Christmas Eve

It's been four years. It doesn't really feel that long unless I read my previous entries and I'm proven wrong. It has been that long.

Five years ago was the last Christmas we spent with you, in an unfamiliar place that almost reminded me of Shake, Rattle, and Roll. I watched you get wrapped in sheets of powdered carbon, laying there while the acetate blackened by what supposedly had the power to remove all the toxins from your body worked its magic. I read a book by the shore while you sat in saltwater, hoping to be rid of the liquid your body had been retaining, causing you to bloat. I laughed in amusement as you slowly slurped your liquid pancit.

Five years is pretty long. Half a decade, a young preschooler, more than your entire high school or college stay. But five years is also pretty short compared to the years prior to that First Christmas. I always wonder if I'll ever get used to it or if I'll ever forget how painful it is to lose someone you love. And every year, though the tears are no longer as frequent and steady as the first time, I slowly begin to accept that I'll always remember. And it's okay.

Though I sometimes wish things would remain the same, I know that change is expected. This time next year, I don't know if we'll even be staying in the same home. There will be new people in our lives. And there will probably be new traditions to get used to. But one thing I know for sure will never change, I will always have a family to come home to.

Merry Christmas! I hope that you have a family to celebrate with tonight. ♥

Where Does Your Joy Come From?

"Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus." —1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

Sitting inside that beautiful Church on the first night of Simbang Gabi is always special. It was my first time in Gesu again after moving in and out of Katipunan for the past couple of years. And it couldn't have been a better welcome.

Earlier that day, I visited my cousins who had just lost their father to a quick and swift but not any less painful bout with cancer. I had not seen them in years and all I could offer was a hug and a listening ear. Because I know that there really is nothing you can say to comfort someone who has just lost someone they love. Especially so close to Christmas.

That day, 20 children, who had yet to grow up, realize their dreams, and grow into themselves, had lost their lives to someone who could probably have been a child himself. How do you feel safe when terrible things happen to good people?

Today is the third Sunday of Advent and we light the pink candle of the Advent wreath. Pink symbolizes joy. The joy in our hearts that we know He is coming. That even when things aren't going our way, we know that we are safe because of Him. Joy can be a lot of things. It can be in the trivial things like a gift that greets you when you come in to work. Or a cup of your favorite coffee. But it can also be something infinite. Like sitting in a living room that doesn't feel like home, but being in the company of people who feel like family. Who are family. Condensing ten years into two hours, and conveying words through a big, tight hug.

Fr. Huang said during his Homily that when we pray, we should give thanks. Whether our prayer has been answered, has yet to be answered, or will not be answered in the way that we want, we should always say thank you. Beautiful words that are too true. So even if there are things that don't seem to be in our plans, or there are external forces that try to convince you that life is any less than amazing, think again. Give thanks because there is always more joy in our lives than we think.

Death

One of my favorite quotes from one of my favorite shows. Say a prayer for all your loved ones who have passed. Eternal rest, grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May they rest in peace. Amen.

Hometown

Headed to the town where my mom grew up last Thursday night. Her sister's husband passed away suddenly last Sunday. It was very sad news to start the week with.

This was also my first week working on our website all by myself so I was quite stressed this week. I don't like leaving unfinished work so I was very disappointed when I missed one check on my to-do list. But I promised myself, next week will be better.

Driving to San Jose, Camarines Sur was quite the adventure. My brothers and I decided to leave at 9pm to make it to the funeral the next morning.

The last time I was in Bicol was years ago. So I suppose it was also nice—despite the circumstances—to come back.

We said good bye to Uncle July; we made it just in time as they transferred him from their house to the Church across. We walked from the Church to the cemetery under the heat of the summer sun. White balloons were released as my aunt, my mom's sister, walked out of the cemetery in a black veil. There were a lot of superstitions I observed but didn't understand. Tears aren't supposed to fall onto the coffin, the widow cannot be spoken to as she walks away from the cemetery, you should wash your hands before entering the house, the widow should bathe after the burial, and the entire family should only eat from the plate that was offered. Now I know where my mom gets all her pamahiin from.

We were back in Manila twenty-five hours after we left. It was very tiring but I'm glad we went. Hopefully the next time we go, it'll be for a longer time and for a happier time with the family.

RIP Amy Winehouse

I wish I could say no regrets,
And no emotional debts,
And as we kiss goodbye the sun sets,
So we are history,
The shadow covers me,
The sky above a blaze that only lovers see

Motherless daughters

I am jealous. Jealous of people with mothers alive and physically present. Mothers who they can touch and hug and say I love you to while looking them in the eyes. I am jealous of those who have mothers yet take them for granted.

Be patient with them. Believe me when I tell you, you will regret every single rant, every single impatient thought you've had when she's no longer there to nag you, make you kulit, and be the typical mother.

I have never been affected this much by someone's death, someone I never knew. Never.

Wise words from the doctor

"Almost dying doesn't change anything. Death changes everything."
—House

Are You Okay?

While I appreciate the concern, sometimes I wish a day would pass when people would try not to feel sorry for me. Whenever someone asks me if I'm okay, I don't really know what to say. "I'm okay right now." or "I'm not, go away." I don't know.

Because I know I put up a strong front and people are surprised that I do; but when I'm alone, I still get sad. Everything plays back in my head and I can't stop it. I plug in my earphones in the car on the way to work. I turn on the TV the moment I step into my room. I hate dead silence, because the only thing that fills my mind is that Saturday. Everything that happened during that day, I remember. And I keep telling myself that it's okay. That I'll be okay. Some days, I believe it. Some days, I feel like I'm just repressing my feelings.

I haven't cried since I said good-bye to her that Saturday morning. I'm scared that one day, I'll just break down and lose it.

Morning After

There was a sense of calm in our house, when my mom's sisters filed out this morning. It was strange doing things that I would've normally been told to do—boil water for coffee, cook dad's oatmeal, cook rice for lunch—without anyone telling me to.

I think I'll be okay. Eventually. My mom would want that.

But when I see messages of "I'm so sorry..." or "Our deepest sympathies..." I still can't help but cry. But please don't be sorry for me. My mom is up where she's supposed to be. It's her Beautiful Destination after all these years. I know she's watching over us and making sure that we'll be able to cope.

I miss her, there's no question about that. But I know that she's still with me somehow. I feel her when there's that quiet calm. When no one is talking and all I can hear is the hum of the wind. I know that's her telling me, "You'll be okay."

It's been a week. I'm trying my best to be strong. But like my best friend told me this morning, it's okay to sometimes be weak. It's okay to cry sometimes. It'll help me be okay.