I stand amidst the ruins of a beautiful world. My bare feet are bleeding from the debris, while smoke continues to issue from the lips of cracked concrete and erupted earth. Alone, I walk the streets littered with corpses of memory, the sight of which I convulse into tears at. But, I’ve known this was going to happen. Like a dreadful mirage, the image of this destruction rose into existence. There was no escaping it.
This beautiful world was once my heart.
Now it is nothing but debris, each piece an ache to me. The explosion has left no trace of compassion, only rock-hard cruelty. On my knees now, I grab the pieces and try to rebuild something—anything that would reconcile with the beautiful world they came from. It is futile, and all I get is a sharp pang of loneliness coupled with nostalgia. I stand up, tears barely dried, staining my cheeks. Using all the strength left in me, I crane my neck to survey my surroundings—looking not for a way out of this mess but for a place to start.
I’m going to build a new world.
It isn’t such an easy thing to do, for the world I’m seeing in my head is still the same one, the one that exploded to leave me right here, right now, clueless as to where on earth I should start. But, I realize, my grief shouldn’t be a passive one. It should be an active grief: one that would look at the wreckage and see a place of beginnings, not of endings. Here, I can create something new. Here, I can be better, no, wait, even great. My grief is of a kind that would spur me to fight better, to fight well this time. My grief will save me.
Right now, the only saving that needs to get done is by you.
This is the calm after the storm, the silent moments following a frenzy, the peace trailing behind the chaos. There’s so much things to do; a major overhaul, if you may. So many cuts to patch, wounds to stitch, scars to heal. But the thing is, it’s alright to be right here. Because being here means that my past trials have gotten me somewhere; it means that the end of something so good may also be the success of it.
As a song goes (I don’t remember the title): “I’m holding on by letting go of you.”
Love is a universe of paradoxes and oxymorons. And that’s why it will always remain a great mystery. That’s why the people you love sometimes have to be the ones to make you cry. That’s why you have to fall in order to fly.
Bottom line: I realized that, sometimes, love means taking a step back. Ted Mosby, “The Stinson Missile Crisis”, How I Met Your Mother S07E04
In the words of my very dear friend a.k.a. wise old woman trapped in a 17-year-old’s body, DeeDee Sison:
Peter Pan lost his shadow,
Humpty Dumpty lost his balance,
Cinderella lost her glass slipper,
The three little kittens lost their mittens
Hansel and Gretel lost their way,
The Queen of Hearts’ servants lost their heads.
Even in a make-believe world,
we are bound to lose something.
I am learning that losing someone very important to you would always hurt like hell, but hope is always there—for something better, whatever that may be. I am learning that if I don’t open up, I’m not going to heal. I am learning that “if you’re not busy being born, you’re busy dying.” (Yes, I am similar to Craig of It’s Kind of a Funny Story in such a way that I didn’t know that’s from a song by Bob Dylan.) And most importantly, I am learning to breathe, and ultimately, live.
In the meantime, I have a new world to build.
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference.