Message In A Blog (Part 4) : We Were Never Really Healed

They say you are a good soul but I don’t believe them. They say you are intelligent but I don’t believe them. They say you are patient but I don’t believe them either. They say you are nice but I doubt it. I’ve never seen you that way through all these years, and that made me think that you are all what you make for them to see. But I know you to the very bone. Growing up with you is such a pain that never heals. I thought time heals all wounds but I’m having a hard time believing that. I’m angry but I know I should not be, though. This make me feel that I’m not a worthy Christian for God is so good in forgiving my most filthy secrets yet I could never learn how to forgive you… even to count the fact that we came from the same navel. The angst inside me is like a coal that whenever the wind blows, it is kindled even hotter. Like everytime we argue, I can’t help but to feel back the angst that has been blown out in years. Maybe you are thinking that I never once appreciated you… but tell me, how can you appreciate something that is given with hard feelings and a mouthful of harsh words… tell me how could I ever appreciate you?..

I wanted to forgive you, and may God forgive me for feeling this way, to count the fact that it is even you.

It is never easy to forgive someone who had wounded you to the very soul. And looking back to those olden years… I could still feel the pain… the scar aches – believe me. It aches more than the fresh wound. I’ve grown up with my back against the world because of that cherished pains that neither tears nor laughters could ever heal. I tried to be numb but the coldness stings.

I wanted to forgive the way I am forgiven. But maybe that is the difference of humans and the divine. Forgiving without blemish, without a trace of pain like nothing was done. But to humans, once the damage is done, you can make it whole again but the cracks will still be visible and there’s no way you can hide it.

God forgive me and give me the strength to forgive as well.

Help me to believe that time could really heal wounds.

“This is the anguish of the youngest child... well-favored, well-adorned, pampered… but inwardly tortured.”

Acknowledgment:

This was written @ Mc Donald’s Camp Padrei, Spain Boulevard sometime during the rainy season last year. While everyone was busy enjoying their burgers and fries and talks about their own silly, petty conversations, this youngest child who owns that tale that was never told sat on one corner with a heart full of angst. That place has always been a part of her life because whenever pain bounds home… solitude is a pain-reliever.

One More Day...

I did not cry. Though my tears were welling on my eyes... Guess I’m more firm now. When I say… “Dess… don’t cry! Don’t you dare cry!” and so my tears back off… it froze before it could spill out of my eyes.

I would have cried out loud if I were at home… but I chose to spend my whole afternoon at Mc Donald’s just to read the book I’ve been wanting to read months ago. I wanted to cry but maybe I am really more firm now… or maybe because I wanted to somehow mimic Chick Bennetto who never dared to cry when the most tempting time to cry came to him.

Crying must have been for the weak… but who are the strong people anyway???

One more day… will it ever come to me?

Should I have to wait for it?

Why do we hurt those people we love the way we are hurt?

What satisfaction do we get from hurting them?