You Cannot Give What You Don't Have

Whilst reading this blog by Rica Peralejo-Bonifacio, I was reminded of an email conversation with a good friend last January.  It was about recovering from a hurt caused by somebody.  At some point, I told her that perhaps, it would be easier to heal if this somebody would apologise (that was why this other blog by Rica also struck me), to which my friend replied “wag mo na antaying mag-sorry siya sa’yo…una, baka mafrustrate ka and remember Jesus died for you when we were still sinners…”

I must say that one of the things that used to surprise me is when people wouldn’t apologise even when I had told them that they had hurt me.  Instead of receiving an apology, I was blamed for having been sensitive or over-reactive or because they had thought okay lang sa akin (to which I had wanted to reply: kung totoong kaibigan kita, alam mo kung ano ang ok at hindi ok sa akin) or told that I had no right to be hurt because it wasn’t their intention to hurt me (as if there is always a direct correlation between one’s intention and how that intention is expressed through words or actions, which are many times the ones that become offensive).  And I realised that the surprise over the shift of the blame (ako na yung nasaktan, ako pa yung nasisi) was because of false expectations – I have learned (and continue to learn) to humble myself and say sorry if I hurt someone even if it wasn’t my intention to do so (sino ba naman ang gusto makasakit consciously?) simply because I hurt him no matter what my intention was.  It was all about shifting the focus on the person I hurt instead of myself – so others should be able to do the same, but truthfully, can I or should I expect other people to have the same mindset as I?

I cannot and should not because as a friend always reminds me, having no expectation from others will spare me from a lot of hurt and disappointment.  And the bigger lesson is that I cannot expect others to understand being accountable for the consequences of their actions (and not of their intentions) and being humble and receiving mercy because it took a lot for me also to get to this place – I am only able to forgive in spite of myself or the absence of an apology because I myself was forgiven when I humbled myself before a mighty, merciful, and loving God who in spite of my wickedness decided to let His Son die on the cross so I can have eternal life with Him in heaven – a love so great I cannot fathom no matter how hard I try to wrap my brain around it.  I can humble myself before someone I hurt because I know there is mercy waiting if not from him, from God.  I can extend mercy to people who offended me because I myself received mercy.  I can love (and a sign of that is being accountable to someone I hurt because love is not arrogant) because I was loved first.  Indeed, you cannot give what you do not have.

Seasons

At some point, you learn

That words are woven into stories,

Stories into lies,

And lies can make up a life;

That lies can make up a man;

That duplicity is contagious

As bad company corrupts good character.

At some point, you learn

That a coloured face can be a façade

And beneath is a can of worms

Feeding on nicks and cuts,

Picking on fresh, bloodied wounds

That will heal or won’t heal-

Only time can tell.

At some point, you learn

That a smile is just a mask;

That a hollow smile belies

The tempest in the heart –

Of rage, madness, and love,

Choosing different shades of grey

Over blacks and whites.

At some point, you learn

That an enemy multiplies kisses

But a friend’s wounds can be trusted;

That you hurt those you love,

And you’re hurt by those you love,

But you love anyway

Because you were loved first.

Love overcomes,

Looks beyond,

Overlooks the façade, the worms,

And heals.

And that Love is neither grey

Nor black nor white

But is red, scarlet

And turns your scars

As white as the snow

And makes you a new creation.

At some point, you meet Someone

Who sweeps you off your feet,

Promises you eternity,

And leaves a permanent mark on your soul.

Say “yes” and you are changed.

Forever.

The Walk in the Park

We take a walk tonight in this new park in the city, the newly manicured lawn and the Christmas lights hanging from the tree branches the perfect backdrop to our story—a common story, a cliché actually, of unexpressed emotions and an understanding unspoken of, the December breeze gently blowing a reluctant witness to the plot unfolding between us.

I often wondered as a child why there are fireworks in the sky when couples kiss in a movie as if love is enough to banish the darkness of the night. If I kiss you tonight, could we brighten the heavens, too?

You refuse to hold my hand. Your eyes speak the words your lips refuse to say. You try to hide the suffering and a kiss won’t be enough to banish it. You have loved and failed, loved and failed, and scars remain.

So, here we are, standing at the bus station, waiting. I try to hold your hand, to touch you to ease your pain. Yet, you refuse again. I kiss you on the lips, your scars remain. A kiss won’t be enough to banish them.

My bus arrives. Should I stay or should I go? I turn to you and smile, and you say goodbye.

Packing Bags, Uncovering Memories

I called the one I was supposed to surprise with the apartment “my star” but I realized that you are the original star, the one whose light has never gone out. Yes, you have always been there…you stayed at the side lines after we had parted ways while I found a new star whose light later dimmed.

