ad astra per aspera…

The hardest thing about love is when it’s time to move on and we think, or rather, we feel we cannot. We tend to keep taking steps backwards instead of moving forward.

 

Nevertheless, what is it that keeps some of us from being downright honest when it is time to part? Is it because of self-serving guilt? We avoid being thought of by others as being unfair? So, we go through the usual motion of lying through our teeth, making things even worse. We craftily settle on playing the game of fencing and latch on the thin thread between love and hate, between hello and goodbye. We suffer as we allow our significant others to suffer too as we wait and anticipate the relationship catch a natural death. However well we mean, nothing is ever easy. No matter how hard we try to be kind, there is no easy way to break somebody’s heart. Nevertheless, when we have to do it, we have got to bite the bullet and do it.

 

In the end, forgive me is all that we can say. However, no words can ever be right. At least, vis-à-vis a broken heart.

 

Being at the other side of the coin is classically and categorically more arduous. Some would go off the deep end, refusing to play victim. Others would go blaming themselves, wallowing on self-pity and confusion, running a list of possible reasons on what went wrong. Some would drench themselves with negative thoughts and feelings.

 

Similarly, as the song goes, day after day we must face a world of strangers where we don’t belong… or, so we felt as we think we’re not that strong.

 

When dealing with a broken heart, neither friends nor reason could assuage the searing pain in our heart. We could never again see the evening sun fading into nothingness without feeling lonely. We could never again watch a sad or romantic movie, listen to a love song, pass a troubled person, or see pain, misery, suffering around us without being deeply and sharply touched.

 

Getting over a relationship is perhaps one of the toughest phases one has to go through in this life. Albeit most survive eventually and come out as better persons, others become stuck, imprisoned for a long time, even for perpetuity. There is this undeniable tendency to capitulate and plummet into a vacuum of loneliness and self-alienation.

 

Life is a vicious cycle of love and hate. Sometimes, no amount of imposed positive thinking and advises can haul us back to sanity when we are going through a bad patch and our whole being is pierced bit by bit by the exquisite pain of loneliness. Going off at a tangent is a usual upshot.

 

We try different ways of coping. We try to go out and have fun with supportive and loyal friends. We nestle on self-help books and rummage through magazine articles on coping, hoping to find a sense of relief. We try and meet new people. We pray more intensely than we ever did since we took our first communion. We try to get back to the life we knew and enjoyed before we fell in love and got our hearts broken. Moreover, sometimes to a point, we re-invent ourselves. Whatever course of action or strategy or resolution we decide on, it’s important that we to continue moving forward.

 

To fend off loneliness or a blind shot attempt to salvage whatever pride left, some resort to entering a new relationship not only to help them recover but more so to make the former boyfriend or girlfriend jealous. Never fully realizing it is more fiddly and precarious to go dashing into the next battle with a wayward spirit and a broken heart. Diving into another ocean of romantic relationship is never the answer. It may have some odds-on effect and would seem to work on the surface, but at the end of the day, we only have ourselves to reckon with. Nobody can help us other than our own selves.

 

There is no quick relief, no over-the-counter painkillers. There is no sweeping, absolute method as one may handily be fitting to one yet work not the least bit as expected to another.

 

As Clark Moustakas wrote in his book on “Loneliness”, it is necessary for every person to recognize his or her loneliness, to become intensely aware that, ultimately, in every fiber of our being, we are alone— terribly, utterly alone, efforts to overcome or escape the existential experience of loneliness can result only in self-alienation. When we are removed from the fundamental truth of life, when we successfully evade or deny the terrible loneliness of individual existence, we shut ourselves off from one significant avenue of our own self-growth.

 

The “never be lonely” theme is a reflection of a man’s estrangement from himself in the world today.  When an individual avoids facing directly a situation which contains the seeds of loneliness, he alienates himself from his own capacity for being lonely and from the possibility for social ties and empathy. It is not loneliness which separates the person from others but the terror of loneliness and the constant effort to escape it. Within pain and isolation and loneliness one can find courage and hope and what is brave and lovely and true in life.

 

Loneliness is often a painful and restless time. It leaves its traces in man but these are marks of pathos, of weathering, which enhance dignity and maturity and beauty, and which open new possibilities for tenderness and love. It is as much a reality of life as night and rain and thunder, and it can be lived creatively, as any other experience. Where there is loneliness, there is also sensitivity, and where there is sensitivity, there is awareness and recognition and promise.

 

In a nutshell, we need to heal, slowly. Eventually, become a whole person again, utterly on our own. Otherwise, we would just create a bigger hole inside us, which would hurt even more whenever a wind blows through it.

 

           As I sit and try to race against looming deadlines, pounding on keys that every now and then get stuck, the drizzle curtly picks up its rhythm and turns into a cloudburst, urging me to stop and abide by its call.

            Mornings like this, wet and mushy with the cold breeze biting its way through me, brings back flashes of memories of times long gone and sometimes forgotten. The fluttering sound of the rain with its discursive attack on the ground and roofing, knocking incessantly on the window, demands access to my still lethargic mind. A couple of raindrops which made its way through the window sprinkle on my face, gaining entrance. I then coarsely glide down memory lane, bumping into disavowed and entombed relics of antiquity and into fresh traces of the multi-hued episodes of my life, moving me to woolgathering. They turn into electrically charged elements, coursing through my brain telling it to unearth and reassemble pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. I am back! I see myself, as if I am watching a movie trailer. I could see myself being born, my tiny fragile hands reaching out into nebulous space. Then again, I am now at the pinnacle of my youth, and yet, my oddly worn and slightly trembling hands are still reaching out into hazy yet even deeper space, with two more pairs of small fragile hands connected to my life and reaching out for strength from me. Questions and other stuff about life then begin to pop like bubbles, bursting with the slightest touch. A few reach my eyes, bringing me to tears…

            Sometimes, I would see life as one long elaborate dream, with its intricate trimmings and fragility; with its abstract complexities. Like as if it could be interpreted and I could make a pretty good sense out of it. I wonder when I would wake up. Then again, the sentimentalities are very distinct, the images defined, and the sensations are concrete. Life is not a dream.

