to know, and help, and inspire, and be inspired by. I no longer want to be the person who's sister, or parent, or whoever else is holding their hand. I want to be the one who reaches out and comforts, be the shoulder to cry on, have the hands that hold someone else's. As optimistic, and idealistic, and uncynical (I blanked out on this word because it has not been part of my vocabulary for a year and some months now. And idealistic and cynical are totally antonyms anyway) as I sound right now, I am sorry I cannot help it and I do not want to. Because I have seen heartache after heartache, tears, and more-than-a-knee-jerk type of response to pain and loss, and I have felt the same and you have too. I cannot stop any of these but I can help and offer myself because I want to even when this is not enough and does not even come close to what you need, it's a start. The only way from here is up or to move forward. I don't want to just wish or have a notion intrigue me and have it remain a velleity. As easy as it is to give up without even trying, I do not want a life of regrets on things I could have done with people and for people.
There was a point to this before I just collapsed into a ramble and got into a tangent. I tend to talk about five things at once and confuse everyone even myself. So yeah. At the end, it's more of a declaration of personal intent really. So what's yours?
September 06, 2010
sentimentalities for a friend
I hope you take care of your heart
And I don't just mean physically or with what you eat,
Take care that you don't easily fall in love, too fast,
Too many times, that when you one day open your eyes
You'll see how worn out and patched up it is
Only it may be then that you'll blame it on love
When in fact love had nothing to do with any of it
I hope you take care of your heart
That should you fall out of love, you'll do it gracefully
Or as graceful someone could be while breaking hearts
As you side step the wreckage that yours won't be part of.
The moment you have an epiphany that cynicism is better,
It is not, pass, do not collect 200 dollars
Because cynicism will lead to years of bitterness
And a dozen or so of cats and moldy take-away.
I hope you take care of your heart
Guard it with your life so that when you finally receive
Someone else's heart, you'll have yours to give in turn
Baring out your scars and patches, while you map out theirs
Knowing each line of heartache, minding every last burns
Take comfort in the realization that this is a promise
To care for their heart as you've cared for yours
As you've fallen both in and out of love, broken a heart
Yours as much as another's, in both epiphany and stupidity
Since most of the time, one could appear to be the other
Because this promise has everything to do with love, and not just
Falling in to it or being in it, but in taking care of it.
I hope you take care of your heart so that you will know
When someone else starts taking care of it as much and more so than you.
And I don't just mean physically or with what you eat,
Take care that you don't easily fall in love, too fast,
Too many times, that when you one day open your eyes
You'll see how worn out and patched up it is
Only it may be then that you'll blame it on love
When in fact love had nothing to do with any of it
I hope you take care of your heart
That should you fall out of love, you'll do it gracefully
Or as graceful someone could be while breaking hearts
As you side step the wreckage that yours won't be part of.
The moment you have an epiphany that cynicism is better,
It is not, pass, do not collect 200 dollars
Because cynicism will lead to years of bitterness
And a dozen or so of cats and moldy take-away.
I hope you take care of your heart
Guard it with your life so that when you finally receive
Someone else's heart, you'll have yours to give in turn
Baring out your scars and patches, while you map out theirs
Knowing each line of heartache, minding every last burns
Take comfort in the realization that this is a promise
To care for their heart as you've cared for yours
As you've fallen both in and out of love, broken a heart
Yours as much as another's, in both epiphany and stupidity
Since most of the time, one could appear to be the other
Because this promise has everything to do with love, and not just
Falling in to it or being in it, but in taking care of it.
I hope you take care of your heart so that you will know
When someone else starts taking care of it as much and more so than you.
July 22, 2010
Nothing in common
It surprised me when I checked my inbox and saw an email from you. Of you apologizing of all things for things unsaid. And I wondered who put you up to it. We've drifted, it's been years, we don't talk. And that about sums it up. You've moved on and I am, well, I've learned to just let go. I've stopped chasing after you awhile now because I don't know really, I just got tired of it. Cynical. We have nothing in common anymore. I'm certainly not the one you need in your life, I'm finally learning that I am no longer a little kid and you are moving into a life where you fit in with someone better. Someone who isn't your younger sister. I could try and chase after your coattails as long as I could, but I no longer wish to. I miss you, yeah. I miss getting emails and chats and silly jokes. But I no longer feel compelled to chase after you because I know that even at my pace I'll meet with you at the same stage sooner or later, but with less heartaches, with less bitterness. I've learned that you are your own person and you do not belong to me and I can't keep you with me forever. I've been seeing that we can never own people for our own selves because we can only share bits and pieces of each other. That I can't possess people because the moment I do they become possessions and no longer persons. And I'm sorry if you felt the need to coddle and hold my hand far longer than any other persons would allow just because I refused to let yours go, that I shackled you to my leg only letting you go so far before I dragged you back beside me again. This is me letting you go, unchaining you from my side and stepping back. It's past time that I stopped using my insecurities and my own self-bondage into blackmailing you into staying. Thank you for indulging me and coaxing me along life but I can manage on my own now, but thank you. And I won't begrudge you of running off into the sunset when I myself have realized freedom. I'm happy for you, and I always love you.
July 11, 2010
I do it for love
I do believe that I'm two months into my vacation, or what I usually call/shout for joy in my head as "Freeeedddooooommmm". Yes, exactly like that.
I've spent time in San Francisco to see relatives, and Yosemite, and well, a place other than Arizona. I've spent time in hospitals that had nothing to do with my clinicals but with people I personally know being there, and oh for an interview, followed by medical appointment to see if I'm TB-free or something, and an orientation for the volunteer work I applied for. I've been in other places, like the library fifteen minutes away by car, and restaurants and shops, and movie theaters, and other places, like the post office and the FedEx store, sometimes to apply for work and more often to simply be a patron. I've read books, some new, some old, some borrowed, and some bought. And then there were the days when I slept for hours and hours, and didn't the next day, and then took naps. I guess I've been having fun, no, no. I am having fun.
I'd have been in Canada to see my sister and my cousins, and their babies, but that wasn't what happened. Instead I'm currently in California, though not in daisy dukes or bikini tops. I don't have those in my luggage. And I'm not really here for vacation. I'm here to help my aunt around the house since she had a fracture on her leg and it's less painful to stay on the bed than on her feet. Although currently I'm more house-sitting than anything since she hasn't left the hospital since she got injured while working there.
Solitude wasn't really a problem until I ran out of books, could not get a decent Wi-Fi signal that didn't require a password, and couldn't use her car since I needed a remote for the community's gate to get back in. For days it was wake up, fix bed, bathroom, open computer, cook/eat, wash dishes, computer, cook/eat/dishes, throw trash out, and bathroom breaks in between. The first time I tried watching TV I just got sore, teary eyes. I wasn't used to watching TV for long hours since I started school. The radio was okay to tune into until it wasn't anymore. Oh, and the telephone rang all the time. Fun. My cellphone ran out of battery and the parentals brought my charger home since they thought it was their charger. This whole thing felt like being dumped in the Wonderland, but a silent and solitary type of Wonderland.
If I sound like I'm complaining, I'm not. Honestly, I'm more amused than any other emotion. I was reminded of being a high school student and alone in a house in a middle of a farm with a lone wooden bridge connecting it to the town that was in the middle of other small towns up north continents away from where I am now. I had no internet, no functioning computer, no telephone, barely a flicker of a cellphone signal, and barely a signal from the TV's satellite dish. I called it the Land of Nothingness. And it was fun. I could be alone with my books with no one to bother me whether I did the dishes or cooked a full meal.
I survived that and I'm surviving this because I find it fun to figure out ways to be resourceful, and in getting lost when I take walks, and figuring out how much weight I can carry when I walk back from the grocery store, and enjoying how much better cook I am, and how much obsessive I can be when I clean, and how vigilant I can be against spiders (HATE THEM), and ants (Admire them from outside the house), and just learning how to be okay with just being with myself again. I'm finding that I've grown so much more compared to when I was a high schooler, and that makes me smile. I hope five years from now, I can look back and still smile at the fact that I've grown wiser and better than when I was twenty-one.
I've spent time in San Francisco to see relatives, and Yosemite, and well, a place other than Arizona. I've spent time in hospitals that had nothing to do with my clinicals but with people I personally know being there, and oh for an interview, followed by medical appointment to see if I'm TB-free or something, and an orientation for the volunteer work I applied for. I've been in other places, like the library fifteen minutes away by car, and restaurants and shops, and movie theaters, and other places, like the post office and the FedEx store, sometimes to apply for work and more often to simply be a patron. I've read books, some new, some old, some borrowed, and some bought. And then there were the days when I slept for hours and hours, and didn't the next day, and then took naps. I guess I've been having fun, no, no. I am having fun.