*****

At the very center of my bed right now is a red box with a diamond ring. “Wear it to our dinner on Saturday and I will follow you to London,” you said when you brought the ring to my apartment a week after you had learned about my plans to leave the country. You must have sensed my confusion because you added, “It’s not an engagement ring.” So what is it exactly? Just some sign you need from me for you to leave everything behind and be with me in London? Yes, you said.

It is Friday. Tomorrow, we go out to have dinner. I have been trying to ignore that red box. I have been delaying having to make a decision—do I want you back in my life? Do I want you with me in London? I still have so many things to do—turnover at work, send-off parties to attend, bills to settle, and independent films to see. I still have to pack so many things. I still have to sort which of my stuff to take with me to London and which to store at my parents’ house. I have been trying to ignore that red box. I have been trying to push the thoughts of you away from my mind. But as I pack my bags, as I gather all the things I have brought into this apartment for sorting, I realize that you are in almost all of them, that almost every nook and cranny of this apartment has some memory of you in it.

You were not the reason I got this apartment. You knew it was supposed to be for someone. After we had parted ways, I met someone and the apartment was supposed to be a surprise for him. But things happened and plans changed. Still, I kept the house. It was here that I healed myself and picked myself up. Or better, it was here where you picked me up from the mess that I had become and helped me be whole again.

The apartment was as plain as it could be with its dark wood and off-white motif. Plain and lifeless as was my life after I had parted ways with the person I was supposed to surprise with the apartment. Then, you started putting color into it as you started putting color back into my life…as a friend, as you put it.

You had gifted me with a 32-inch flat screen TV with cable subscription so I could have something to entertain me…though you had known I didn’t watch TV a lot. I still don’t. You had said you couldn’t imagine me staring out into space and crying my eyes out every time I would be home alone. Later, you admitted that you had gotten the TV because you had nothing else to do while waiting for me to get home from work. And I didn’t want you to pick me up from work, anyway. I had given you the key to my house because you would always come over anyway and I hated the thought that you would always have to wait somewhere else while I was at work. A week after I had given you the key, I woke up to the smell of ham and cheese omelet coming from my kitchen. Yes, you just prepared a “real” breakfast for me—with bread, juice, coffee, and fruits—and not just some microwaved food from the convenience store across the street.

I am now staring at a rack of McCormick spices. I still don’t know which to use for soups, steaks, and fish but with your sophisticated taste in food, you were always able to identify what was in your food even with your eyes closed. With you, I always had restaurant-grade meals at home. I sometimes complained at my lack of culinary skills “but you could bake,” you said. And I shot back, “but I couldn’t be eating brownies all the time!” And you laughed. My kitchen is the way it is now because of you. I was content with a microwave and a convection oven for baking but you added the stove and the pots and the pans. You would use those to cook for me, you said.

When I got home one weekend, I was surprised by the Malang painting in my receiving room, and on to my bathroom was a blue shower curtain and yellow towels. You knew my colors. I thought that your being an architect benefited me. Yes, I had this little thought that you might be gay but I knew otherwise.

I called the one I was supposed to surprise with the apartment “my star” but I realized that you are the original star, the one whose light has never gone out. Yes, you have always been there…you stayed at the side lines after we had parted ways while I found a new star whose light later dimmed.

I am sitting here on the sofa bed that I bought for you. At my lowest point after my star’s light had dimmed, you decided that you would sleep over as often as you could…just to keep me company. You saw me crying myself to sleep. You saw me waking up at 3 a.m. crying. You saw me walking around my apartment mumbling questions I would have asked the star whose light had dimmed. From here on the sofa bed I am sitting on right now, you saw me make a fool of myself. From this sofa bed, you reached out your hand to me and you helped me slowly make myself whole again.

I had this fear that there might be something in the sleepovers, in the meals together, in your cooking for me. And I wasn’t ready for whatever it was. Not so soon. It wasn’t fair for you. I was still healing. Yes, I was whole but the scars had yet to heal. The seams had yet to disappear. So, I asked for my key back.

I am walking back to my bedroom to get the red box with a diamond ring in it. I have a decision to make.

Things I Never Said

I haven’t told you that I have finally completed the song we were supposed to collaborate on. The words are finished. They are just waiting for their melody.

Did you know that you were one of the reasons I happily decided not to go to France? I didn’t want to miss a single day with you.

I never told you that you were one of the reasons I loved the metaphor of the eagle.

…I saw the movie “Mamma Mia” and remembered the term “blue movie” that you taught me. I thought the movie, a musical, was something that you would love to see. Only that, you would probably see it alone or with someone new.

… I have never told you—my visa has finally arrived. I am off to London in a month. I will finally cross Abbey Road and imagine myself with the Beatles. I don’t know when I’m coming back or if there’s a reason for me to come back.