            At other times, I would see life as one big cooking event. After all the basic ingredients are laid on to us, we are then placed inside a furnace to fortify our God-given shapes. Soon after, more ingredients and spices are added to set the right and particular taste. With too much heat or tarrying over the fire, some get overcooked. With haste, some get undercooked. Others are cooked just the right way. It is simply a matter of how we allow things get done.

            Oftentimes, I would wish to find myself back in high school or whenever it was that life was so simple and with little complications; when more choices were set in array on beautifully embroidered fabric, enticing and daunting at the same time; with hundreds of paths  before me,  welcoming yet disquieting. Then I would wonder what it would be like… would I be the same person as I am now? Pretty much, I suppose. We are what we are.

            Who says life is a beach? Actually it is somehow. You could walk leisurely, run wild like children, stumble and fall, build sandcastles, swim, explore the whole space or just sit back and relax. You could pick up rocks and glittery stones and collect them like memories. You could lay uncovered under the sun and shower on its blessings. You could bathe under the moon and the stars and make wishes from your heart. You could feel the breeze as it caresses your body and soothes your weary soul. Then again, you could also drown. Just as it has the capacity to give you freedom to explore and possibly own whatever pleases you, it also has equal capacity to consume you and take everything from you. No matter how I try to put it, or imagine it to be, life is what we make it.

            I could not begin to imagine the kind of monsters I fought with and still fighting with, awake or asleep. They gnaw inside, feeding on my soul; devouring every nerve fiber in my body. Could there be an escape? I doubt it.  No matter what I do, dragons would keep appearing and come charging at me. They would keep on posing threatening stance, trying to shake me. Some, I was able to keep at bay. Some, I was able to slay. Some, I guess, decided they want to stay. Yet it would always be dependent on me.

        Sometimes, when you have lost so much, and you still feel that you’re losing more, it gets so hard to keep your heart warm during a storm. Still, I am trying. It would be more difficult if I stop because at the end of the day, I only have myslef to judge and reckon with. I cannot stop.

            “Mommmmmmmmmmmyyy!” Oooops! A call to action, yanking me back to reality. The rain continues. Life goes on.

NOT QUITE so long ago, a young girl, not quite a princess, married a young man, not quite a prince, not quite a knight either. They lived in a castle with long narrow hallways that led to hundreds of rooms, each one mysteriously revealing itself only as soon as you stepped closer. Then, dark mist surrounded the castle. Thick vines with sharp edges enough to cut through the flesh grew in and around the castle. One day, the young man, not quite a prince, not quite a knight either, finally left and never returned. The girl, not quite a princess, but now a mother, stayed in the castle and lived to fight the dragons that loom outside the castle, preying on the weak in body and spirit. And so, she armed her children with her strength… herself, with their faith.

This is definitely not quite a fairy tale.

As a child, fairy tales move us to believe that life meant, living happily ever after. As a child, family meant a father, a mother, and the children, regardless of whether it was a happy one or otherwise. For as long as all the members are there, it is complete. We feel safe. We have a family.

When I grew up and gallantly galloped into married life, I eventually discovered that life is not quite a fairy tale and family means people who love and support each other, no matter what. It means, as Lilo and Stitch had put it, nobody is left behind. However, what if one of the parents leaves and the other is left behind to go all-out parenting single-handedly? Will everything soon come crumbling down? Like a table losing a leg. It does not.

While the loss of a father’s physical presence was difficult, children would soon have an even more painful loss to mourn once they begin to suspect that their father may not come back and then they‘d realize, their mother is in a great mess— which, should not be the case.

One cannot begin to imagine what it takes to bring up a child. Some says it takes a whole village. I say it takes a mother with faith and hope for her children tucked firmly in heart. Single-parenthood is a tough job to pull off. Some people may pass judgment on you. Some would even try to discriminate you, worse, the children. And, the pits, some would even hit on you thinking you’re some kind of parched land that needs some lusty slake. Like you have a throbbing itch that needs some pretty nasty scratching! Hahahahaha!

Well, oh what the heck! Jesus H! Who am I kidding? Yes! Yes! Oh, yes! The F**kin’ itch throbs and burns inside. It burns like hell! Like heaven on hell– hahahaha! But then what? Again, who am I kidding? Life is never the same. You can’t make things feel right by throwing in the towel and bare yourself naked to what feels right down there. Because the naked thruth remains…

Get my meaning?

As a mom, it is when we are weak that we need to be strong not only for ourselves but more so for our children. The children need to understand what’s happening around them. We have to give them our strength until such time comes that they develop their own.

As single parents, we cannot presume that we are alone in the battle. The children are always with us. We cannot just raise the white flag when things are up the creek because the children will be the first ones to drown. It is never easy. Because even when life is not quite a fairy tale, dragons will always loom around us, preying on the weak in body and spirit. We have to fight on.