I'd have been in Canada to see my sister and my cousins, and their babies, but that wasn't what happened. Instead I'm currently in California, though not in daisy dukes or bikini tops. I don't have those in my luggage. And I'm not really here for vacation. I'm here to help my aunt around the house since she had a fracture on her leg and it's less painful to stay on the bed than on her feet. Although currently I'm more house-sitting than anything since she hasn't left the hospital since she got injured while working there.
Solitude wasn't really a problem until I ran out of books, could not get a decent Wi-Fi signal that didn't require a password, and couldn't use her car since I needed a remote for the community's gate to get back in. For days it was wake up, fix bed, bathroom, open computer, cook/eat, wash dishes, computer, cook/eat/dishes, throw trash out, and bathroom breaks in between. The first time I tried watching TV I just got sore, teary eyes. I wasn't used to watching TV for long hours since I started school. The radio was okay to tune into until it wasn't anymore. Oh, and the telephone rang all the time. Fun. My cellphone ran out of battery and the parentals brought my charger home since they thought it was their charger. This whole thing felt like being dumped in the Wonderland, but a silent and solitary type of Wonderland.
If I sound like I'm complaining, I'm not. Honestly, I'm more amused than any other emotion. I was reminded of being a high school student and alone in a house in a middle of a farm with a lone wooden bridge connecting it to the town that was in the middle of other small towns up north continents away from where I am now. I had no internet, no functioning computer, no telephone, barely a flicker of a cellphone signal, and barely a signal from the TV's satellite dish. I called it the Land of Nothingness. And it was fun. I could be alone with my books with no one to bother me whether I did the dishes or cooked a full meal.
I survived that and I'm surviving this because I find it fun to figure out ways to be resourceful, and in getting lost when I take walks, and figuring out how much weight I can carry when I walk back from the grocery store, and enjoying how much better cook I am, and how much obsessive I can be when I clean, and how vigilant I can be against spiders (HATE THEM), and ants (Admire them from outside the house), and just learning how to be okay with just being with myself again. I'm finding that I've grown so much more compared to when I was a high schooler, and that makes me smile. I hope five years from now, I can look back and still smile at the fact that I've grown wiser and better than when I was twenty-one.
June 18, 2010
Even as I say these words, I give you this promise.
I'm hardly the type of person who plans what to write. I just type or jot down and I don't stop until the words run out. I used to have just notebooks or pieces of paper scribbled with words, and phrases, or paragraphs, and poems. I love words. I think words can have so much impact and they don't often cost a dime (unless of course you go to the theatre, then you pay to see people spouting off words). People make their living off words; journalists, write stark or sensational news; authors, use words to draw us into their worlds; poets, are all a-rhyming; and so many various others, like screenwriters, ghostwriters, and the kind that writes the small print for the credit card companies and the banks, that I'm almost tempted to say, 'Yes, there is an App for that'.
I write on this blog stuff that mostly only make sense to me. Because I like writing for myself. I used to write letters and letters to my friends back in high school. All silly and ridiculous and serious the lot of them. I think words are lovely because they can be loverly, intimate; like they can curl up beside you and stay there for days, decades, and you would be able to still savor them even when they're just imprints on your shoulders. And then there're the kind that make you squirm, flinch away, because they sting even when the echoes are only heard from the depths of your soul. Because words are also unsafe. But there's so many kinds of words. Words of wisdom, words of anger, words of inquiry, words of passion, and words of doubt. Words and words of words.
I especially love the kind that leave you speechless. The kind that makes you pause, and just be there for you to really feel them. The words that touch you, the kind you can't unhear, whether they be right or wrong. Words that are like a balm that soothes. A lullaby that assures. Words that comfort when you need them.
I know she's bone tired; she hasn't been sleeping well. I hear him in the kitchen, making her coffee, tapping off the teaspoon. The weariness is in her voice when she asks quietly, "What would happen to me when you're no longer with me?" I hear him shift, his footfall loud on tiles as he walks to her. "Then I'll come back. I'll come back to you, my love".
Yes. He will. A reason why I love words is the emotions behind them as they are said. Even when you say the wrong ones, you redeem yourself as quickly as you say the right ones. Words of promise, of hope; I think they're the best kinds. Because they're the kinds you share with another, despite and because of how they shift lives. The kind of words that are looked forward to. The kind that means no more words need to be said. I long to say them. Out loud, and not just write them. But I'm saving the best for last, like the closing to a letter.
Sincerely,
Katrina
I write on this blog stuff that mostly only make sense to me. Because I like writing for myself. I used to write letters and letters to my friends back in high school. All silly and ridiculous and serious the lot of them. I think words are lovely because they can be loverly, intimate; like they can curl up beside you and stay there for days, decades, and you would be able to still savor them even when they're just imprints on your shoulders. And then there're the kind that make you squirm, flinch away, because they sting even when the echoes are only heard from the depths of your soul. Because words are also unsafe. But there's so many kinds of words. Words of wisdom, words of anger, words of inquiry, words of passion, and words of doubt. Words and words of words.
I especially love the kind that leave you speechless. The kind that makes you pause, and just be there for you to really feel them. The words that touch you, the kind you can't unhear, whether they be right or wrong. Words that are like a balm that soothes. A lullaby that assures. Words that comfort when you need them.
I know she's bone tired; she hasn't been sleeping well. I hear him in the kitchen, making her coffee, tapping off the teaspoon. The weariness is in her voice when she asks quietly, "What would happen to me when you're no longer with me?" I hear him shift, his footfall loud on tiles as he walks to her. "Then I'll come back. I'll come back to you, my love".
Yes. He will. A reason why I love words is the emotions behind them as they are said. Even when you say the wrong ones, you redeem yourself as quickly as you say the right ones. Words of promise, of hope; I think they're the best kinds. Because they're the kinds you share with another, despite and because of how they shift lives. The kind of words that are looked forward to. The kind that means no more words need to be said. I long to say them. Out loud, and not just write them. But I'm saving the best for last, like the closing to a letter.
Sincerely,
Katrina
June 14, 2010
It's not only Alice who wishes for things to make sense
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with the golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams beneath your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
by William Butler Yeats, He Wishes for Cloths of Heaven
So far, all I do have are dreams, resumes, job applications that I have not heard back from, three more semesters to finish nursing school, all those years in between to build up me resume, volunteer work at school, at church, and at the hospital, and nightmares that appear to hold the majority of my common sense.
Don't you just hate it when your nightmares rise up against you and let you see the truth in it's bare form? I had one recently about how I was also a graduate and was in a job interview with the hospital that had given me my scholarship. The panel was asking me why they should hire me when my resume had nothing on it, and I could only stammer a feeble defense that they've already given me their money, that they've invested on me, so why shouldn't they just hire me. Ah, how I love how my brain interacts with the world. So I woke up with a deep inhale but still the fear remained and I carry it with me.
The world judges peoples by their resume, or their lack of one. And as I do not have the proof that I am qualified nor that I actually have these skills, I am not going to be hired. Such is life. I have this fear that I am lacking even as my loved ones assure me that I am more than enough as I am. And yet, again I look at the world as it looks at my non-existent job experience and I tremble. I have this fear that I will forever be at the mercy of my parents' estate. And I fear that one day they will look at me say, "Enough". I have this fear that I will never be able to reciprocate, never. And I have this fear that I will wake up alone in the world with no hope in the world. All because the world won't give me a chance when I have no former employer to back me up.
My mother despairs of me; "You have all these potential, your desire to work is there, but it's wasted". My high school professor once told me, "Kulang ka sa galit" (You lack anger). And I believe them. Everyone needs passion to live. A life without passion is not one I would call a life. I would say that you are going through the motions of life. I want a life of no regrets. But life forces us to grow up where the grown ups get to say what being a grown up is all about; owning your own home, your own car, your own spouse and kids, your own job, and your own debts. Sometimes I don't look forward to growing up and retiring when I'm sixty-five. It's a jumble of nightmares and daydreams for me, life and growing up.
For now, I'll be sending applications no matter if you're not hiring. I won't lose anything any way. But I'm hoping to gain a job. And hopefully by the time I graduate, three semesters from now, I won't be stammering any feeble answers to the panel, I won't be featured in a horrifying job interview nightmare, and my brain will keep the remaining sanity I have left intact. At least, there aren't any mad hatters or hookah-smoking caterpillars yet.
