They told us not to cry

My best friend sent me an instant message asking if I was there. I replied and received her response that said her grandfather just passed away. He never woke up. Oh.

I gave my condolences and said that I was sorry. And I was. I was sorry for the fact that she wasn't able to say goodbye. I knew how hard it was for her to receive a call or a text message letting her know that she no longer had a grandfather. I knew how it felt when you hear family cry over the phone. It's unimaginable. It's painful to hear heartbreak over the line.

She asked me if I knew how much he meant to her. That he was the father she had in her life. And that she was so sad. I told her I did. That I knew how much she loved him and how much he loved her. I told her that I understood how much it hurts that she was unable to say goodbye to him. But I knew that he would never begrudge her her feelings. That he would not allow her to pretend that she was okay, that it was okay, that it didn't hurt. I told her that it was okay to cry.

She told me she again that she was so sad. She told me of her plan to go home to the province, that she asked for a leave. I wished her a safe trip. I said that I would pray for her and her family. I asked her to give my condolences to her grandmother.

I was slightly uncomfortable when I was chatting with her, honestly. I knew she was crying when she was typing since she misspelled every now and then. That was the first time that I ever told someone that it was okay to cry. And even as I expected her to cry, I was unsure whether I was actually comforting her correctly. No one tells you as you grow up, "this is how you comfort someone, especially when they lose their grandfather, specifically when you're chatting with them continents away."

The twenty-first century has seen evolution and devolution, raced through inventions and application of laws and logic. Human socialization is growing even as you read this through interactive networks but there is a growing chasm in human connection and community. We don't hesitate to "add" someone, a friend, an aunt, a cousin twice removed, or the crazy uncle no one talks about on our page. But there is a definite pause when asked who lives three doors across your house or if you actually acknowledged that small smile-nod Mr. Smith gave you earlier or you either stared between his brows and gave your own smile-nod as you ducked away.

I think people are becoming socially awkward. Even as I admit that no one is taught the art of comforting and say that it comes naturally, I find that I am at a loss as to how I should break that silence of grief. That I don't say or not say something and then wince as I see them shirk further away. Some might say that just being there counts as an act of comfort. I suppose. But then my being continents away does pose some trouble. I don't want to make an ass of myself as I type an instant message.

All I could tell my best friend was from my own experience. She told me again that it hurt so much. And I replied that it would get worse. That it would hurt as she would remember how he looked, his favorite breakfast, how he smiled when she would greet him as she came home. That we lose parts of ourselves when a person we love passes away. I couldn't bear to tell her that sometimes we would forget how their voice sounded like, or whether they ever wore this shirt. The simple details would fade from our minds even as we desperately try to hold on to as much as we could.

I couldn't tell her that it would ease in time. That it would hurt less. That she would be able to breathe easier. And that she could smile at the thought of him in time and not be guilty that she was still alive. That it would be okay not to cry. But maybe I don't have to. Maybe she'll figure it out herself.

The great thing about human beings is our capacity for change, our capacity to adapt, our capacity to survive. And the great thing about us is that we don't have to be told how to comfort someone; that even as we awkwardly pat someone on the back, it comes naturally. I think it is great to be a human being. That's the beauty of humanity, we are always being. Not becoming, or doing, but being.

It's Menopause!

So what do you do when you have the weekend ahead of you? Redecorate your house, of course. At least according to my mom, that's what's supposed to be done. So instead of finishing my observation project for my World Religions class and my Sustainable Living outline for Philosophy, I spent the weekend general cleaning and rearranging the furniture. Snippets of conversation included and was not limited to:

"It's okay, Pa. It's just menopause. She'll get over it."
"No. The furniture do not want to be rearranged. They are happy where they are right now."
"It's okay, Momi. We understand. Don't feel bad. As long as you're happy, we're unhappy." (That was after my dad got his toe bloody due to the computer table).
"You, why you torture me so?"
"I could be typing!!"
"This is abuse."
"I suggest you just quit your job and become an interior decorator. That way you can satisfy this obsession of yours."
"No, thank you." (After being asked/told if we should fix my room now).
"Go away, Momi. I'll pencil you in instead."
"I could be typing!!"
"You lied to me! You said that we wouldn't be moving any more furniture!" (After a long debate on how she wanted to switch the coffee tables).
"That's discrimination. You're making it insecure. You're making it feel fat." (My reply after my mom said that the coffee table is too long and doesn't match the formal living room).
"I could be typing!!"

