It is a human condition: that love, especially if true, will always involve a letting go. – Secret History of the World by Jonathan Black
Isn’t it the greatest irony that we spend our days on a romantic quest, jump from one failed attempt on love to another in search of the elusive soulmate, and as soon as we find it, we realize it’s simply not working out and we have to let them go?
We tell ourselves that if we could just find The One, we would finally be happy and complete. But the happiness we find with them is fleeting, and we have not caused them happiness but misery, and the only recourse is to part from them so they may search what will make them truly happy. And the cycle never ends.
What is the point in all this searching? What is the point in feeling a sense of certainty that everything led you to this moment if the moment only ends too soon?
Why do you have to let go of the very thing that makes you happy? Why do we always have to choose?
But the point is, I did let go. And he came back.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Thursday, May 6, 2010
In Remembrance and in regret
It is only human to have regrets, never trust anyone who tells you they don’t have a single one. It is a simple reality that everyone goes through. It tells you what you could have done better and teaches you to be conscientious the next time so you don’t repeat the same mistakes you made. It is a great teacher, sadly it teaches a lesson a little too late, when there is nothing more you can do about it.
I have my share of regrets and for the last two weeks, there is one that has stayed with me and I carry with me even until now.
My grandma passed away. She was 89, a few months shy of 90. She died peacefully, in the arms of one of her daughters. My aunt barely felt the life leaving her. Even though, they had expected her passing for while now, her death was a shock and left everyone trying to hold on to anything they can grab.
She had lived a full life, seen so much and had been loved. Her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren who lived alongside her could only try to make sense of the loss and the void she was leaving behind. As her wake went on for days, the grief only intensified, culminating on the day of her funeral—the final moment, the final goodbye.
As the cries filled the air and the emotions ran heavy, I thought of the all the memories I shared with my Lola. And to my shame, there wasn’t much.
I could make all sorts of excuses for myself and my family that we lived far from them, we were too busy, life was too complicated. But it all boiled down to one thing, I just didn’t spend enough time with her, didn’t make a real effort to see her.
And as I sat there and watched the world cry over their loss, I couldn’t cry. I didn’t know how to mourn for her. But I did feel sad for the people she had left behind, how they lost a parent, a grandparent, a friend, an ally. I sympathized, for I have known loss, and the grief that comes along with it. But for all my sympathies, I knew that it didn’t amount to much of anything. My empathy could not for the whole world compensate for what I wasn’t feeling.
But regrets are regrets, and as much as I want to turn back time and undo whatever I’ve done, or do the things I haven’t, everything is just wishful thinking. I do hope for forgiveness, for absolution. And I do send her my love wherever she may be.
Lola, Godspeed.
I have my share of regrets and for the last two weeks, there is one that has stayed with me and I carry with me even until now.
My grandma passed away. She was 89, a few months shy of 90. She died peacefully, in the arms of one of her daughters. My aunt barely felt the life leaving her. Even though, they had expected her passing for while now, her death was a shock and left everyone trying to hold on to anything they can grab.
She had lived a full life, seen so much and had been loved. Her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren who lived alongside her could only try to make sense of the loss and the void she was leaving behind. As her wake went on for days, the grief only intensified, culminating on the day of her funeral—the final moment, the final goodbye.
As the cries filled the air and the emotions ran heavy, I thought of the all the memories I shared with my Lola. And to my shame, there wasn’t much.
I could make all sorts of excuses for myself and my family that we lived far from them, we were too busy, life was too complicated. But it all boiled down to one thing, I just didn’t spend enough time with her, didn’t make a real effort to see her.
And as I sat there and watched the world cry over their loss, I couldn’t cry. I didn’t know how to mourn for her. But I did feel sad for the people she had left behind, how they lost a parent, a grandparent, a friend, an ally. I sympathized, for I have known loss, and the grief that comes along with it. But for all my sympathies, I knew that it didn’t amount to much of anything. My empathy could not for the whole world compensate for what I wasn’t feeling.
But regrets are regrets, and as much as I want to turn back time and undo whatever I’ve done, or do the things I haven’t, everything is just wishful thinking. I do hope for forgiveness, for absolution. And I do send her my love wherever she may be.
Lola, Godspeed.
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