Enwrought with the golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams beneath your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
by William Butler Yeats, He Wishes for Cloths of Heaven
So far, all I do have are dreams, resumes, job applications that I have not heard back from, three more semesters to finish nursing school, all those years in between to build up me resume, volunteer work at school, at church, and at the hospital, and nightmares that appear to hold the majority of my common sense.
Don't you just hate it when your nightmares rise up against you and let you see the truth in it's bare form? I had one recently about how I was also a graduate and was in a job interview with the hospital that had given me my scholarship. The panel was asking me why they should hire me when my resume had nothing on it, and I could only stammer a feeble defense that they've already given me their money, that they've invested on me, so why shouldn't they just hire me. Ah, how I love how my brain interacts with the world. So I woke up with a deep inhale but still the fear remained and I carry it with me.
The world judges peoples by their resume, or their lack of one. And as I do not have the proof that I am qualified nor that I actually have these skills, I am not going to be hired. Such is life. I have this fear that I am lacking even as my loved ones assure me that I am more than enough as I am. And yet, again I look at the world as it looks at my non-existent job experience and I tremble. I have this fear that I will forever be at the mercy of my parents' estate. And I fear that one day they will look at me say, "Enough". I have this fear that I will never be able to reciprocate, never. And I have this fear that I will wake up alone in the world with no hope in the world. All because the world won't give me a chance when I have no former employer to back me up.
My mother despairs of me; "You have all these potential, your desire to work is there, but it's wasted". My high school professor once told me, "Kulang ka sa galit" (You lack anger). And I believe them. Everyone needs passion to live. A life without passion is not one I would call a life. I would say that you are going through the motions of life. I want a life of no regrets. But life forces us to grow up where the grown ups get to say what being a grown up is all about; owning your own home, your own car, your own spouse and kids, your own job, and your own debts. Sometimes I don't look forward to growing up and retiring when I'm sixty-five. It's a jumble of nightmares and daydreams for me, life and growing up.
For now, I'll be sending applications no matter if you're not hiring. I won't lose anything any way. But I'm hoping to gain a job. And hopefully by the time I graduate, three semesters from now, I won't be stammering any feeble answers to the panel, I won't be featured in a horrifying job interview nightmare, and my brain will keep the remaining sanity I have left intact. At least, there aren't any mad hatters or hookah-smoking caterpillars yet.
May 05, 2010
I think I'm ready now
Warning: This long post is long. If you want a summarized version, skip to the last paragraph down there☟. You have been warned.
April, where hast thou gone? Suddenly, it's May. I believe this is a déjà vu, haven't I written similar phrases previously? I think I've forgotten the last time I've written, the last time I just sat down and felt how my bones ached, the last time I exhaled and breathed in relief, but I remember how I've thought that time keeps flying by me.
In between the months of March and May was April; and she was a tempest. She found me and pressed me down, stared as I shook and cried on my knees. She grabbed my hair and through it all she saw all of me. It's not an easy lesson to learn; humility. It seeks you out and forces all of your being to stay and still, as it teaches you to soften the haughty angle of your nose and push down the tilt of your jaw, even as she gentles the way you grit your teeth.
I remember one Tuesday afternoon, I found myself horrified just standing there in front of my professor as I realized that I was breaking down. I could feel the tears stinging behind my eyes, even as I tried to reassure her and myself that I am fine, I am okay, No, thank you I don't need to talk. My eyes were round and bright I bet with the tears that were threatening to fall so I escaped with a hurried I'll see you next week. My hands were reaching up to my eyes to wipe and wipe and press down any more tears as I quickly rushed to the lobby and out the door. You're crying in public, how quaint.
A few minutes earlier from my bout of hysteria, was me failing a proficiency test by a point 2 percent. Six hours earlier was me receiving a test score of 79, the lowest test score I've had since grade school? When I was rebelling against the unfairness of my private school? I didn't fail that test but I've never gotten a test grade like that in Nursing school until now. I don't know if you can imagine how flummoxed I was about this. A classmate of mine got a 74 and said, "Oh, I missed passing by two points. Eh, it's not like I care". Two different people, two different reactions on the same test. Another who got 78, said, "Aww, I'm glad I passed". At this, my brain goes, there is something wrong with me.
And then I failed my proficiency test, so my brain goes, What just? I don't... What? I failed something and I... I need to fix this. I don't know how. So of course, I get to the parking lot just wanting to go home and kill myself figuratively and literally partially. But I had to face three people who passed the test with no dice in the parking lot so there's me trying to not just burst in undignified tears of defeat while attempting to be self-deprecating. I guess I managed that one okay since I get into my car with no more fussing, and I drove home crying and shouting and squeezing five dollars to a homeless lady's hand during a stop signal.
April sucked so much. It sucked. Because I broke down in public no less, because I'm never half-hearted even in falling down and crashing, and because I wanted to make all these excuses why I spectacularly failed; like how my mom has cancer and it's the awful-est thing ever, or how our class is the hardest and other people are having a hard time too, or how I have sacrificed my life and all that's in it so shouldn't that be enough? I wish I could blame these reasons and say Aha, you are the culprit, but no, sometimes God just wants me to tank multiple tests, break down in public, and cry myself in the freeway, to teach me lessons. Lessons like humility, that high scores come from God, not my brain or my awesomeness; like there's no such thing as perfection as we remain human, because God doesn't want perfection from me, that's not how He wants His glory. He wants effort and faith, and a readiness to serve and do, a heart that just wants to be what God wants it to be, and a spirit that is ready to grow.
The greatest lesson I learned as I cried in my car and paused as I watched a homeless lady walk back and forth the island is that no matter what age you are and no matter where you are in life, you need God. My needs may be small compared to the needs of the lady homeless on the streets but we both need a God that is bigger than both our needs. I cried for three hours more as I sat in the living room with my mom and my dad at home. I told them how stupid I felt, how hollow and unhappy I felt, how alone and bitter I felt about my life, nursing school, and the stuff in between. I've always handled things on my own until I couldn't anymore and they were there to sit with me and listen, and point out things I've only started to see in myself, and tell me that I'm not stupid, and I can change the things I feel unhappy and bitter about so I can be fulfilled and happy.
If I could only thank God for two things, it would be my parents, and my family. They were there with me as I picked at my old wounds and dug through layers and layers of my baggage. It wasn't easy to admit that I had bound myself up so that I was only to be perfect and happy in solitude; that I had imprisoned my imagination and my will so that I could be more like something I thought was what I should be. It hurt to be unraveled and broken, to spew out things that hurt and are hurtful, to find out how wrong I have been all these years, and how tightly bound and tethered I was by me. There is a relief in the peace that I am being re-molded and that I am safe in His hands. I think that even when April sucked, it didn't turn out all bad since hey, I get another year in life and I finished level two of nursing. Three more to go, an NCLEX, and a job interview, and I think I'll be okay. By God's grace. Amazingly, I don't think I'd trade this April for any other ones I've had.
I know, I know this is TL;DR (too long; didn't read), pardon me, I missed staying up late to just blog and read, and cruise the internet. The gist of my long narrative was the plight that was my April and how suck-y it was but I celebrated my twenty-first birthday with my loved ones and all is well, almost. That's it in a nutshell. Until next time, my lovelies, I hope you had a much more enjoyable April than I did. Or not, you can just be jealous of my super eventful and dramatic one! So, it's your turn to tell me how your April went? Or actually, the last four months that have gone by. : )
April, where hast thou gone? Suddenly, it's May. I believe this is a déjà vu, haven't I written similar phrases previously? I think I've forgotten the last time I've written, the last time I just sat down and felt how my bones ached, the last time I exhaled and breathed in relief, but I remember how I've thought that time keeps flying by me.
In between the months of March and May was April; and she was a tempest. She found me and pressed me down, stared as I shook and cried on my knees. She grabbed my hair and through it all she saw all of me. It's not an easy lesson to learn; humility. It seeks you out and forces all of your being to stay and still, as it teaches you to soften the haughty angle of your nose and push down the tilt of your jaw, even as she gentles the way you grit your teeth.