*****

Before our lunch last weekend, I had already forgotten the last time I saw you. You will find this funny--you once said that I am good at remembering days, at marking off the calendar. You also told me that I am very observant and that I remember what people said and did although I don’t talk about them. I would just often surprise you that I actually remembered things that you thought I just ignored. I never told you that I don’t actually remember everything. I only remember those that are worthy of being remembered. There are those that I choose to forget.

I remember our first date at the restaurant with a mini-orchestra. They played your song for me. I asked you how someone of your stature could love a shy, unassuming lady like me. You just looked at me and smiled as you held my hand. I stared back at you and looked deeply into your brown almond eyes and right there and then I knew I could spend forever with you. I knew I could dance with you in the rain and I would be the one to comfort you when you were in pain. After our dinner, you took me to your music studio. You smiled your dimpled smile when you saw me wide-eyed in amazement as you showed me your music studio. It was my first time inside one. We danced to your songs that night. We skipped and hopped and jumped like crazy to the fast ones and hugged each other while we danced to the slow ones.

Once, we were watching a singing competition. You were surprised that my comments matched those of the judges (there were a lot of flats). You said that maybe, beneath all the business orientation I had was a creative spirit waiting to be unleashed. Maybe. You believed in my writing skills and you encouraged me to write more often. You said we could be like Alex and Sophie in the movie “Music and Lyrics.” I would provide the words and you would provide the music. I haven’t told you that I have finally completed the song we were supposed to collaborate on. The words are finished. They are just waiting for their melody.

I remember our trip to Tagaytay where you taught me about photography. You were extremely happy with my shots. You said I had a natural eye for beauty. Again, you said that I had a creative streak waiting to be tapped. We were impulsive enough to go straight to Batangas after the photography session. We went to just have halu-halo at Aling Celing’s. Imagine that, a long drive to Batangas for a halu-halo?! The next time we were in Batangas was when you took me to your beach house. We went diving by day and at night we had a bonfire party for two. The white sand glowed under the moonlight and the cool breeze from the sea surrounded us. The only noise was our laughter and the lapping of the waves at the beach. I looked at you across the fire as you were fixing the food and drinks and I asked myself, “How could I not love you?” Did you know that you were one of the reasons I happily decided not to go to France? I didn’t want to miss a single day with you.

But, I never told you one thing: that whenever you would drop me off at my home, after the goodbye kiss, when the slightest whiff of your Bulgari perfume was gone, when the taillights and the sound of the engine of your car were gone, a nagging thought would surface—that fate had a different ending for us.

One afternoon, we were back at the restaurant where we had our first date. There was no music, only the clanking of plates and utensils. Everything seemed to be in slow motion—the waiters taking the orders, the other diners raising their hand to ask for the bill, everyone seemed to take forever to walk from the table to the kitchen, from the counter back to the table—everything in slow motion, a stark contrast to the beating of my heart. There was a decision that I had asked you to make and that day, you were telling me about it. You said you were letting me go. You said you were giving me the chance to soar, to find my own place under the sun, to have the world as my playground…because I wanted those…because while I wanted to spend forever with you, I also had dreams of my own, plans that I wasn’t ready to sacrifice then. You asked me for one thing and we both knew I couldn’t give it then. It was better for us to part ways. I always thought you were a good man. You had always been selfless. You allowed me to soar even if it meant parting ways. See, one thing I had always admired you—you had always allowed me to soar while keeping me grounded. I never told you that you were one of the reasons I loved the metaphor of the eagle.

Still, it was impossible for us not to see each other. We went to the same church. There was one Sunday when we attended the service at the same time. I didn’t see you but my friend said she saw you from afar looking at me with longing while my head was bowed since I was writing something. I never told her that I myself had had many accidental sightings of you in church at the usual time we would attend the service. From where I would always sit at the back of the hall, I sometimes would see you in your favorite seat—on the fifth row of the center front section of the hall. I had memorized your form even when your back was turned against me—when your arms were raised in praise, or when your head was bowed in prayer, and even when you were seated and listening intently to the preaching.

Many months after we had parted ways, I saw the movie “Mamma Mia” and remembered the term “blue movie” that you taught me. I thought the movie, a musical, was something that you would love to see. Only that, you would probably see it alone or with someone new.

The invitation to lunch last weekend came as a surprise. And so we went to our usual place, sat at our usual table. It was too early for the mini-orchestra. And you asked a question that came as a bigger surprise—you asked if I could welcome you back into my life. I just looked at you and smiled. I didn’t tell you that I hoped fate would give us a different ending this time, a happy ending--so I could finally dance with you in the rain--or would it?

By the way, I have never told you—my visa has finally arrived. I am off to London in a month. I will finally cross Abbey Road and imagine myself with the Beatles. I don’t know when I’m coming back or if there’s a reason for me to come back.

