A Lover’s Plea
I can clearly remember how joyful my heart was when I
finally saw the man of my life. Standing in front of me, I saw the overwhelming
energy of a grown man. By the time he stretched out his hands to mine, I knew
he was going to be the man of my life. His eyes looked at me without any
hesitations. He was overflowing with confidence and I must say his character
fits him well. I was captured by his enticing mystery or maybe I let myself in.
I never had second thoughts of what might this man bring to my life. Love or
hatred or another unrequited love.
Perhaps I was so desperate, pleading God to show me
the man I need, the man who will show me that love can save everything, that
love is possible. God, who is always good and compassionate, answered my
prayer. Rolan came just when I needed him most. Like any other wounded woman, a
bleeding heart takes a long time to heal, Rolan exerted effort to win my heart.
He needed the perfect words to please me, he thought of the funniest jokes to
make me laugh and he even bought time to beg for my yes. The dim sky that night
cried for two people who searched for change and love. Our hearts met halfway.
It was bizarre.
This world gives us so much pain and worries, so why
not treat ourselves with true love?
This life offers us helplessness and hopeless dreams
so why not hide from it under warm and caring arms?
Well I did. I gave myself a gift of love. I selfishly
accepted this gift because I believed I deserved it. I deserve a man who would
rather die just to let me live. I deserve a man who will not hurt me by saying
unkind words. I deserve a man who will tow me along the street, protecting like
a little girl. I deserve a man who will cook for me not just because I didn’t
know how, but because he knew as petite as I am, loves to eat. I deserve a man
who will not forsake me no matter what happens, say Life and Death.
I told God I deserve all of these because I was a good
daughter. Aren’t I? Didn’t I?
I pleaded God to give me someone, someone like Rolan.
I prayed for it, Dear Lord! You heard me! You listened!
But I didn’t ask you to take everything away from him
just to be with me. I would rather endure the pain alone than seeing the man I
love suffering, giving up everything for the sake of love.
Why does loving truly hurt this bad? If this is love,
can this also mean happiness?
Dear
God,
You know our love is true and
we’ll prove people wrong by thinking that a fairy tale –like love doesn’t exist.
You are love. So let this love come down and bless us.
Our weeping hearts beg you to
show us that love is eternal, that it will live forever even our bodies are
dying. Don’t take this love you bestowed upon us. Take our souls instead, maybe
in heaven, we can be together. I know I’m not wishing and praying at someone
indifferent, so I’ll beg on my knees one more time. Let this love stay, please!
I beg you to give my man the strength he needs to
continue what he has started. I beg you to let my man live the way you expected
from him. I beg you to let my man cry for your grace, let him feel your power.
I beg you show him your miracles because he is a miracle himself. I beg you to
answer his prayers like you always did to me and to everyone else.
Don’t’ give up on us we haven’t
started yet. Will you allow us to live our lives together? Will you give us
another try?
This is hard but harder for him.
The days maybe so gloomy but I’m still holding on to the promises you uttered.
____________________________________________________________
A Daughter’s Regret
“Regret is the only wound from which the soul never recovers”
Sarah Ban Breathnach
July 25, 2008, my father died.
Three days after, my father was finally put into rest, laid down underneath the warm ground, wrapped with darkness and silence. I wasn’t there when that sorrowful episode happened. I wasn’t there when my father was finally put into his final respite. I wasn’t there when my family and relatives mourned for my father’s death. (I wonder if they showed sincere grief back then).
Most of the people who witnessed my father’s interment knew that I was my father’s only daughter. So they asked, “Why isn’t she here?” Some answered, “Perhaps she cannot accept his father’s loss.” Yet others, one in particular said,” She’s really a stubborn daughter. She doesn’t show even a little respect over his father’s death”.
Was I disrespectful 4 years ago, when my father bid farewell, forever?
July 24, 2008, a day before my father’s death, I was aboard in Cebu Ferry, on my way to the Queen City of the South, Cebu City. The place for my first job. Call Center.
