ON PANIC

[Panicking memories on November 11, 2015 at 5:54pm]

“I don’t want what I want, and I want what I don’t want, and to complicate it even more, I don’t even know what I want or don’t want!” - - - Atty. Ally McBeal

I used to be like the noisy Aerosmith when it comes to posting, I don’t wanna miss a thing. Yet just lately, I had to miss everything, since I couldn’t think of anything. I was hurting.

I say it again, I was hurting.

My heart was broken into pieces the reason why I had not been in FB for so many days. It is better to be offline and keep the pain than spread the virus and some other disease. Regardless of how good you are in concealing the matter in your writing, I tell you, people can still detect. You’re very confident they could never see the scars but the lines in between reveal that the wound is deep.

However, you proved it right once more this is the problem—even if the feeling would not be mutual—when you love writing: whether you are in exceeding joy or in terrible hurt, sooner or later, you’ll find your hand in pen or on keyboard, pounding. 

And you start to recall how life has been treating you since day one of your mortal existence. You try to weigh in and realize anew the magnitude of such struggles and count the ways again. Every period, every moment. Every hurt, every pain.

Like that ironic period when the girl you first felt for was denied the chance to know even heard about the matter. And to rub salt in a wound, figuratively and literally, you were beseeched by a friend to be his bridge to get her. And you reluctantly agreed and simply helped him indeed. And you were still aching even after you were left for dead.

Like that moment when there was another girl who was so near yet so far for she was like an alien despite having her with you almost everyday. She was just a few inches away from you most of the time but since that time was running out already you kept that loving feeling for all eternity. 

Like those times when you were dumped thrice for three successive years by two different lassies because they were both unconvinced by the love you did offer. But try to take note of this again: you think those things were the most painful ever, being a loser as a lover? No, nothing hurts the more than to be a failure as a father.

You lose control of yourself, your mind blows. You don’t know what to do, what’s the purpose. You try to find a reason though you knew too well the real reason behind, still you panic. Like being in NAIA in a very strong faith but your baggage was found with a live bullet.

You’re at a loss on what to do, on what to say, as if seeing yourself in the brink of loss of trust and loss of love. You’re blessed though there’s always Someone behind and before you reminding, “Be still and know that I am God” (Psalms 46:10).