Warning: I may not make sense

I was supposed to blog about my rediscovered love for teaching. How helping others learn makes me happy and fulfilled — no matter if I’m teaching one or ten. But I can’t think of anything right now except these three words: Make it stop. Make this barrage of emotions I’ve been keeping at bay for months (maybe years, who knows) stop. I don’t want to feel it. At least not with this intensity.

I feel alone. I am see-sawing between using the word “feel” and “am.” If I say “I am alone,” it might be a lie. I have family and dear, dear friends I would never exchange the world for. And yet, I am and I feel alone. It sucks that I am fully aware of how emo this sounds. I am so miserable in my alone-ness that I just want to tear my gut out. Not my heart — you don’t feel with your heart, you feel with your gut. If only I could vomit these feelings as if it were just food poisoning.

I went out for a short walk. There was a nice breeze. For three seconds, I relished the wind and forgot I was alone.

Goodbyes suck

It’s amazing how three years can transform strangers into family. In 2007, our church got a (relatively) newly-married couple to be the youth pastors of our church. I don’t think it showed — but I was really apprehensive. For all my talk about change being good (and needed), I get ruffled when someone messes with the status quo. Today, I can’t imagine life without them. They are our mentors, our dear friends, and our toughest critics.

Ahia Clarence and Achi Dorie taught me, above all else, the love for God’s word. They taught and preached faithfully week after week after week. Their passion for God and His work shone so much, I am shamed that mine doesn’t even twinkle. Achi Dorie is possibly the most patient person in the world. Anybody else would have given up on trying to get me to come on time for Bible study every week — to think that our house is ten minutes away from the church on foot. And Ahia Clarence would do anything — save for bodily harm — to get kids to listen. They nurtured our spirits, pushed us when we were getting complacent, and managed somehow to give us the freedom to be ourselves.

They are living examples of how we can become more and more like Christ each day. Like Paul, they can say (although they won’t) “Follow me as I follow Christ.” When I’m tired from running the race and fighting the good fight — I just look at Achi Dorie and Ahia Clarence and am reminded how awesome living for Christ can be.

It’s not goodbye, really. Because we won’t let it — we’ll be haunting them wherever they go. Haha.

Me with Achi Dorie and Ahia Clarence at Doulos (Dec 2007, I think)

Random thoughts of the week

1. I’m so freaking tired of being alone.

2. Thank you, Lord, for my friends. I’d be in the assylum without them.

3. JJ, you are such a loser. By association, I am a loser because I’m a fan of such a loser.

4. Lupa, lamunin mo na ko. — While at Up Dharma Down gig alone yesterday.

5. I’m so glad I went. — After the said Up Dharma Down gig.

6. He has adorable and sexy ankles. Why did I notice that?

7. Being single and alone is nice sometimes. But mostly, it sucks.

Don’t dry my tears

I cry. I cry a lot. And sometimes, I may embarrass you by crying in a public place. (Don’t worry, doesn’t happen that often. Except in church)

I cry at movies that aren’t even remotely sad. I cry after listening to a seriously brilliant song (ex. Falling Slowly) for the first time. I cry while reading books I’ve read for the tenth time. I cry when I pray — really praying and not just coming up with words. And if I haven’t cried for a long time, I will purposely watch anything that will make my tear ducts burst. My from-the-gut-sobs are forms of expression and release that I cannot live without. No, I am not being sappy here — crying is a lifestyle I have come to adopt.

Tears serve as my sort of truth sifter. There have been times when I suddenly sob over something and I don’t understand why or how the trigger is connected to my life. I just know it’s real. My tears tell my I’ve stumbled upon something that’s true. And that makes me pay attention.

Have you noticed that crying clears your head? At least it does for me. It is achieved by two actions: crying strips off some of your analytical processes and pulls your thoughts to one central direction. When that happens, I feel like I’ve been transported into a zoomed in and zoomed out version of that piece of my life — at the same time. Giving myself wholly to the act of crying provides me a different perspective and yet some sort of objective distance. Or maybe it’s just me. Tell me I’m not alone here.

Perhaps what I’m just saying is don’t try to shush me too quickly when my eyes start to brim — you might rob me of an epiphany. As with all things in moderation: crying is healthy.