Dazed

I woke up at 4:30 am today to the pelting of the rain on my window. In the coldness of the room, I felt your arm around my waist and your breath on my nape. I turned around to look at your beautiful face and gaze at your long lashes, your not-so-perfect nose, and your red lips. Your eyes were closed but even then, I knew they held all the beauty of your soul. I took in all the beauty that was before me, illuminated by the light coming from the lamppost outside the window.

I felt your hand caress my arm, my shoulder, my neck, my face then you planted a soft kiss on my lips. I anticipated a beautiful dance to happen, with the rain outside playing its music. You have always considered the rain sexy.

I heard footsteps inside the room and turned to see a child that had your long lashes, your not-so-perfect nose, and your red lips. She had tears on her cheeks that reminded that today, I would look at your face beneath the glass covering of your casket for the last time; that starting today, there would be no more long lashes, not-so-perfect nose, and red lips to gaze at; that starting today, there would be no more dance when the rain comes while we are in bed.

Summer

I don’t like summer.
I don’t like the way the summer sun
darkens my already dark skin
and how the warm air causes me to sweat
even when I’m not doing anything
or how the morning air causes perspiration
to dot my back just as I step out of the bathroom.

I am not sure of this;
maybe I was absent when it was
discussed in class
but it is dustier in summer
as if the warm air causes dust particles
to rise and dance in the air
right before my very eyes.
Later, I sneeze.

But if summer leads you to me,
if it allows us an excuse to be together,
if it gives us the chance to escape the city
and enjoy the waves at our feet,
then let me have summer
with the warm air and the sweat
and the summer morning air
that greets me as I step out
of the bathroom.

Let me have summer’s cold nights
when I can feel the warmth of your embrace
and your lips on mine.
Let me have summer’s warm days
and bright sun so I can gaze at your face
and look at your eyes
and see me in them.

One Life to Live

The “One Life to Live” series of Victory Christian Fellowship ended yesterday, March 7th. The series was based on the book “One Month to Live” but since “one month” was a bit scary, the title was changed to “One Life to Live.” It has had a profound effect on me and it has underscored the truth that with everything that we aim for—success, wealth, fame—relationships are all that really matter. At the end of our lives, the people around us will not remember us for the money we have in the bank or the businesses we have built or how far we have gone up the corporate ladder but for how we have touched their lives.

The series had four different topics each Saturday from February 14th to March 7th—Live Passionately, Love Completely, Learn Humbly, and Leave a Legacy. There were two videos used in the series that I would like to share with you.

This first video was used in discussing the topic “Live Passionately.” If we have only one life to live, how would we want to spend it?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UvYb4BLIAQw

This second video was used in discussing the topic “Leave a Legacy.” How would we want to be remembered and what do we need to change in our lives now to achieve this?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=42E2fAWM6rA

Painting You

Are you happy?

I once asked you this while you were lying on my lap as I ran my fingers through your hair, your temples, all the way down to the bridge of your nose.

I remember your face from memory as I paint it on the empty canvass staring in front of me.

And you said, “I’m not.”

So, what if I invite you to my world where colors are bright and laughter is loud? Where there are movies to see and art galleries to visit; where the biggest dreams come true because hope and passion abound; where we can scale the highest mountains and swim the deepest seas.

What if I open up your world as I open mine and let’s explore the beauty that is in everything big and small? It is not always sunny but we can dance in the rain and not care about the people around us. We can bask in the sun when it’s up and at night, count the stars while on our back at a beach with the waves playing at our feet.

Let us splash colors to our worlds that have long been in the shadows of the past, over the yellow flowers, red apples, and green grass. Let us dance like there’s no tomorrow, sing at the top of our lungs, and kiss, and hug, and live, and love.

I look at the still empty canvass before me. I look at my now empty lap and my palms stained with paint.

A Note from Me to You

Hello, how are you? I hope you are fine and doing well.

I have been waking up for some days now with a smile on my face. It took me some time to realize why but I now know that it is because I am loved. Maybe it is because of this that I’ve been feeling that I also have sooo much love to give. So, know this: I love you. (with a wide smile on my face). I have been sooo happy lately I just felt the urge this morning to want to sing and dance and write songs…or simply write. Let’s have fun tomorrow at Embassy (oh, I wish those in India could come *wide smile again, without the braces now, mind you*) and sing and dance and laugh (writing is for quiet places and it’s definitely not Embassy). That is, if I still have the energy to do so after watching Sarah and John Lloyd’s “You Changed my Life.” I hope Papa P doesn’t get jealous that I am watching John Lloyd’s movie while I didn’t watch his movie with Angel. Oh, I am just the jealous type. *big grin*

Remember, I love you. *mwah*mwah*mwah*super big and tight hugs*