July 25, 2008, I arrived at Cebu Pier about 10:00 o’ clock in the morning. (Few hours before my father’s death).My batch and I went at once to my workplace, IT PARK. It was my first time to be in Cebu, so I followed the crowd of soon-to-be call center agents, afraid of getting lost. An hour after, we arrived at the HR office, right then and there, we were instructed to process our TIN at the BIR’s office at Lahug. Without any complains, we pursued to our next destination. Since the BIR was just right at the corner, we decided to walk. I can clearly remember that day. It was hot and I was wearing a black t-shirt, (a gift from my cousin, Ate Chix). I didn’t notice that I’m already set for the day, (wearing a traditional black colored t-shirt suited for mourning,) not until someone called me. He asked, “ Is this Goldy”. I answered, “Yes”, why? I wasn’t ready for his reply and it caught me frozen, right in the middle of my transaction at the BIR’s office. “Your father is dead”. I quickly turned off the phone, took a deep breath and texted the number, “I don’t know who you are so stop texting me. My father is not dead”. But that stupid guy was eager to let me know how my father uttered my name in his last breath. So instead of stopping, he sent more messages on how my father struggled, on how he cried and mentioned my name, on how he wanted to live and on how my father wanted to go home and spend much time with his family.
Never a single tear fell from my eyes when I was informed of the sad news. Yes, I didn’t believe that guy on what he told me. I didn’t want to believe.
When we were done with our TIN, we went back to the HR Office and finally we were told to settle ourselves at a hotel where they booked us for our two week training.
When everything was fixed, I hurriedly went to my assigned room and tried to relax. Still baffled by the news, I sat down and tried to get some sleep, when my phone rang. (Now, I remember, NOKIA 1100, my first phone, a gift from my father). It was mama. “ Jing, Papa is dead”. I ran straight to the bathroom and sobbed. It was true. My father left without a promise of return, just like what he used to tell me when I was a young.”Papa needs to work. I will come home, Jing”. But this time, he will never be home. After talking to mama, I went out and without any hesitations, I cried furiously in front of two strangers (who happened to be my friends after, Corina was one). I cried and told them what happened. We just met so they didn’t know how to comfort and ease the pain I felt. I had no one to talk to, no one to cry on. I was alone. So I kept that pain until the day of my father’s burial.
No one knew about what really happened before I walked out the day before the burial. No one knew on what I heard and on what I discovered. It was painful. It hit me, BIGTIME.
I knew my father wasn’t mad at me when I did it. My father knew me better than anyone else present in his wake. He knew that I was mad at the hypocrisy of some people. HYPOCRISY-I hated it and he hated the same thing.
If ever I was able to attend my father’s funeral will I get over it? Will my longing stopped right there? Will this emptiness be filled? Will this regret, this mortal wound, be cured?
I felt no remorse on why I decided not to attend his burial. I don’t want to remember in my lifetime on how he was placed in that small box. I don’t want to carry that picture inside my head in my whole life.
The only thing I regret until this very moment is that I wasn’t able to tell papa that I had already forgiven him. Maybe it’s too late now but before I turned 25, I will let everyone know that I have forgiven my father.
“I forgive you papa for hurting mama. I forgive you for hurting my brothers. I forgive you for hurting me. I forgive you for giving me unfulfilled promises. I forgive you for offering me unreachable dreams. I forgive you for leaving us. I forgive you for spending 2008 as our first and last New Year Together. I forgive you for telling me that I will become a lawyer yet you didn’t send me to a law school. I forgive you papa because you weren’t there on my first pageant night. I forgive you for not attending my graduation day. I forgive you papa for mistakenly greeting me on November 16 instead on November 5. I forgive you papa because you chose to die away from us. I forgive you for wanting to suffer alone. I forgive you for not knowing and believing that we waited for you and we never got tired of loving you. Papa, I forgive you for everything.”
Papa is gone and he took with him that “papa’s girl” part of me. Now it’s empty. I miss my father. I may happen to forget this longing sometimes but deep inside my heart is a girl who looks for his father to carry her around his neck.
I miss you papa every night before I go to sleep. You used to brush my hair before I go to bed, remember? I miss you papa calling me by the name “JING”. You were the only one allowed to call me that and I tolerated it because I loved the way how it sounds when you call me, JING. You owned this little girl named, JING. I am truly your daughter.
I will never regret the fact that you are my father. You may not be the best and perfect father there was, but I am proud, because you taught me well. If I was born male, I will be your junior for sure. But I know you loved me for being me. This little girl who loves to be with you, wherever you go, to the beach, to the midst of the forest or at the middle of the battle ground. You know I will be there.
Papa I’m a big girl now, I hope you don’t regret seeing me grow beautifully just like what you wanted. I love you papa.
I visit Papa every now and then. Standing in his grave, I still feel that sting of guilt and regret for not being there when he called me. I pray, Papa can forgive me too.
I am trying to move on and to live my life normally.