Momi: "Now, doesn't that look nice?"
Kat: /Eye twitch/ Glare.

The only winning thing about the events was getting a new red comforter and pillow cases with white floral designs and new curtains from IKEA. And that was a trick too. I wanted art materials for my birthday, and now I get a makeover for my room and backache instead. I'm too young for this. I will get a red bookcase for my room though, so that will be great. All's fair with moms and menopause.

Still Looking For A Dream

Of the things that scare me, I can name three: I am afraid of losing my family, just the thought of them dying makes me cry. I am afraid of loving, the thought of surrendering myself to someone who can break me is unfathomable. And third, I am afraid of dreaming, the thought of wanting something so much only to be disappointed is too much.

Next month, I will be 20. I don't particularly mind getting older. It is just an increase in number, a birthday is just a means of measuring your time on earth. Age does not equate to maturity or intelligence. I could be forty and have a maturity of a thirteen year old, and be as smart as a physicist. Age does not mean a lot to me. The only thing I am really happy about turning twenty is the feeling of triumph I might get. Finally, I caught up to my older siblings. Maybe I'll have more common ground with them since I will no longer be a teenager.

The nursing advisor from the university I am applying to called me last Friday to inquire if I was still serious about my application. Of course. Presently, the desire to enter Nursing school is the only thing I am being driven by. I don't care if I don't get any vacation, if I'll study to the pain, I don't care. As long as I get accepted into their program then that's all that matters. And that scares me the most. I've always felt that if I wanted something so much then the world will conspire against me. I'm not afraid of failure, I am afraid of disappointment.

When I was younger I wanted so much for my family to be a family. A family that would be together, seeing each other off as the day started, going home and sharing stories during dinner, playing, having picnics and outings together, being there for each other happily ever after. Of course, that never happened seeing as my two older siblings were in college, my older brother disliked me, my parents were in their own world, and I was the youngest daughter still in grade school. Move over kiddie, we have lives to handle. By the time I was in high school, I no longer cared if we were in the same house or not and whether my parents would be home on the weekend. My life isn't as melodramatic in reality, but that was because I didn't care. I've learned to be content that they're alive.

When I was in fifth grade, I remember being called to the Principal's office because they wanted me to compete for a scholastic writing contest. I remembering protesting that I knew nothing about writing but they assured me that it didn't matter. All I had to do was write in Filipino and it would be fine. Oh. So I did as I was told and went off with other students to the competition. I was scared to death that day with all the unfamiliarity and anxiousness. Even today I cannot remember what the topic was, all I can remember was berating myself for not learning cursive and not knowing how to count 2500 words. Tough luck, kid. At the end, when they were announcing the top nine winners, I could remember sitting stiffly and thinking how happy I would be if I won the ninth position. I dared not hope higher when I knew nothing about writing. I was so disappointed when I never heard my name that I stopped listening at the sixth placer. But I remembering tensing further when my classmate, who was also in the competition for illustration, started shaking me and shrieking, "You won! You won!" I stared at her perplexedly and asked her what I won, to which she replied, "They called your name! You won the first place!" Imagine that. I was thankful that I made in to the stage without passing out.

Later that week the winners from my school were told that we were going to another competition. I was ecstatic that I dared to hope. I wanted to win again. I've never been good at anything before that when I got my first trophy, I thought I could do it again. Of course, I wasn't able to win again and I wasn't able to go to the competition. I wanted so badly to cry but it hurt so much to even try, so I just pushed to bitter experience to the back of my mind. Pain burns so much like acid and disappointment is like a crushing blow. I never attempted to write again after that. It was too painful and raw.