I remember one Tuesday afternoon, I found myself horrified just standing there in front of my professor as I realized that I was breaking down. I could feel the tears stinging behind my eyes, even as I tried to reassure her and myself that I am fine, I am okay, No, thank you I don't need to talk. My eyes were round and bright I bet with the tears that were threatening to fall so I escaped with a hurried I'll see you next week. My hands were reaching up to my eyes to wipe and wipe and press down any more tears as I quickly rushed to the lobby and out the door. You're crying in public, how quaint.
A few minutes earlier from my bout of hysteria, was me failing a proficiency test by a point 2 percent. Six hours earlier was me receiving a test score of 79, the lowest test score I've had since grade school? When I was rebelling against the unfairness of my private school? I didn't fail that test but I've never gotten a test grade like that in Nursing school until now. I don't know if you can imagine how flummoxed I was about this. A classmate of mine got a 74 and said, "Oh, I missed passing by two points. Eh, it's not like I care". Two different people, two different reactions on the same test. Another who got 78, said, "Aww, I'm glad I passed". At this, my brain goes, there is something wrong with me.
And then I failed my proficiency test, so my brain goes, What just? I don't... What? I failed something and I... I need to fix this. I don't know how. So of course, I get to the parking lot just wanting to go home and kill myself figuratively and literally partially. But I had to face three people who passed the test with no dice in the parking lot so there's me trying to not just burst in undignified tears of defeat while attempting to be self-deprecating. I guess I managed that one okay since I get into my car with no more fussing, and I drove home crying and shouting and squeezing five dollars to a homeless lady's hand during a stop signal.
April sucked so much. It sucked. Because I broke down in public no less, because I'm never half-hearted even in falling down and crashing, and because I wanted to make all these excuses why I spectacularly failed; like how my mom has cancer and it's the awful-est thing ever, or how our class is the hardest and other people are having a hard time too, or how I have sacrificed my life and all that's in it so shouldn't that be enough? I wish I could blame these reasons and say Aha, you are the culprit, but no, sometimes God just wants me to tank multiple tests, break down in public, and cry myself in the freeway, to teach me lessons. Lessons like humility, that high scores come from God, not my brain or my awesomeness; like there's no such thing as perfection as we remain human, because God doesn't want perfection from me, that's not how He wants His glory. He wants effort and faith, and a readiness to serve and do, a heart that just wants to be what God wants it to be, and a spirit that is ready to grow.
The greatest lesson I learned as I cried in my car and paused as I watched a homeless lady walk back and forth the island is that no matter what age you are and no matter where you are in life, you need God. My needs may be small compared to the needs of the lady homeless on the streets but we both need a God that is bigger than both our needs. I cried for three hours more as I sat in the living room with my mom and my dad at home. I told them how stupid I felt, how hollow and unhappy I felt, how alone and bitter I felt about my life, nursing school, and the stuff in between. I've always handled things on my own until I couldn't anymore and they were there to sit with me and listen, and point out things I've only started to see in myself, and tell me that I'm not stupid, and I can change the things I feel unhappy and bitter about so I can be fulfilled and happy.
If I could only thank God for two things, it would be my parents, and my family. They were there with me as I picked at my old wounds and dug through layers and layers of my baggage. It wasn't easy to admit that I had bound myself up so that I was only to be perfect and happy in solitude; that I had imprisoned my imagination and my will so that I could be more like something I thought was what I should be. It hurt to be unraveled and broken, to spew out things that hurt and are hurtful, to find out how wrong I have been all these years, and how tightly bound and tethered I was by me. There is a relief in the peace that I am being re-molded and that I am safe in His hands. I think that even when April sucked, it didn't turn out all bad since hey, I get another year in life and I finished level two of nursing. Three more to go, an NCLEX, and a job interview, and I think I'll be okay. By God's grace. Amazingly, I don't think I'd trade this April for any other ones I've had.
I know, I know this is TL;DR (too long; didn't read), pardon me, I missed staying up late to just blog and read, and cruise the internet. The gist of my long narrative was the plight that was my April and how suck-y it was but I celebrated my twenty-first birthday with my loved ones and all is well, almost. That's it in a nutshell. Until next time, my lovelies, I hope you had a much more enjoyable April than I did. Or not, you can just be jealous of my super eventful and dramatic one! So, it's your turn to tell me how your April went? Or actually, the last four months that have gone by. : )
March 30, 2010
神は、私により多くの時間を与える
Observer,
We are fragile vessels;
Our hearts burst with no sound.
Our spirits are crushed by tragedy,
The young and the elderly
All of us are stained and bound,
Scarred and rife with irrational fears.
Keep your grudges,
I have plenty of my own.
And they will all be buried with me,
In time they will fester along inside.
Observer, travel well,
The walk from here is not far.
The rest of us already went ahead,
But they do not wait forever.
Observer, have care,
Do not be crushed by fate,
We are not governed by fickle tripe.
This lesson is not hard to understand
But it is not easy to accept
Your choices are your own
Your path unique to you
You know what is best for you,
I hope. Soon you will account for them,
Be prepared to kneel; bow down.
No one escapes with minor bruising,
To be polished, we are cut down,
Stripped down, layered,
Immersed in the oppressive heat
Plunged in choking cold.
Observer, you are precious.
You may never know that.
Take heart, you only pass by here
Once, and no more.
Another fire awaits, one that burns
With no relief, but leaves you wishing
That existence ceased.
The other fire, the bright gaze that is
As eternal, and as ardent;
A fire that burns with pride and love,
That of a Father who welcomes
A weary observer and traveler, both.
Godspeed, good traveler. Observe well.
We are fragile vessels;
Our hearts burst with no sound.
Our spirits are crushed by tragedy,
The young and the elderly
All of us are stained and bound,
Scarred and rife with irrational fears.
Keep your grudges,
I have plenty of my own.
And they will all be buried with me,
In time they will fester along inside.
Observer, travel well,
The walk from here is not far.
The rest of us already went ahead,
But they do not wait forever.
Observer, have care,
Do not be crushed by fate,
We are not governed by fickle tripe.
This lesson is not hard to understand
But it is not easy to accept
Your choices are your own
Your path unique to you
You know what is best for you,
I hope. Soon you will account for them,
Be prepared to kneel; bow down.
No one escapes with minor bruising,
To be polished, we are cut down,
Stripped down, layered,
Immersed in the oppressive heat
Plunged in choking cold.
Observer, you are precious.
You may never know that.
Take heart, you only pass by here
Once, and no more.
Another fire awaits, one that burns
With no relief, but leaves you wishing
That existence ceased.
The other fire, the bright gaze that is
As eternal, and as ardent;
A fire that burns with pride and love,
That of a Father who welcomes
A weary observer and traveler, both.
Godspeed, good traveler. Observe well.
March 26, 2010
The problem with love is that it's not blind.
Or... La la lala la lala la... I can't hear you.
At this moment, pardon my childishness. It's my way, kind of, to cope. The other thing that was bugging me (read: taken over my brain when I refuse to entertain it) keeps bugging me. Aside from the emotional slash vague slash sudden crazy post I made previously, there is this other less emotional slash less vague slash crazier stuff that has been going on in my dull life.
So, I'm single. And I am totally cool with the fact that I have no boyfriend, that I am unattached, and the fact that it's easier that way with less drama. I am at the point of my short life span where I don't particularly think I need a boyfriend, because first of all, Hello Nursing School (defined as Hello, I have no life). The other reasons are, there is still a loyalty for the last person I dated that abounds, and that I'm a selfish brat that just doesn't want the hassle of dating. Yeah, I went there.
The ironic thing about my being single is everyone else seems to have a problem with my being a single, dateless loser. Not that they said it in those terms, but one friend remarked "Are you gonna wait til you're thirty, is that your game plan?", and another said, "Not that I'm rushing you, but when are you gonna have a boyfriend?" My response "I don't know...I haven't really spent much time on thinking about it". Honestly, close friends are fine with the harping but when my clinical group and my clinical instructor start trying to set me up, that's when my spidey-sense tingle and get my hackles rising.
All I can think of is "Why?". I mean, what is the issue? I clearly don't have an issue with my being single, so shouldn't my desire to not have a boyfriend for the foreseeable future be their deciding factor? Sheesh, they're like bored fairies trying to match make me into misery. I have no problem with people who are happy in their relationships, their marriages, their "mutual understandings" (whatever that means), etc. I am happy for all of you. It's great that you are with the person you love. But seriously, just because you are all sparkly like a vampire in love, doesn't mean the rest of us non-sparkling humans want to catch the spring fever you're exuding. In fact, I am actively dodging love-mones and sparkle.
