Parents

I never know how to express my gratitude towards my family, my parents. My dear parents. Many times I feel like I don’t appreciate all the things they had fulfilled no matter how well-informed I am about how they made such efforts to gain my attention, but what I really think is I am so thankful just to have them around.

My father might think I never pay attention to how he managed to fix my car or my damaged keys, when as a matter of fact I do.

My mother might also think I never put any consideration about her cookings or the cross-stitched flowers she hung up on the wall after struggling to finish it for months, but I really really care.

They let me choose to have what I want and offer me a lot of luxuries, which at some points cultivating the spoilt side inside of me during the phase of growing up, but I can’t help admiring all those things. This paradox, though. Life is such an irony, therefore let’s just embrace it while we still can.

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AND when one day I decide to make such an enormous conversion of my life it’s not beyond their concern. After all the rejections, resentments, griefs and reflections they gives up all they thought what’s best and learn—yes, they would learn—to accept and most of all to still provide luxuries to their only girl.

And when I say still, I meant miracles.

Dear father, dear mother, I might never could say this but the truth is I love you.

The Haunting Past

It’s like watching old movies you’ve once rented at that previous city you once stayed with your parents. Like a glimpse of narrow light beneath your door and your eyes couldn’t focus at the yellow line because it disrupted your sleep.

Most importantly you will know deep in your heart when the mistake from your past, the very fault that has probably most changed you as an individual and alter your decisions today, is screaming its name. It scraped from such depth of a well to climb up and show off. You’re initially lured to open those pink-wrapped bunch of gifts bundled with appealing ribbons one by one, so many gifts you lose counts of them; you’re set to accomplish such failure one more time.

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WHAT’S distressing is you absolutely know how much bruised you’re going to be but there is this little crap inside your heart that’s craving for acceptance, begging to be used, no matter how tiny but as always it shines a light too bright: an old buddy, named Hope.

Which keeps reminding you to believe that wonderful things will take place.

That you believe you need to faithfully pray on bended knee that this time God will finally do as you wish.

That every mistake no longer lingers in as dark clouds above your eyes and it makes you forget how miserable it caused you it even dried up your tears, that it arranged your mind about being so much more than prepared to be courageous and once again ask/beg/hope/pray for what’s once difficult, if not impossible.

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YOU can even see yourself crying to sleep, like angels watching over you sleeping, blabbering in your dreams, carefully taking care of you so you stay on the bed and warmly wrapped under your blanket, every night in your room. It’s clear before your eyes.

And you can’t even speak your mind because you’re afraid it will mess things up, when it’s actually a broken start to begin with. Why would you break everything all over again, when you believe you’re worth more than that? Or can’t you live a precious gift of life God has loaded you with and don’t you remember how much destruction you’ve managed to defeat for the sake of living an ordinary life, a simple life you’d be easily live by, a life that’s just about you, your spouse, your kids, a home, and a sky and trees so peacefully surround their arms around the neighborhood? Remember a life you’ve always pictured from the corner of your dusty mind like a vintage postcard with a depiction of a house by the beach on its side?

There are always times to stop and carefully think of challenging choices that you have, that you must pick only one even if it must means you’ll lose the one that’s important to you, the one who makes you strong. Think about the life you’d eagerly want to live, think about your parents, think about the heart and future you believe in, which is not supposed to be painted black all over and should be ready to start anytime.

Not again, you can hear yourself howl somewhere.

Not again.

So choose. Choose to mind your dreams and all the journey you’ve passed with tears and blood you even had to hurt people you care about, or choose to believe in miracles, with such massive risks, including your very fragile soul; would you rather bear it, or would you be brave enough to stand tough on your feet to triumphantly say, “I must look forward”?

These Gray Days

The town has been flooded for days thanks to the overwhelming flow of rainfalls, of which people despised, for they had to adjust the routines and everything that has been set and saved. In bitterness and crisp, frosty surroundings they tried to cope and absorb. Cursing the flood, loathing how the gloomy days changed their systems.

But he, he was something. Of anything he has been observing every day on his past thirty years he has found what love actually is. He found it when he enjoys the chill sensation when he put his wet foot inside his shoes. How amazing it was to sense each drop of the rainfall pinning his head, like a thousand needles of weed composing him ease. He walked barefoot on the flooded road by himself, when for sure nobody else had avoided to even go out of their safe doors.

All these rain drops gives somehow a favor to me, and it’s not the end of the world. I can hope for a fresh, lively land when it’s all over and start a new beginning of my days. Those might just would be like any other casual days but they are still brand new. They are promises on every hour you live in. So endure it. Live it. Every agonizing storm has to end in any days now.

Burst in contended hearts, he opens his eyes and watches a yellow sunshine shimmering over the soaked rooftops, babies’ heads and roses.