When love wounds…and love heals

There is a parody in the way love ignites different emotions. When it strikes the heart of anybody, there is no power to resist it and nothing but to accede to it. There is this beauty of the way it robs one’s will to see flaws and differences but just positive physiognomies of a person. There is this splendor of just simply yielding to what it offers irrespective of the surrounding circumstances or the bleakness of the future. There is this sweet taste of abandoning any rationality just humbly acquiescing to that incomprehensible feeling of LOVE. Falling in love after all, is like being mystified in dreams of something not within the grasp of what real life could offer.

Love is a beautiful feeling for a reason. It is beautiful because it is something deeply and inexplicably shared by two people. But, its beauty has no ability to fight off weariness when finally ugly reality is slowly unfolded unto thy eyes. What you thought of something so seamlessly tied in perfection is not what it seems to be. You wake up from a dream realizing that you were in trance of something that only you believed and was never reciprocated by the one you trusted. That is the time, love wounds.

The pain inflicted may be blinding at its intensity. Then, you realize that it becomes more excruciating knowing that the love wore off but not the pain of the wounds inflicted. There is this sense of betrayal upon knowing that you have been led into something that would never be. There is this taste of bitterness discovering that the kind of love given was never the one you have given. There is this anger knowing that time has been stolen from you and never in your entire life could it be taken back again. The wounds are aggravated knowing that you have no other way out but to wake up from what you thought was such a beautiful dream but all along, it was a nightmare. The scenes are in wide array but the good ones were nothing but facades.

Conversely, just as love wounds, love also heals. When you think that there is no hope anymore, that there is no more future to look forward to, that there is no way to live life with positivity, you are given the seed of hope. Just as how every seed starts infinitesimal then grows into something big, the hope glimmers at first then radiates at its magnitude. Just as love wounds, love heals. 

Then, realization dawns on you that there is really that BEAUTY in love. The parody is driven away with its purity since you know it is finally given to the right person. Slowly, there is this important lesson being imparted that the pain, the bitterness, and the sense of betrayal perpetrated in you could be healed by love alone also.

As light is shed upon you of the real meaning of love, you realize that it is very important with whom you entrust that fragile heart upon falling in love. You realize that when love is true, it vanishes the cobwebs of pains and other negativities brought by the deceit of the past. You are propelled into emergence of understanding that love is more beautiful when it withers away the wounds of the past. Most importantly, you realize that love is more beautiful when there are no fears and only hopes.

Then you start hoping again. You know that everything is in good hands. When the seed of love is from the right person, there is not just love but it is wrap as well with hope, with fidelity, with trust, with unspoken feeling of conviction and commitment deeply implanted with honesty and rectitude.

Then you understand, yes, just as love wounds, love also heals. Just as love ruins every dream and hope, love builds again. There is no consternation but only faith. Just as the love of the past destroyed you, love of the present and the future will create a new you. After all, there are no wounds that can’t be healed by the right person giving you another chance of LOVE. The first doesn’t mean always the last. Sometimes, the first serves as the lesson so the next could give you a brighter future. And yes, the dream continues…

(To my husband, thank you for the healing. I owe you my life. Just as I trust you with my future, I trust you also my life. )

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The Prayer and the Rope

Just as happiness is part of life so is suffering- that blinding feeling, which seems to purge your heart and poured it with bitter taste of pain. As one goes through the ordeal of anger, hatred, grief and lamentation of if’s and but’s, slowly, the spirit gets tired of fighting and it just simply goes through the flow of living.

The gut- wrenching pain hurls you into one thing that could only comfort you- prayer. You know that even if your insides are being twisted and pounded into the abyss of helplessness something is at work. It propels you into realization that in your brokenness, only the prayer could help you, the flicker of hope lingers to dwell in your heart. You know that your heart and spirit are tired but there is somebody out there bigger than the malady that you’re going through and that He’ll take care of everything. You know that even if you don’t voice everything that’s in your heart, somebody out there understands.

Prayer then becomes the rope of your brokenness. As you drown yourself into the tears of travail of uncertainties, pity, regret, anger, doubts, fears and dreads, prayer is the rope that would tie you to hope, faith and optimism that tomorrow might bring. As the body and spirit is barren of any strength to fight, prayer binds you with faith that things will get better soon. You will be battered along the passage but just as prayer tied you to hang on, prayer will also help you to hope that in the future, scars will utterly fade away.

"The most beautiful people are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.”

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Somebody Stole My Pants!

(Written by M.A., my niece, when she was 7 years old.) 

“Somebody stole my pants! Who was it?” Mad Martin asked. “Sneaky Susan, did you steal my pants?”

“No, I did not.” Sneaky Sour Susan answered.

“Then, who?”

“Maybe Bad Ben took it.” Sneaky Sour Susan replied.

“Bye.” Said Mad Martin.

“Bad Ben, did you steal my pants?”

“No. Maybe Grumpy George took it.” Said Bad Ben.

So, Mad Martin went to Grumpy George.

“Did you steal my pants, Grumpy George?” He asked.

“No, I did not steal your pants.” He also answered.

Everyone decided to look for Mad Martin’s pants. Sneaky Sour Susan told Mad Martin to check the washing machine. Everyone ran to the washing machine and they all exclaimed, “Mad Martin, it’s there!” They all looked at him. “MAD MARTIN!”

Lesson: Never blame anyone for something. Always check your washing machine. Maybe what you’re looking for is just right there.

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When God Made Teachers (The Awakening)

As to the exact date when the idea was born, I can’t really recall. I only knew that it was one fine morning and I had this very rare luxury of lingering longer on bed that I felt that gnawing restlessness of something that I needed to express.

I thought it was just another blog thingy that after writing an article then I would feel fulfilled. But, the thought of more than a decade in teaching, thousands of students, countless memories, remarkable experiences, and unique undertakings which catapulted me to who am I now, haunted me for hours and days, and nights, until finally, I succumbed into the calling.

Thus, the 101 stories of selfless sacrifices, discoveries, struggles, feats, failures, and inexplicable journey of a teacher were slowly put into words. I set the deadline. I marked the calendar. Complete layout of the book including revisions will be done. So, help me, God.

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The Art of Letting Go

It happens that there is a point in our lives that we are lost in the realm of our reveries. We weave dreams, plan for the future, and allow ourselves in trance of the beauty of what tomorrow would bring.

The dream is sometimes so beautiful that for a long time, we live in stupor believing that the intricately and exquisitely woven reverie would someday be a reality.

But, dreams are nothing but dreams. Reality is another thing.

Time comes that we are forced to wake up and face the reality. The course of waking up might be too painful to bear but when dreaming takes so long, there is no other way but to wake up. We need to face that what was once beautiful is something that we’ll never be able to grasp. They are after all, nothing but figments of our idealism and naivety.

Coming to terms that we allowed ourselves to live for such a long time in dreams is something to be done though. Just like waking up from a deep slumber, we rob our eyes and try to clear it so we can see without hindrance. At first, we hesitate to face the bright reality since living with that dream is something so good just to let go. The same thing is true when we allowed ourselves to live for so long in dreams, we need to clear our eyes so the waking up/ healing process would not be encumbered.

Those dreams are silhouette of the past. The memories have no faces, beyond grip but they hurt nonetheless. But eventually waking up would teach us that it is definitely better to endure the pain at first then face the future brightly than to be lost in trance not living a real life forever.