Ok, I'll stop with the hostile sarcasm now. So, yeah, I went and did another soap box. Maybe it's the fact that a classmate of mine is setting me up with someone and making promises in my name and being giggly about it. If you know me at all you know that the more someone is pushing me to do something (that I do not appreciate) the more I dig my heels in. I appreciate that you guys are looking out for me, but seriously don't ask the guy for his number and expect me to call him. Sometimes, being a friend means respecting your friend's decisions even when you don't agree with it.
So, be a love, okay, and don't keep trying to maneuver me into a love life. It ain't happening now so just wait for it. Don't jump the gun on MY love life. The moment it happens then you'll be the third to know. Until then, just be a friend. That's what I need more of right now anyway.
At this moment, pardon my childishness. It's my way, kind of, to cope. The other thing that was bugging me (read: taken over my brain when I refuse to entertain it) keeps bugging me. Aside from the emotional slash vague slash sudden crazy post I made previously, there is this other less emotional slash less vague slash crazier stuff that has been going on in my dull life.
So, I'm single. And I am totally cool with the fact that I have no boyfriend, that I am unattached, and the fact that it's easier that way with less drama. I am at the point of my short life span where I don't particularly think I need a boyfriend, because first of all, Hello Nursing School (defined as Hello, I have no life). The other reasons are, there is still a loyalty for the last person I dated that abounds, and that I'm a selfish brat that just doesn't want the hassle of dating. Yeah, I went there.
The ironic thing about my being single is everyone else seems to have a problem with my being a single, dateless loser. Not that they said it in those terms, but one friend remarked "Are you gonna wait til you're thirty, is that your game plan?", and another said, "Not that I'm rushing you, but when are you gonna have a boyfriend?" My response "I don't know...I haven't really spent much time on thinking about it". Honestly, close friends are fine with the harping but when my clinical group and my clinical instructor start trying to set me up, that's when my spidey-sense tingle and get my hackles rising.
All I can think of is "Why?". I mean, what is the issue? I clearly don't have an issue with my being single, so shouldn't my desire to not have a boyfriend for the foreseeable future be their deciding factor? Sheesh, they're like bored fairies trying to match make me into misery. I have no problem with people who are happy in their relationships, their marriages, their "mutual understandings" (whatever that means), etc. I am happy for all of you. It's great that you are with the person you love. But seriously, just because you are all sparkly like a vampire in love, doesn't mean the rest of us non-sparkling humans want to catch the spring fever you're exuding. In fact, I am actively dodging love-mones and sparkle.
Ok, I'll stop with the hostile sarcasm now. So, yeah, I went and did another soap box. Maybe it's the fact that a classmate of mine is setting me up with someone and making promises in my name and being giggly about it. If you know me at all you know that the more someone is pushing me to do something (that I do not appreciate) the more I dig my heels in. I appreciate that you guys are looking out for me, but seriously don't ask the guy for his number and expect me to call him. Sometimes, being a friend means respecting your friend's decisions even when you don't agree with it.
So, be a love, okay, and don't keep trying to maneuver me into a love life. It ain't happening now so just wait for it. Don't jump the gun on MY love life. The moment it happens then you'll be the third to know. Until then, just be a friend. That's what I need more of right now anyway.
March 22, 2010
A break from our regular television program.
Of a sort.
It's March, ladies and gents, boys and girls, and any other species that have missed that calendrical change. (Yes, that is a word, I looked it up). What news do I bear? For some reason, most of the news that I have both received and imparted are more of the bad sort. I guess that's one of the reasons I have for not really posting stuff. I know that a lot of you guys already have bad news in your side and I don't want to add to that. I'm not being melodramatic (although yes, it sounds like I am). I am just stating a fact that bad news (gosh, how many times can you say that?!) is flittering and fluttering around like a pesky mosquito out to suck more of your blood.
Bad news came in the form of my grandmother (my mom's mom) had a stroke, of my aunt (my mom's older sister) who passed away from cancer complications, of my uncle (my dad's in-law) who had a mild heart attack, and other minute details that just keep snow-balling down my so-called life mountain. I guess it saddens me that the only grandparent I have is in more pain and debilitation when she should be enjoying her older years. And it saddens me that the aunt I promised to grow my hair for so that I could give it to her for a wig won't be here to experience that. I feel like I broke a promise. And I feel for my mom and her siblings since this is the first time that they lost a sibling. It's sad. As for my uncle, I feel for him and my cousins since we already lost my aunt to heart attack too. And the fact that I am studying to help people with their health isn't really helping matters right now. Even with all the progress in health care and in technology, we're still human at best. And people can still die at any moment.
This past week, it was the first time that a client passed away on our floor. It was shocking and you just have that moment of 'ah, there, life's just too fleeting'. It feels odd to still be alive when death happens. And this past week and the weeks to come, I fear for someone dear to me. I pray in my head that please, God, anyone but her. I don't know how I'll bear it if anything happened to her. It's selfish and I know that even now I am trying to suppress how I feel since I am once again not sleeping, and I haven't been focusing on my studies when I should be when I have a test tomorrow. It's different when you're the one in that situation of impending crisis; it's the calm before the storm and you can't help but wonder if anything will be left standing after the ravages of the elements. For the first time, I feel like my nightmare will come true. And the worst part is, this isn't even about me. All I can do is pray and breathe and hope to God that He'll be there to pick up the pieces that are left of me.
I know that this is vague. My feelings at the moment are just in turmoil so bear with me until I can get it all out there in a cohesive and understandable way. At this time, I can't help but think of that song from Mercy Me, "Bring the Rain", it's appropriate I think.
It's March, ladies and gents, boys and girls, and any other species that have missed that calendrical change. (Yes, that is a word, I looked it up). What news do I bear? For some reason, most of the news that I have both received and imparted are more of the bad sort. I guess that's one of the reasons I have for not really posting stuff. I know that a lot of you guys already have bad news in your side and I don't want to add to that. I'm not being melodramatic (although yes, it sounds like I am). I am just stating a fact that bad news (gosh, how many times can you say that?!) is flittering and fluttering around like a pesky mosquito out to suck more of your blood.
Bad news came in the form of my grandmother (my mom's mom) had a stroke, of my aunt (my mom's older sister) who passed away from cancer complications, of my uncle (my dad's in-law) who had a mild heart attack, and other minute details that just keep snow-balling down my so-called life mountain. I guess it saddens me that the only grandparent I have is in more pain and debilitation when she should be enjoying her older years. And it saddens me that the aunt I promised to grow my hair for so that I could give it to her for a wig won't be here to experience that. I feel like I broke a promise. And I feel for my mom and her siblings since this is the first time that they lost a sibling. It's sad. As for my uncle, I feel for him and my cousins since we already lost my aunt to heart attack too. And the fact that I am studying to help people with their health isn't really helping matters right now. Even with all the progress in health care and in technology, we're still human at best. And people can still die at any moment.
This past week, it was the first time that a client passed away on our floor. It was shocking and you just have that moment of 'ah, there, life's just too fleeting'. It feels odd to still be alive when death happens. And this past week and the weeks to come, I fear for someone dear to me. I pray in my head that please, God, anyone but her. I don't know how I'll bear it if anything happened to her. It's selfish and I know that even now I am trying to suppress how I feel since I am once again not sleeping, and I haven't been focusing on my studies when I should be when I have a test tomorrow. It's different when you're the one in that situation of impending crisis; it's the calm before the storm and you can't help but wonder if anything will be left standing after the ravages of the elements. For the first time, I feel like my nightmare will come true. And the worst part is, this isn't even about me. All I can do is pray and breathe and hope to God that He'll be there to pick up the pieces that are left of me.
I know that this is vague. My feelings at the moment are just in turmoil so bear with me until I can get it all out there in a cohesive and understandable way. At this time, I can't help but think of that song from Mercy Me, "Bring the Rain", it's appropriate I think.
Bring me joy, Bring me peace
Bring the chance to be free
Bring me anything that brings you glory
And I know there'll be days
When this life brings me pain
But if that's what it takes to praise You
Jesus, bring the rain.
February 15, 2010
A side effect from caring
There's been two types of adjectives that have been predominantly applied to me when I was growing up: one being aloof; the other being nice. Many people who meet me at first confide to me later on that they thought I was snobbish and reserved. I can honestly say that when I don't smile, I don't look very friendly; but really who does? When they get to know me better, that is when people start applying the term nice. They figure out that I don't actually bite people nor do I bide my time thinking ill of them.
Honestly, they're not too far when they call me both aloof and nice. I know for a fact that I can be not nice, that I can be this person who does not care. I have seen myself stare blankly as someone cried in front of me. I have rolled my eyes and mocked someone's sob story. I should empathize but no, I just don't care sometimes. But then again, a lot of people tell me their problems and I listen, and I comfort, and I help. I have hugged someone as they cried their eyes out, tucked someone in bed as they felt utter misery, and helped someone to their feet as they wished to try again. I have cried with people and cried for people with the same eyes that mocked and stared.
Anyone has a propensity to choose apathy over niceness any day of the week, and vice versa. Lately though, I've been more apt to care. I've cringed over hateful words, my heart clenches as I hear contempt in people's voices, and I have stilled in horror as people choose to stop caring. I find myself horrified at the thought of becoming this crybaby who is affected by every little sign of discord. Apathy is so much more easier a mask. No tears, no cooing or false sympathies. No drama. Such is a life I want. No complications. But caring has this way of insinuating itself between the cracks and insisting that it matters.
And it does, I suppose. It does when it's about my family, and the people I love, and then it starts extending to the people I just met, and to the people I have yet to learn about. And I get lost. My world that consists of me and a handful of people are expanding to let more in. And it terrifies me to care about all these other people when I hardly know how to care for all of me. I know that no matter how much I care for people, it cannot change the world. Caring cannot change someone's opinion, or create more food, or reduce global warming, or grow back someone's hair.
But one of the most annoying things that happens when a person cares is the persistent desire to hope. That tomorrow everything will be better, that life will be easier, that there's more to come. I care because I want to love with something bigger than my body, more than my cells can hold, greater than my mind can dream of. There's only one of me but I can have a love that renews more than what is possible, more than what is expected of me, and more than what I expect of myself.
To Darla, I love you. A lot. I first loved you with a selfish reason of not wanting to let you go. But I know that I never will; that some special guy can sweep you off your feet and take you away with him, but I'll hold you forever in my heart. I love you not because you are my sister. I love you because of your own person. You're not all perfect, and neither am I. You're not all squishy and huggable, but the parts of you that are, are more than enough to love everyone else that you wish to.
To Kuya, I love you. I've admired you before I loved you. And I hated you before I learned how to love you. But in the end, I love you, and that's mostly what matters. The rest of the thing that matters is the fact that you will always be the person who riles me up, makes me mad as spit, and then pets me to calm me down. We're complicated. You're the older brother who never got a manual on how to figure out a younger sibling. And I'm the younger sibling who never got the memo on playing nice. All in all, we're a pair. But seeing you grow up, I know that you'll even make a greater pair that special girl who'll keep you on your toes and make you laugh the loudest and the longest. Don't ever change.
To Sister. You're my greatest friend. And I don't ever need to tell you what's what for you to figure out how I feel. There's many reasons why I looked up to you when I was growing up. And there were many reasons why I desperately wanted to hold on to us. But I've learned that it's not about letting go, because neither you nor I have. It's about extending the reigns to someone else until we come full circle and our world becomes smaller. You are grace and strength and air. And you have all of yourself to offer. I thank you for that.
To Momi. Thank you. Without you, I wouldn't be. I want you to know that I haven't always understood you and I haven't always wanted to understand you. But now I do. You're so much more than what other people see in you. You're so much more than what other people will think of you. Your family, they are only one part of you. They are not you. I hope you understand that your strength is one thing that makes you stand apart from others, but one thing else is your freedom. You know where your freedom lies, and I hope that later you'll find comfort in knowing that your love hasn't been in vain. And it hasn't. Those seeds you've sown that didn't seem to grow, they're still budding. And so are you.
To Papa. Papa, I love you. For every hug that you've given me, I repay you three-fold. For every prayer that you've said for me, I offer God five more. For every laughter and tears of joy, I ask Him for a thousand more. And for every lesson you've taught me, I will honor them all. For every fear and anger that you've felt for me, I say an assurance. And for every word of discipline and pat of my hair as I cried, I bow my head in humility. And for that day when you put my hands together as I accepted God, I put my hands together as I thank the one who did the same for you. Thank you, Papa.
To Kuya Ancho, I bless you as your sister and as my brother. There's many things that could have gone wrong between your meeting my sister and your permanence with us. But the years have passed by more than a decade now and still your roots have dug in and stayed entwined with ours. You're a tree of such patience and of such passion, and you've spent and shared so much of both not only with Manang but with us. Thank you for showing us the dazzle of vibrant colors. You've brought so much to us and we haven't caught up to yet.
To Baba. Babalove. You're still my sweet. You've grown like a rose, like a mountain. You're both spring and lightning. I missed so much of your growing up but I don't regret that much. Because you have such great parents and people who love around you. And they all love you. I miss hugging you and making you laugh with silly jokes and fixing your hair because it always needs fixing. I miss how your eyes twinkle and how your lips quirk in a reluctant smile, then a full fledged laugh, even as you try to knit your eyebrows together and look stern. I miss your curiosity and your ability to go on for days and days, and days like a whirlwind that plays with the leaves and then I miss how you simply know confidently how to be. I miss many things. But I miss the fun that we create together. Always have fun, Ba. All the time. Remember that having fun is a choice too.
I can make more lists of these. I can write down more love for all the world to see. I can do all these and still have love to spare. But right now, this is enough. Because these are the words that I've held closed in my heart for so long and today, I set them free. If you read this then you know that I love you, always will, even when I'm no longer here to agree. Even when it's not from my lips that you hear it. Even when it hurts more said out loud than whispered quietly in the back of your mind. Even then. Because love like this isn't the kind that goes away. This stains and holds deeper when you rub at it. It holds your hand tightly in the crowds, and pokes you on the sides 'til you frown, and it keeps at you until you bat it with your hands. My love is annoying, let's just say that. But that's because it's the kind that is persistently hopeful that when you wake up tomorrow, it's to a lighter and better day.
Honestly, they're not too far when they call me both aloof and nice. I know for a fact that I can be not nice, that I can be this person who does not care. I have seen myself stare blankly as someone cried in front of me. I have rolled my eyes and mocked someone's sob story. I should empathize but no, I just don't care sometimes. But then again, a lot of people tell me their problems and I listen, and I comfort, and I help. I have hugged someone as they cried their eyes out, tucked someone in bed as they felt utter misery, and helped someone to their feet as they wished to try again. I have cried with people and cried for people with the same eyes that mocked and stared.
Anyone has a propensity to choose apathy over niceness any day of the week, and vice versa. Lately though, I've been more apt to care. I've cringed over hateful words, my heart clenches as I hear contempt in people's voices, and I have stilled in horror as people choose to stop caring. I find myself horrified at the thought of becoming this crybaby who is affected by every little sign of discord. Apathy is so much more easier a mask. No tears, no cooing or false sympathies. No drama. Such is a life I want. No complications. But caring has this way of insinuating itself between the cracks and insisting that it matters.
And it does, I suppose. It does when it's about my family, and the people I love, and then it starts extending to the people I just met, and to the people I have yet to learn about. And I get lost. My world that consists of me and a handful of people are expanding to let more in. And it terrifies me to care about all these other people when I hardly know how to care for all of me. I know that no matter how much I care for people, it cannot change the world. Caring cannot change someone's opinion, or create more food, or reduce global warming, or grow back someone's hair.
But one of the most annoying things that happens when a person cares is the persistent desire to hope. That tomorrow everything will be better, that life will be easier, that there's more to come. I care because I want to love with something bigger than my body, more than my cells can hold, greater than my mind can dream of. There's only one of me but I can have a love that renews more than what is possible, more than what is expected of me, and more than what I expect of myself.
To Darla, I love you. A lot. I first loved you with a selfish reason of not wanting to let you go. But I know that I never will; that some special guy can sweep you off your feet and take you away with him, but I'll hold you forever in my heart. I love you not because you are my sister. I love you because of your own person. You're not all perfect, and neither am I. You're not all squishy and huggable, but the parts of you that are, are more than enough to love everyone else that you wish to.
To Kuya, I love you. I've admired you before I loved you. And I hated you before I learned how to love you. But in the end, I love you, and that's mostly what matters. The rest of the thing that matters is the fact that you will always be the person who riles me up, makes me mad as spit, and then pets me to calm me down. We're complicated. You're the older brother who never got a manual on how to figure out a younger sibling. And I'm the younger sibling who never got the memo on playing nice. All in all, we're a pair. But seeing you grow up, I know that you'll even make a greater pair that special girl who'll keep you on your toes and make you laugh the loudest and the longest. Don't ever change.
