Not Fragile

One of my closest friends visited my best friend and I one day at work to catch up and meet with another friend who went home for a vacation. It’s been a while since I talked to her, so we updated each other with the state of our lives. I gave her the short version of what was up with me, and before I was finished, I can already tell her reaction, and I sort of knew what she was going to say.

As expected, she was pissed off — and she said it in her really nice way, because she’s really the nicest among our group of friends. And also, as expected, she started ranting about it (in a very nice way, too), and then she said what I knew she would say:

“We don’t want you to get hurt.”

With that, my best friend, who was listening to the conversation while eating dinner, snorted. “I’m not a part of that ‘we’. She needs to go through this.”

* * *

You know how sometimes we hesitate to do things, or say things, because we fear hurting the other person, or we fear making things awkward? Sometimes, we hesitate because we’re not sure how the other person would react, or what they’re thinking. Then with all our hesitation, we decide not to do anything anymore because it might be better to do it later on, if there’s a chance. Sometimes, we don’t even hesitate — we don’t do things anymore, because we think the other person will just take offense and whatever you do will just make things worse.

And I totally agree with that: we need to be careful with one another and treat one another with love and think about what we say, because we do have the capacity to hurt the people we love the most. I agree with that, and I believe in discerning when to say what you need to say, and the right timing to open things up and all that.

But I also believe that sometimes, we need to give the people we love enough credit that they can take what we dish without totally ruining everything.

It’s just like what my two friends said: yes, they don’t want to see me hurting…but how will I ever learn if I don’t go through some things on my own?

I appreciate the thought, really, of how people don’t want to see me hurting. I really, really do. No one wants to see the people they love hurting, or sad, or even just upset. If anything, I would want to spare the people I love of how life can hurt them. And of course I don’t want to get hurt, too.

But there are times when the only way to get to the end is through some things, and we are never guaranteed a smooth ride through. No one said it was easy. And no one ever got through life without getting hurt.

No one ever got through life without hurting the people they love. This doesn’t give you an excuse to just hurt the people around you intentionally. This isn’t about being mean or manipulative or tactless or just plain harsh just so you can prove that you’re right and they’re wrong. It’s about showing them you love and trust them enough to know that they can take whatever you dish. It means not walking on eggshells around the person every time so you won’t hurt them, ever. That’s just impossible. And sometimes, being too careful with them just hurts more. Yes, there is a time to be careful with what you say or do, to tread carefully and speak gently. But sometimes, we mask this carefulness as an escape, as a way to not be responsible for breaking the other person’s heart so you won’t get blamed for the fallout.

That’s a cop out, and perhaps a little bit selfish. We have to give the people we love a little more credit. We have to stop thinking that people are fragile all the time. I’d like to believe that they’re stronger than we think they are, and if we act out of true, selfless love and sincerity, it won’t be that bad. I mean, I’d like to hope it won’t be. Don’t you trust their love enough that they can take whatever you have to say? Don’t you trust yourself enough to say things with enough grace so you won’t leave scars? Don’t you trust that you can forgive each other after everything? That you can move forward from this, and start anew?

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Image from weheartit, edited by me, line from Switchfoot’s Let Your Love Be Strong

The more important thing, I think, is to make the most loving choices when these moments come. To choose to love, and forgive, and to give grace, despite everything. To be present, when the fallout comes and to stay through it. There’s a right time to give comfort and be kind, to offer your shoulder to cry on, or even back off when you think what you’ll say will just hurt. There’s a time to cry, there’s a time to grumble and be mad about things for a while, if it helps. But there’s also time to open up, to face each other, to be vulnerable and to trust that the love and care you have for each other is strong enough to weather these storms.

We need to break these walls we build around ourselves and around the people we love in the pretense of protection. Let us find the courage to see and be seen, and be brave enough to love each other with a fierce love that doesn’t make (or take) excuses. Let us love each other with the kind of love that speaks of the truth even when it hurts, gives unlimited grace and forgives. Love is tough enough to handle tough love. Love endures all things, after all.