And now, I am back to dreaming. I'm back to hoping that this time I'll be accepted into that program and I'll be graduating as a nurse in two years. I wish. Do I dare to put my heart on a platter and hope that it won't be crushed? The only reason I've stopped wanting things is because disappointment requires too much emotion. And that is why this blog's header is Bombeck's quote. I've stopped dreaming long ago, the moment I knew that apathy was safer was the moment I stopped caring. I no longer desired for my family to be together, I no longer dreamed of greatness, and I no longer wanted. I stopped being a child and went off into the world of adult skepticism and pessimism. But once more, I will hope. I will hope for my future that I will be accepted to their program and finally start my way to nursing. Just once more, I will dream and not be tainted by the doubt of disappointment.

Playing Hooky...

I finally get a break, in a form of the academic Spring Break. I feel ambivalent though since I'm still thinking of the many things I need to do, like my Utopia outline, my Statistics homework, my Pathophysiology case studies and notes, and my World Religion worksheets, and oh, start my research for my Health Care Ethics presentation. It's not really a break, I say, when my brain is still working and fried. But beggars can't be choosers, I certainly am appreciative of the break of driving 34 miles everyday, of waking up before my alarm does, and of struggling with a parking space, and not to mention the familiarity of facing some of my zany professors. Yup, I am totally happy right now even with the workload.

I've been back to college for three months now. I've been handling the stress pretty well (are you sure?!) considering the fact that I have a full load. Famous last words, Kat (cue evil, maniacal laughter). The only thing more stressful than class requirements are people. I have met the most awesome, weirdest, world-record breaking, insane, dumb-founding, and memorable people this semester. Take my Patho professor, I've been complaining about her all semester. Maybe it's because she doesn't have PowerPoint or it could be the fact that she has time to have manicures twice a week but no time to change the erroneous exams she gives us. But it could just be the fact that people who took her last semester absolutely adore her, but I'm still waiting for that person to come to class. Mondays and Wednesdays are devoted to complaints against her. Maybe it's my pride that's bruised for getting Bs in her exams and not As.

And then there's my classmate in Patho, B. She's fifteen years my senior, one of the smartest persons I know, and one of the most interesting. It could be because she has experienced most of the diseases we've covered in class: Hemolytic anemia of the newborn, Jaundiced at birth, Constantly low blood pressure even with medication, hypovolemic shock, congenital heart problems, anaphylactic shock, and oh, she's allergic to 80% of the medication out there. That's what I call phenomenal. But it could also be because she's on counseling right now because her husband is a jerk. Case in point when he let their health insurance lapse, and when he constantly goes hiking when he should be job hunting, and when he should at least wash the dishes since he's the one at home. Makes me want to stay the heck away from marriage. Whatever the reason I find her fascinating we get along famously. Thick as thieves, as Lemony Snicket would say.

Another professor, my Buddhist World Religions teacher, makes me laugh. It could be because of the fact that she keeps saying she's a double capricorn and won't grow up, whatever that means. Or the fact that she disses all religions, even hers, but especially mine. Or maybe it's because she owns tons of cats, has myasthenia gravis, and keeps saying "I'm not ready for this" when it comes to our exams. She certainly is quirky, you have to admit a person who's willing to sabotage their jury duty is something.

Then there's Maria, of the Filipino-French-Vietnamese parentage. She's divorced, loves dancing, and is usually late for class. She's divorced because her ex-husband was pre-meditatively killing her. Isn't that obvious when your spouse lists down a number of ways to make you angry when he knows you have a heart problem, and then conveniently says, "I love you" afterwards in an attempt to soothe you? Or it could be the way he conveniently leaves a "Dear John" letter for her in his bag and dismissing it as "nothing." But then later you change jobs, change cellphone numbers, and refuse to leave a forwarding address. Charming.

