Why I Hate Goodbyes

One of my favorite songs from Semisonic said that:

Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.

As we go about, we rehearse scenarios of perfect moments in our heads. We think of the happy endings and the could-have-beens. This blog has been a channel of all the details of my life that mattered at a certain point in the past. Most of the utterly imperfect moments that defied those stories inside my head have been told in this blog. Yet, I still know that I do not write as often as I have to. So tonight, I thought of writing something about everything that went inside my head on my solitary way home.

When I was about seven, I really hated seeing my Mom leave the house. She constantly nagged me about sleeping in the afternoon and she oftentimes stopped me from socializing with the kids in the neighborhood because she hated to see us get dirty and all. Whenever she goes to Manila to fix some serious business, I oftentimes cry my heart out and spend the day rolling over the couch while staring at the door instead of watching my favorite cartoons or taking the opportunity to play outside the house-- in the dusty, empty piece of land near the end of out street.

When I was eleven, my mother and I woke up to several loud knocks on our door during that year's Christmas Eve. We fell asleep waiting for the Noche Buena; it was half past one in the morning of December 25th. My Tita Solly, second among the six children, was the one at the door. My mom was even furious because her sister knocked real hard that night. She told us that my Lolo (her father) was rushed to the hospital. Tita eagerly went to my other Tito's and Tita's homes. 

Ate Michelle (Tita Solly's daughter), my brother and I were the first apo's who arrived in the hospital. A few minutes later, we were sent back to our Lolo's house because, apparently, things just got serious. With my eldest cousin's cleverness, we were able to rush back to the hospital at around three in the morning. We were expecting to be scolded a lot since everyone was there. When we arrived at the ER, my brother, 9, and I , was stopped from entering the ER because one of my Tito's hugged us tight and whispered, 'Wala na si Lolo, wala na si lolo.' 

Since that Christmas, everything changed. Death is no longer the same as 'sleeping'. Absence, this absence, is no longer a transient condition. It is a melancholic and permanent  goodbye. Regret is a dreadful feeling that creeps into our awareness at night. 

When I was sixteen, I learned that even if I love someone more than how much I love myself, at some point,  I would have to make a very crucial decision. A decision between being with the one who taught me how to love and moving on because it would be better to do so. I learned that love is not all about watching movies during weekends, sleeping at night just after listening to his voice and waking up in the morning with a text that would pump up your energy for the whole day. 

Love is not all about heart-melting moments. It is about keeping heart despite all the sorrows in our lives. 

Love is not all about finally being with that guy. It is about trying again and again and again despite all the failures. 

Love is not all about the looks. It is about the person's substance.

Love is not all about being together all the time. It is about being away from each other when you have to; with peace in your heart and in your mind.

Most of all, I learned that love is never all about the other person. It is about loving yourself while you are loving, and being loved, by him. 

When I was nineteen, I learned that everything is not all about me. It is about how I go caring for a world that does not really mind about my whereabouts. It is about seeing what really matters. It is about my purpose for this world, and not about this world's purpose for me.

Two hours ago, I was watching someone disappear into the train. I just stared at the station, wondering when can I finally be with that someone I care for the most. But what do I hate the most? It is seeing him go without knowing for sure when would I see him again.

Today marks our fourth. And until today, I have rehearsed this perfect scenario inside my head:

Aila: When will I see you again?

Him: Tonight, you'll be cooking a lovely dinner, right? :)

In my head, I could see you whenever I want to. I could hug you whenever I need to. I could walk the long way home while talking to you. I could pinch your tummy and laugh like there's no tomorrow. The only bad part is that today, like any other day, is just another rehearsal for my perfect scenario.

Love and life. Lovelife.  

It is about believing that all the sacrifices we make today is worth something in the future. And with God's grace, I know it will be. 

Cheers.