The Bravest Person I Know

Hello,

I counted the days and it’s kind of surprising how we only have 36 days left for this year. I shouldn’t be surprised because I can feel the way the year sheds it days as keenly as how I change clothes everyday, as real as how day breaks and night falls every day without fail. I feel it, and yet I still can’t believe it because I look back and I am amazed at how far we have gone.

I can already imagine you at the end of the year, what you will do and what you will probably say. The people you will send greetings to, the prayers you will probably utter, and maybe even the tears you decide to shed. I can tell and I know what I think is pretty accurate, too, because I got to know you so well this year. I laughed with you in the fun moments, and stayed up with you on nights that you need to finish things to make sure things go well. I saw you with your friends, and I saw how you cared for them and defended them (sometimes almost to a fault). I saw you work hard, and try so hard, and still keep on trying even when things disappoint you. I watched you reach out, meet people in need and give as much as you can — your time, your resources, your prayers. I felt it when things bothered you, and how you thought about them (perhaps a little too much). I was with you when you made those big decisions that changed you and your life so much, and I could hear the drama button playing over and over in your head as you approached certain times that put you on the path you are walking through right now. I cried with you when you cried, stayed with you during those long nights where the tears seemed endless and the pain seemed so deep that it seemed like it would never ever go away again. I saw you, and celebrated with you in those times you found the pieces of yourself again, and I was so happy for you when you start feeling okay again.

Look how far we have come. Look how far we have gone.

I know 36 days may seem short, but it’s also long, depending on how you think of it. A lot can still happen in 36 days. I also know you will read this several times before the actual end of the year comes, but it’s okay because that’s my intention anyway.

So in case you are reading this at the end of 2013, and whatever the state of your heart is at the end of the year, I want you to know this: you are the bravest person I know.

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It’s not easy being brave. Courage doesn’t come easily, because you have to make a conscious decision to be that every single moment of every single day. It’s doesn’t happen one time, and more often than not it requires you to let go of things, to set things free even if you don’t feel it. It requires more giving than accepting, more selflessness and openness.

I know how scared you were when you declared that this year is your year to be brave. Believe me, I know. And I know how there were so many things that scared you this year, and yet you still tried. I saw you try, I saw you pull yourself up and look at this fear in the eye, even if deep inside you are shaking. I know you tried your best not to cower, not to curl up into a ball and into yourself, even if it’s the only thing you really want to do. I know how you fought so hard to be vulnerable, how you opened your heart and welcomed people in despite not knowing what they can do inside.You were brave. You are courageous. You roared with the truth so many times to keep the darkness away, and I am so, so proud of you for that.

You are brave and beautiful and strong, and nothing can ever change that.

I know that your heart isn’t completely okay today, but that’s fine. It’s just that I know at times like this how important it is for someone to tell you that you will be okay. I know how important it is for someone to lend you a piece of hope to hold onto as you try to stay afloat in this storm. So, even if this message is essentially coming from yourself, please believe me when I say that I think you are the bravest person I know. I never expected any of the things that happened to you this year when I wrote this letter, how each of the advice I wrote for us seemed to just come true this year. I want you to know that whatever happens in the next 36 days and whatever the state of your heart is at the end of the year, that I am proud of you. I am proud of us. This is the bravest we’ve ever been, and I believe all our attempts at courage are all worth it, even if we can’t see it from where we stand right now.

Because from where I stand and look back, I am just amazed at how far we’ve gone. And I know later, when we meet at the end of this year, I know we will both look back and say the same thing.

So wherever you are when the year turns from 2013 to 2014, 36 days from now, I want you to remember this: you are brave and beautiful and strong, and it is all worth it.

Always.