To Sister. You're my greatest friend. And I don't ever need to tell you what's what for you to figure out how I feel. There's many reasons why I looked up to you when I was growing up. And there were many reasons why I desperately wanted to hold on to us. But I've learned that it's not about letting go, because neither you nor I have. It's about extending the reigns to someone else until we come full circle and our world becomes smaller. You are grace and strength and air. And you have all of yourself to offer. I thank you for that.
To Momi. Thank you. Without you, I wouldn't be. I want you to know that I haven't always understood you and I haven't always wanted to understand you. But now I do. You're so much more than what other people see in you. You're so much more than what other people will think of you. Your family, they are only one part of you. They are not you. I hope you understand that your strength is one thing that makes you stand apart from others, but one thing else is your freedom. You know where your freedom lies, and I hope that later you'll find comfort in knowing that your love hasn't been in vain. And it hasn't. Those seeds you've sown that didn't seem to grow, they're still budding. And so are you.
To Papa. Papa, I love you. For every hug that you've given me, I repay you three-fold. For every prayer that you've said for me, I offer God five more. For every laughter and tears of joy, I ask Him for a thousand more. And for every lesson you've taught me, I will honor them all. For every fear and anger that you've felt for me, I say an assurance. And for every word of discipline and pat of my hair as I cried, I bow my head in humility. And for that day when you put my hands together as I accepted God, I put my hands together as I thank the one who did the same for you. Thank you, Papa.
To Kuya Ancho, I bless you as your sister and as my brother. There's many things that could have gone wrong between your meeting my sister and your permanence with us. But the years have passed by more than a decade now and still your roots have dug in and stayed entwined with ours. You're a tree of such patience and of such passion, and you've spent and shared so much of both not only with Manang but with us. Thank you for showing us the dazzle of vibrant colors. You've brought so much to us and we haven't caught up to yet.
To Baba. Babalove. You're still my sweet. You've grown like a rose, like a mountain. You're both spring and lightning. I missed so much of your growing up but I don't regret that much. Because you have such great parents and people who love around you. And they all love you. I miss hugging you and making you laugh with silly jokes and fixing your hair because it always needs fixing. I miss how your eyes twinkle and how your lips quirk in a reluctant smile, then a full fledged laugh, even as you try to knit your eyebrows together and look stern. I miss your curiosity and your ability to go on for days and days, and days like a whirlwind that plays with the leaves and then I miss how you simply know confidently how to be. I miss many things. But I miss the fun that we create together. Always have fun, Ba. All the time. Remember that having fun is a choice too.
I can make more lists of these. I can write down more love for all the world to see. I can do all these and still have love to spare. But right now, this is enough. Because these are the words that I've held closed in my heart for so long and today, I set them free. If you read this then you know that I love you, always will, even when I'm no longer here to agree. Even when it's not from my lips that you hear it. Even when it hurts more said out loud than whispered quietly in the back of your mind. Even then. Because love like this isn't the kind that goes away. This stains and holds deeper when you rub at it. It holds your hand tightly in the crowds, and pokes you on the sides 'til you frown, and it keeps at you until you bat it with your hands. My love is annoying, let's just say that. But that's because it's the kind that is persistently hopeful that when you wake up tomorrow, it's to a lighter and better day.
January 14, 2010
I could be brown. I could be blue. I could be violet sky. I could be hurtful.
I could be purple. I could be anything you like. So, I don't own that nifty piece of catchy lyrics that I used as my title and beginning sentences. The singer MIKA sang it first, probably wrote it too. It just fit my thoughts today.
I had clinicals again today. The first for this new semester. I went with nine other girls, two of whom are in the traditional program that I am on, and the rest from the Fast track program. This day was just our orientation day so we didn't choose clients nor did we help with anyone. All we did was choose which floors we were going to be on at the hospital, clarify when our paper work is due (Saturdays at midnight), when and where to meet for lunch and post conference (12-1PM, cafeteria), meet with our clinical instructor, and get our schedule for our OR experience (mine's April-ish). And the rest of the time we rode elevators, ate, and laughed like the serious, professional and competent student nurses that we are. It wasn't really a frazzling clinical day, unlike the first one I had last semester, hence the laughing and the sarcasm.
I was actually pretty zen, well except for the part where I thought I was going to be late due to the freeway traffic on my way to the hospital. But mostly, I was zen, since there was no clinical paperwork to turn in, no twenty-something medications to pore over, and I actually slept early (10 at night). What sort of annoyed me though was how one of the fast track girls acted and reacted. Okay, so back story slash flashback scene moment, our program has two main cohorts - the traditional group, which I belong to, and the fast track (FT), or the group that graduates a semester earlier than ours will. Anyway, most of the FT already have previous degrees and are coming 'back' to school for a BSN. And our group consists of people who are getting their first degree. Previously, we've had a separate schedule and professors than they did, so no drama there. The thing is, the FT believe that their schedule is way more chaotic and complicated than ours was, that they were learning more stuff and stuff that was more advanced than ours, and life just sucks for them, but in reality (or according to Ms. J, the instructor), "Dude, no, you guys are learning the same stuff and have the same materials except for the days you go to class and who your instructors are". Moving on, we were put in on the same class as them last semester and it was ridiculous with what weekly complaint they had and their 'we're better than you' attitude. Not that all of them were like that since I know some of them and they're decent. We didn't outright fight with them but we just didn't mesh. Even our professor (the lead faculty) said they had trouble dealing with change since they keep saying "We already know how we learn best and the way you teach isn't that way". Whatever.
I digress on today's happening. Well, so I got along with them today, since it is only polite to be nice. Except for this girl whom at first I felt sort of sorry for since she was totally frazzled like I was on my first day before. She arrived last, couldn't find a spot for parking, looked frazzled, forgot her stethoscope, and kept clumsily spilling water on her scrubs. So I felt a kinship with her because she is normally me when I leave better parts of my brain under my pillow. She's self-deprecating and acts silly unintentionally. Maybe I don't know her enough but she just made an impression on me, a negative one. I just didn't like the fact that she acted so impatient with our clinical instructor. I get the part that today wasn't the most exciting day of clinicals and that we didn't do anything except for orientation. But that was sort of the point of today's clinical, for orientation. And yes, some people, like our instructor, are quiet and soft-spoken and have to do stuff slowly and thoroughly, even with walking. It's called a leisurely pace. Try it sometime.
Dear this girl, I felt bad for you this morning when you woke up on the wrong side of the bed and got harassed by mischievous fairies who govern the laws of available parking and Mr. Murphy. But it's really inappropriate to make snide remarks like "really, how slow can one person walk? does it need to take you the whole day?" or "do i look like i care about a bunch of pictures on the wall?" or only care about things that interest you when someone is just doing their job to orient you so you don't look like a frazzled piece of headless chicken when you go to clinicals for real next week. And yes, it might have been funny the first few times but it's mean and selfish disparage someone just because you think they are taking your precious time away from you and you want to go home, especially when they're just making sure that they go through everything correctly so that you will too. I get the fact that yes, I too, am being mean and wrong as I write these things about you and that my impressions of you might be wrong, the way your impression of our instructor might have been wrong too. But the difference is, I am not writing these words to make fun of you or hurt you. I write these because I think you were wrong. So let's just all grow up and be serious, competent and professional. Being whiny and snarky isn't the first step. You may think that I'm saying this because I'm trying to get brownie points from our instructor, but what does she know of what I write about? Honestly. Next time though, I will just keep out of your way and stay clear so that I won't have reason to be annoyed. In this case, what I can't see won't hurt me. Out of sight, out of mind. I know that I can be mean too, and I can say more cutting and hateful words, but I choose not to. Not because I'm too cowardly to say it to someone's face, but because I refuse to hurt people just to make me happy. People have this thing called feelings and we have this ancient rule called politesse, you can also say that as politeness or etiquette, it's what we use when we want to respect what people have called boundaries. Dude, chill. Just be thankful for the down time.
Sincerely,
Kat
I had clinicals again today. The first for this new semester. I went with nine other girls, two of whom are in the traditional program that I am on, and the rest from the Fast track program. This day was just our orientation day so we didn't choose clients nor did we help with anyone. All we did was choose which floors we were going to be on at the hospital, clarify when our paper work is due (Saturdays at midnight), when and where to meet for lunch and post conference (12-1PM, cafeteria), meet with our clinical instructor, and get our schedule for our OR experience (mine's April-ish). And the rest of the time we rode elevators, ate, and laughed like the serious, professional and competent student nurses that we are. It wasn't really a frazzling clinical day, unlike the first one I had last semester, hence the laughing and the sarcasm.
