Tonight I write this with the weight of all the tasks that I still have to do. But I write because I just need to express something from myself and for myself. I write this or else explode.
I haven’t been updating this blog, mainly because it’s been mostly wake up, eat, sleep, lately. I sneak in as much time with my toddler whenever I could for my sanity, but time to write for just the sake of writing has taken the backseat. Time to pause life and read? Well, not exactly the backseat, but not the driver seat either.
Electricity was out earlier so there wasn’t much to do except go over some Netflix downloaded shows on my iPad and decided to give another go for StartUp since it’s the only downloaded show that hasn’t expired yet. Second to the last episode of this show and I came across this scene of Ji-pyeong when he decided to let go
'it’s okay. this is enough.”
A lot of my life has been spent trying to understand the meaning of enough. I think that’s fairly standard: When will I reach the point of contentment? Of subdued happiness that lasts? When the universe aligns itself and all aspects of my life are stable—would that be enough for me?
For a while, I was content. I was happy with my life, which is more than most people I know have. I wasn’t fighting with my parents. There was a potential love. Isn’t that how it is? Romance to round it all out?
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There is so much to write about. There is so much that has happened in the past months to write about, really.
I spent the past few weeks floating through a miasma of grief, and I couldn’t figure out why VP Leni's election campaign affected me so. I didn’t even care that much anymore with anything politics, not really. Perhaps it was a function of being part of someone else’s team and being friends with people who shared the same values led me to see her strengths up close, in a clearer light. Back in 2016, I would often think: If only. If only she was given more budget, if only she was leading this country, if only people saw through her, if only she didn't get targeted by the toxicity and fragility that is the male ego of our government leaders. If only she wasn't the main target of misinformation, if only she had enough machinery. If only.
The fact of the matter is, in 2020 we were a nation of lost causes: corruption charges, impunity, poverty. And somehow, she and her team made me feel hope. She made me feel like if enough people wanted something, wanted change, wanted better, then god, maybe it really was possible. She sparked hope. Not just to anyone but most especially to a single mother like me who wished nothing more than a safer and an inclusive place for her child to grow up in. The legacy of her campaign is hope. It was the most wonderful feeling to finally have hope. Ben in his thank you message said, "the anger and sadness that we're feeling right now, they're withdrawal symptoms from the sudden cut of our supply of hope. Before it was free flowing, now they're just in droplets."
What now. Where do we go from here? But hey, I still have a comfortable bed to sleep in, I have a job that may be tiring but I still enjoy, I have my child, maybe this is enough.
Love as parting
Selfishness gets a bad rep. Going to a catholic school ingrained the inherent saintliness of selflessness: Of choosing the other over one’s self. This month has taught me otherwise.
A lot of decisions center on benefit. Particularly, my own. And I couldn’t count the times I felt helpless having to explain or make people understand why this time, I am finally choosing myself. I would be dishonest if I said I made decisions based on how well the other parties would handle it. Of course this generation has made a catchphrase of it, “Choosing yourself.” Sometimes, choosing myself meant knowingly making stupid decisions (i.e., mistakes—a word that has remained constant in all the times I’ve written about W) that I knew would make me happy. And sometimes, choosing myself meant making smart decisions that I knew would make me sad.
A friend asked me what was my most significant experience this summer. Jokingly, I said, “I got two office desks for my room.” Then, with another laugh, I said, “I don’t know, a break up from people in my past.” Those decisions were devastating. But at least they were my decisions. There was of course benefit to me, but for a while, the pain of separation overshadowed any merit. But I survived the first, and the second, and my god, I will survive this. I’ve lost parts of myself, sure: entering a relationship—any relationship for that matter— is, more than anything, giving. But I’ve gained new parts, too. Better parts that don’t necessitate an easier transition to being okay but at least remain as a reminder that whatever happened was good, was great, until it wasn’t. I guess that is enough.
Love as an edifice.
I always wanted to go to Fuzion Gourmet Cafe. It was famous for fostering local artists in Cebu, and live acoustic show has always been appealing to me.
The first time was with two good friends of mine. Our love was young, then. Two weeks in, if I recall correctly. I remember telling you the details of that night while we were lying on your bed, your hands around my waist, my cheek resting against the scratchy fabric of your sweater.
The second time, the last time, the last day of Fuzion’s existence. I bumped into a friend and he asked if I was with you. I said no. He was surprised. I asked a friend to accompany me as I said goodbye. One last drink, standing through mediocre originals in a room full of people whose attachment made the air thick with love and loss, with the disappointment of it all having to end. I had one last drink outside at the parking lot. You weren’t there, but I could still remember the smell of your scent that night I told you about it.
When I told my friend that Fuzion was closing, he said, “I thought it was doing so well!”
I said, “It was. But the building needed the space.”
That’s okay. I guess that was enough.
Maybe a month, a year, isn’t enough to fully process loss. Most of the time I’m angry because all this heartaches could have been avoided. And then I get sad because maybe it couldn’t have been avoided at all.
“it’s okay. this is enough”
I spent most of my life trying to understand the meaning of enough, wondering when I will reach the point of contentment. This is enough—I realized, holds a totally different meaning for me.
I haven’t reached the point of contentment. No. I never had the luxury of having things just fall perfectly for me. There’s always something—most of the time, something painful— that I’m forced to get over with because I needed to get over it.
The past month I’ve been left with nothing and I had to make peace with it and say it’s okay, that’s still enough.
I am so tired of settling. Of being resilient. I wish I didn’t have to be resilient. I wish I couldn’t just say “this is enough” just because I have no other choice.
It’s quite in here. Nothing but the sound of crickets chirping at night,
and held back sobs.