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This post was inspired by WanderrGirl‘s Blogging Challenge for this week: The Bravest Person I Know, and this blog post from last year. :)

All your dead-end fury is not enough

When Ondoy happened to us (and the rest of Metro Manila) in 2009, we had to leave our dog Batman at home as we evacuated to our neighbors. Batman wasn’t a friendly dog, so bringing him to the neighbor’s house is not really something we can do. So we left him at home, making sure he had food and water and he was on a table while we crossed the street through waist-deep flood to get to safety. Of course, Batman thought we were leaving him in the midst of that scary night, so he tried to follow us. But we were already gone, and he couldn’t climb back to his table…and I honestly thought I wouldn’t see him alive after that night. He was still alive the next morning, but he was petrified after that. He was so traumatized by the flood that he wouldn’t leave our side while we were cleaning up, and when we tied him outside so he was out of our way, he dug a hole and burrowed there, turning his white coat into…well, brown. Then he would start crying, whining at certain times of the day and we’d wonder if he was just hungry or something. As it turned out, he was whining because he could sense the rain, and he was scared.

Batman recovered from that soon after (but he still hated getting rained on after that), but me? I was terrified of tropical storms and typhoons after that. Like my dog, I was pretty much traumatized with what happened during that flood. I disliked rains with a passion, and whenever the rainy season rolled around, I would pray for the sun everyday, because I didn’t want a repeat of the flood. When there’s an approaching storm, I kept on checking weather reports, and I was the one who kept my friends updated with what I know. I wouldn’t sit still until the storm has passed, and I fretted, worried about so many things and so many people because I really just don’t want Ondoy to happen again.

(And it sort of happened again, with Habagat 2011 and Habagat 2012. But that’s another story.)

There’s a record breaking super typhoon right now. If you Google its name, you’ll see so many articles talking about how “catastrophic” this is, speculations on how much devastation it will leave behind. The world watched as it formed, as it grew stronger and moved — with only the Philippines, my home, in its path.

Image from  EUMETSAT via Flickr
Image from EUMETSAT via Flickr

There isn’t much to say right now, because as of this writing, I am at home, waiting for Metro Manila to feel the wrath of Haiyan/Yolanda. Honestly, I’ve been waiting for it to happen in the last few days, especially since there was nonstop news about it, in an effort to let the people along its path prepare. But as I read and waited and prayed, I realized something: I’m not that scared of rains anymore.

I don’t know exactly what changed, but somehow I started to not really mind it when it starts raining hard. Maybe it’s because I don’t feel as scared as getting flooded here in our house after we had it renovated. Maybe it’s because I know I can automatically head for my brother’s place in case I can’t go home from work. Or maybe I’ve just learned that there’s really only so much I can do with these rains and typhoons, except prepare and pray. It’s not like I’m Storm or something so I can move these weather disturbances away (can she do that?). I can worry myself to tears, but what can it do?

I’ve written about how I’m learning to pick my battles, and Haiyan/Yolanda is another exercise in that. Last night I was fretting about a lot of things, especially because I was supposed to have an event tomorrow, plus some friends were in or are heading for Visayas over the weekend. I felt like maybe I should do something, but I couldn’t come up with anything. So after I read articles, updated myself with the location of the storm until I could no longer take it, and then I sat down and prayed. Because it was really all that I can do where I am right now.

Maybe I’ve learned to not be afraid of the rains because it’s not useful. Maybe, in the past few months, I see the rains and these winds and these typhoons as an opportunity to learn, to prepare and most especially to pray and to trust God that He is still King over the storm. Any storm.

And that it will pass. It will always, always pass.

Sometimes, it takes something like this to teach you what surrender can mean in a more personal level.

I guess that’s what it means to “weather the storm” sometimes.

There’s a super typhoon here right now, and it’s not over until late tonight, or maybe even tomorrow. But like what one of my favorite bands wrote in one of their songs: Hello hurricane, you’re not enough / Hello hurricane, you can’t silence my love / I’ve got doors and windows boarded up / All your dead end fury’s not enough / You can’t silence my love.

Hold on tight, my Philippines.