I was actually pretty zen, well except for the part where I thought I was going to be late due to the freeway traffic on my way to the hospital. But mostly, I was zen, since there was no clinical paperwork to turn in, no twenty-something medications to pore over, and I actually slept early (10 at night). What sort of annoyed me though was how one of the fast track girls acted and reacted. Okay, so back story slash flashback scene moment, our program has two main cohorts - the traditional group, which I belong to, and the fast track (FT), or the group that graduates a semester earlier than ours will. Anyway, most of the FT already have previous degrees and are coming 'back' to school for a BSN. And our group consists of people who are getting their first degree. Previously, we've had a separate schedule and professors than they did, so no drama there. The thing is, the FT believe that their schedule is way more chaotic and complicated than ours was, that they were learning more stuff and stuff that was more advanced than ours, and life just sucks for them, but in reality (or according to Ms. J, the instructor), "Dude, no, you guys are learning the same stuff and have the same materials except for the days you go to class and who your instructors are". Moving on, we were put in on the same class as them last semester and it was ridiculous with what weekly complaint they had and their 'we're better than you' attitude. Not that all of them were like that since I know some of them and they're decent. We didn't outright fight with them but we just didn't mesh. Even our professor (the lead faculty) said they had trouble dealing with change since they keep saying "We already know how we learn best and the way you teach isn't that way". Whatever.
I digress on today's happening. Well, so I got along with them today, since it is only polite to be nice. Except for this girl whom at first I felt sort of sorry for since she was totally frazzled like I was on my first day before. She arrived last, couldn't find a spot for parking, looked frazzled, forgot her stethoscope, and kept clumsily spilling water on her scrubs. So I felt a kinship with her because she is normally me when I leave better parts of my brain under my pillow. She's self-deprecating and acts silly unintentionally. Maybe I don't know her enough but she just made an impression on me, a negative one. I just didn't like the fact that she acted so impatient with our clinical instructor. I get the part that today wasn't the most exciting day of clinicals and that we didn't do anything except for orientation. But that was sort of the point of today's clinical, for orientation. And yes, some people, like our instructor, are quiet and soft-spoken and have to do stuff slowly and thoroughly, even with walking. It's called a leisurely pace. Try it sometime.
Dear this girl, I felt bad for you this morning when you woke up on the wrong side of the bed and got harassed by mischievous fairies who govern the laws of available parking and Mr. Murphy. But it's really inappropriate to make snide remarks like "really, how slow can one person walk? does it need to take you the whole day?" or "do i look like i care about a bunch of pictures on the wall?" or only care about things that interest you when someone is just doing their job to orient you so you don't look like a frazzled piece of headless chicken when you go to clinicals for real next week. And yes, it might have been funny the first few times but it's mean and selfish disparage someone just because you think they are taking your precious time away from you and you want to go home, especially when they're just making sure that they go through everything correctly so that you will too. I get the fact that yes, I too, am being mean and wrong as I write these things about you and that my impressions of you might be wrong, the way your impression of our instructor might have been wrong too. But the difference is, I am not writing these words to make fun of you or hurt you. I write these because I think you were wrong. So let's just all grow up and be serious, competent and professional. Being whiny and snarky isn't the first step. You may think that I'm saying this because I'm trying to get brownie points from our instructor, but what does she know of what I write about? Honestly. Next time though, I will just keep out of your way and stay clear so that I won't have reason to be annoyed. In this case, what I can't see won't hurt me. Out of sight, out of mind. I know that I can be mean too, and I can say more cutting and hateful words, but I choose not to. Not because I'm too cowardly to say it to someone's face, but because I refuse to hurt people just to make me happy. People have this thing called feelings and we have this ancient rule called politesse, you can also say that as politeness or etiquette, it's what we use when we want to respect what people have called boundaries. Dude, chill. Just be thankful for the down time.
Sincerely,
Kat
January 01, 2010
Resolutions. Mine involve cheese.
So, it's 2010. I can't believe it, another year has flown by so quickly. For 2009, I am thankful for:
The funniest moment, or one of the many, was the semester I was taking five (or six) classes. It wasn't funny then but it is now. The silliest moment involved my mom, my dad, and myself rearranging furniture. I swear there out to be a joke about it (wait, I think there is one). The craziest moment involved all the times at the end of the semesters, oh and that particular one where I fell asleep, was not woken up by my alarm clocks, and was not able to study for a test. Good job. The saddest moment was when I forgot what I was doing my best for. The sweetest moment was when my friends from my study group surprised me on my birthday with lemon poppy seed bread during our study session. Thanks guys. The weirdest moment involved my first day of clinical and a guy who had no nose. The day I felt loved was the day my mom told me she was blessed to have me as her daughter. The day that I forgave was the day I really laughed with my brother after a long time. The day I felt vulnerable was the day I said that I wasn't ready and wouldn't be for a long time. The day I felt small was the day I remembered that I was not without God. The day I was humbled was the day my dad and I worked to replant a tree swept down by the wind that was taller than us. The day that I loved was the day I prayed for my grandmother even as she made my mom cry.
This year I plan to read the books I bought last year that I haven't had the chance to enjoy, draw and paint more and acquaint myself with the tablet I got from princess, and drink milk (or soymilk since I'm slightly lactose intolerant like that) or eat cheese (I need calcium like a lot), and to write more letters, and to discipline my body to get normal sleep-and-wake patterns (I am not a zombie or a robot), and cook more Filipino dishes cos I know there's more delicious ones that I haven't tried yet.
Remember what I wrote during the beginning of last year? No? Yeah, me neither. What I wrote was: You can't get everything right, but you can't get everything wrong either. So I wrote that again to remind myself, because I forgot that last year and I was miserable. My dad's name means 'always victorious', and he told me that my name means 'never a loser' because I am also his junior. Next time I will remember this and know that even if I don't get everything right, I'm going to be alright as long as I don't give up.
+ Finishing my prereqs for Nursing
+ Getting in the uni's nursing program
+ Learning how to let go
+ Traveling to Canada and being with my sister
+ Staying healthy (mostly) and not missing any classes
+ Being able to donate my hair for a good cause
+ Getting the chance to see my brother mature
+ Being blessed to meet the loved ones I have lost
+ Getting my art back again
+ Oh, and a bookshelf
The funniest moment, or one of the many, was the semester I was taking five (or six) classes. It wasn't funny then but it is now. The silliest moment involved my mom, my dad, and myself rearranging furniture. I swear there out to be a joke about it (wait, I think there is one). The craziest moment involved all the times at the end of the semesters, oh and that particular one where I fell asleep, was not woken up by my alarm clocks, and was not able to study for a test. Good job. The saddest moment was when I forgot what I was doing my best for. The sweetest moment was when my friends from my study group surprised me on my birthday with lemon poppy seed bread during our study session. Thanks guys. The weirdest moment involved my first day of clinical and a guy who had no nose. The day I felt loved was the day my mom told me she was blessed to have me as her daughter. The day that I forgave was the day I really laughed with my brother after a long time. The day I felt vulnerable was the day I said that I wasn't ready and wouldn't be for a long time. The day I felt small was the day I remembered that I was not without God. The day I was humbled was the day my dad and I worked to replant a tree swept down by the wind that was taller than us. The day that I loved was the day I prayed for my grandmother even as she made my mom cry.
This year I plan to read the books I bought last year that I haven't had the chance to enjoy, draw and paint more and acquaint myself with the tablet I got from princess, and drink milk (or soymilk since I'm slightly lactose intolerant like that) or eat cheese (I need calcium like a lot), and to write more letters, and to discipline my body to get normal sleep-and-wake patterns (I am not a zombie or a robot), and cook more Filipino dishes cos I know there's more delicious ones that I haven't tried yet.
Remember what I wrote during the beginning of last year? No? Yeah, me neither. What I wrote was: You can't get everything right, but you can't get everything wrong either. So I wrote that again to remind myself, because I forgot that last year and I was miserable. My dad's name means 'always victorious', and he told me that my name means 'never a loser' because I am also his junior. Next time I will remember this and know that even if I don't get everything right, I'm going to be alright as long as I don't give up.
January 1, 2010.
Happy New Year, everyone! It's 2010. :) Cheers, and I hope everyone has a delicious and delightful new year.
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