Letter No. 47: Questions on the Wall
“Right before I sleep, I look at them one by one, I read them out loud in my mind, and before I shut my eyes off, I would pray to find the answers in my dreams”
It’s been a long time now. I have been contemplating on my life for months of not writing you. It’s worth it. Have I found my worth in my absence yet?, for sure it will always be a work in progress, like those questions posted on my wall.
When I was young, I had a lot of questions in my head; like how a plane flies and how gravity defies weight. I was amazed to see what science can do. When I turned seven, it got even more complicated; like where dead people go and what intelligence truly means, something a rocket scientist couldn’t explain in a few sentences. There were days when it got into my nerves, thinking that right there and then, I would stumble upon the answer. I was wrong.
Then I got exposed to a bigger world, I crawled into the pages of Paulo Coelho and James Patterson. I met the writings of Stephen King and Nicholas Sparks, the biggest influences I have, whom I thought I would get the answers from, but I was wrong. All they teach were nothing but mysteries; like the mystery of life, love and suspense. But if there’s one thing I learned from them, it’s the art of curiosity.
So I built a wall inspired by these writers; like how Sparks questions the endless possibility of love to the other side, just like how Coelho questions the conspiracies in the universe, like how King questions our belief in fiction, and how Patterson questions the imagery of the unseen, I built a wall, full of questions.
In my room, I built a wall with notes of questions. Some of them read “How do we quantify a quality like love?”, “How does love feel like when we’re dead?”, “What does it feel like to be truly perfect?” “Could there ever be any other colors in the wheel that we don’t yet see?” “What if the person you see in the mirror is real, and we are instead the reflection?”
Right before I sleep, I look at them one by one, I read them out loud in my mind, and before I shut my eyes off, I would pray to find the answers in my dreams, hoping when I wake up, there’d be one less question on the wall, and if I don’t, I’d carry this to wherever it brings me. This wall is my way out of curiosity. It doesn’t mean overthinking nor making things complicated. It keeps me going instead. It’s more like I guess a poetry sung, or a kept painting. I call it an art of my own. It’s true indeed that views of men and things cannot be vegetated in just one little corner of the earth. But it’s on every little corner that it sprouts.
They say if you have doubts, write it. If you have feelings, write it. If you have dreams, write it. It gets higher probability of becoming true. If you happen to try it, it will surprise you, you would know a lot, other people don’t know.
Letter no. 46: What have we missed?
“I wish right now, I could go back to the day I met him and just walk away. Honestly, it would’ve samed me so much hurt and pain”
He wanted me. I didn’t.
He liked me, I quietly did.
He didn’t give up, he cared for me,
He asked for a chance,
I gave him a chance,
He doesn’t want me, and I do.
In the name of acquaintance,
what have gone wrong, what have we missed?
He promised the moon and stars.
And he even tried to catch them from the sky.
he’s sending it back to clouds,
letting it go so high.
In the name of affair, what have we missed?
We shared secrets, and swore to keep it.
We dreamed together, and vowed to reach it.
But now, I’m wondrin what has happened to it,
In the name of the father, of the son and the holy spirit,
I am giving up the thought, of what have we missed.
When I was weak, he made me strong.
When I was down, he gave me reason to go on.
And now I’m standing up for him,
but he’s just too bad to be true.
In the name of love,
what have we missed?
Letter no 45: Temporary Home
January this year when I was diagnosed with a congenital heart disease. I thought it was over when one day I passed out after severe nausea and heavy breathing. I was brought to a hospital, a place that hadn’t been a home, and there I met Dawn, a sweet angel my tears couldn’t resist.
There I sat on my bed blankly surrounded by machines and white walls. The smell of the hospital bed added some holes on my heart. I couldn’t be home I thought. I woke up to mild headache that afternoon thinking it’s all side effects of the medicine. I saw my mom half awake on the couch holding a rosary. She noticed I moved my feet up that probably brought her to reality.
“You’re awake”, she said fixing herself.
It’s 3 o’clock in the afternoon. I didn’t know what’s going on. The last thing I remember was having breakfast, throwing the food up after few mins and chasing my breath till I dropped somewhere in my room. And then there was nausea and severe headache. I could barely recall how I got to the hospital that day. All I remember was being held up to the stretcher and seeing the fluorescent bulb flickered as I was being rushed. The rest was blurry.
After a small talk with my mom, I knew right then something was wrong. She didn’t exactly tell me what’s going on, but I could feel a little weight on my chest. I had never imagined myself being in a hospital. That’s the very least I thought could happen to me. I was healthy, active, energetic, the kind of person who hates hospital.
My doctor came to the room, and I decided to know what my condition was. I was diagnosed with a congenital heart disease. My world suddenly crushed into pieces.
On my 4 days of stay in the hospital, I thought it was over, until I met a sweet little angel named Dawn who was admitted to the next room where I was.
On my second day, I heard her sobbing. The walls dividing us couldn’t lie. I became curious. I moved my feet up, made sure I was fine and trotted to the next door. I finally saw her face from the small pane. She was pale, about 12 to 13 years old I assumed. She was beautiful as an angel, with dark curly hair. I couldn’t help myself so I knocked and the lady beside her was too kind to accommodate me in.
“Is she alright?” I asked.
“I’m Cecilia, her mother. She’s alright. She just needs a little time and she’ll be fine. Her name is Dawn and you are?.” The lady beside her answered.
I introduced my name, got to know a little bit about Dawn. Dawn had chronic leukemia, a hopeless case, a progressive disease, cancer of the blood cells. But apart from knowing she had it, I could see the strength on her eyes. She was a fighter.
On my third day, I got to know more about Dawn on a serious conversation and somehow developed a little string of friendship. I couldn’t imagine where her strengths were coming from.
I one time asked her, “where are your strengths coming from?”
“you mean to go on?‘, she replied.
“I guess I focus more on the things I can control, such as my emotions, my feelings towards my family, the food I eat. There are things in this world, you cannot control, and you let God control it. I have leukemia, it’s worst that you can ever imagine, but I can’t do more about it than comply to medicines, therapies.” She said.
She’s right. Her words awakened me. I should not think about the disease or any illness to the point of dwelling on it. There’s so much beautiful things in this world to behold and feel, the beauty of friendship, the love of family, the taste of food.
“So what do you do if you’re not feeling better? See it’s my first time confined. I thought it was easy. Now, I’ve finally known the feeling. It’s so bad than I ever imagined.” I continued.
“I just cry because pain suppose to make you cry and it goes away. You just obey the pain because God never exceeds to our limits. Sometimes, I think of dying, because it’s all we are going to, but another day comes, it turns to months, years, and you realized, you’re still alive. There must be something I could have done than just think of death.” She answered in her most wise time.
On my fourth day, I was dismissed from the hospital. I was feeling better but on one hand, I never saw Dawn again on her room. The nurse told me she was transferred to St Lukes for some tests and possible bone marrow transplant. It was sad. But her nurse gave me a note from her. Tears fell down as I read the note.
“Don’t be afraid to die, there’s a safer home somewhere. I’ve been seeing it in my dreams. Hospitals are just temporary home. Keep breathing while you’re feeling the earth. I would miss our conversation”
I never saw her from then on but our 2 days of friendship taught me a lot. She’s maybe right. I am still blessed to have a loving a family while others don’t have. My senses are all functioning while others don’t see. I have a job while others die hunting for one. I realized that this is just a reminder from God that as long as there’s life, I have no choice but to go on and fulfill HIS purpose for me. This earth, and hospital rooms are just our temporary home and somewhere, there’s a better place where there’s no disease and harm. Just pure comfort.