There's tons more of people that make my list. And in their own way, make me laugh, cringe, gape in shock, roll my eyes, and just about see life in their eyes. Why the list? Well, they make me realize that everyone is a small person in the universe. All of us have our own little worlds but it all comes down to the fact that everyone living has stress, crappy spouses, insane professors, cats, and mounds of homework. It humbles me that I am not alone in my misery but with other people I can be free to laugh, cry, scream in frustration, and live.

So I'm playing hooky, with the knowledge that it's okay to just be sometimes.

Always the Smart Ones

I bet her eyes widened as her brain digested what she just heard. I can imagine how they would hold that involuntary response for a second, and then she would blink. But her mouth would be slightly opened as she would form the words, "What? What happened?"

I asked her how she felt. Sad. Yes, I was too. But then she says, "So, nice weather we're having." And all I could do was laugh while we proceeded making small talk to hastily change the subject. There we were on the phone discussing cows on the freeway, brunch, how Twilight sucks, and the distinction between cliff diving and cliff jumping. All the while in the backs of our mind contemplating how it isn't really funny, and we shouldn't really be laughing. It was inappropriate after all.

"We need to talk. I need to talk to you," was what my Mom first said when she opened their bedroom door. And I could tell it was going to be a serious discussion. And in a habitual childhood-borne reflex, I started thinking of what I could have possibly done wrong in the past couple of days, and then weeks, that warranted that serious tone of voice, and that grave facial expression.

My mom started with chitchat. She explained why she didn't think visiting my cousins would be a good choice, because she couldn't, no time, and all that. And then she explained why she wouldn't agree to my desire of buying a smaller cupcake pan, because it wouldn't be fair for everyone. I understood, I explained that I figured that out. It's fine, I'll get over it. "It just makes me feel bad when you make that face, I feel like it's my fault." It's not, Mom, it's normal that I'll be sad. But I get over it.

What is this about? I was asking mentally because we don't normally do this, we do, but not over trivial matters of vacation or cupcake pans. So I asked, "Is that all?" And not surprisingly the answer is No. The next thing she tells me makes me frown, raise my eyebrow, take a breath, and laugh. Maybe that was inappropriate as well. But I did not mean to be disrespectful in light of having someone I loved try to cheat life and fail.

It made me both mad and sad that she did that. I was mad at myself because she felt she couldn't approach me at any time. I was mad that she bottled it all up and used a bottle to end it all as well. I was sad because she's only fourteen, and in the two years I've been with her I didn't see it coming. Or maybe I did and it pisses me off because I chose not to see it. I was sad because it shouldn't have come down to that and she shouldn't have felt the need to do that.

What do I tell her? Do I ask her why? Do I pretend that it's okay and say everything will be fine? Do I tell her honestly that what she did was crap and that she should have thought of her family? Of her younger siblings who looked up to her? I could say that the worst thing I've heard is someone saying they're giving up on life. It makes me feel like there's nothing worthy enough for you to stick around here until the end. It makes me feel so angry because there are hundreds and thousands of babies being born everyday that don't even survive to take their first breath. And it makes me sad because no one should choose that option ever.

We all have our pain, we're all broken, and we're all human. And if you think that life sucks, then welcome to the real world. Because in this world your younger sisters will be affected and scarred by that all their life. The youngest might not even know what happened but your younger sister, well, you probably broke her heart. This might sound spiteful, it might offend you, that I'm ranting at you when you're in a frail and delicate situation. But you should at least think about the fact that I care enough to be angry, I care enough to be mad at you. You have so much going for you, you're smart, you have a great sense of humor, you're highly intelligent, you have a great family, and you don't have body odor. I hope you realize that life doesn't have to be perfect for you to be happy. Life is pain, but it is a gift. Life is a choice and in all things you have a choice. The only thing you don't have a choice over is death. But when the time comes for that, I hope you can honestly say you don't have regrets on how you lived.