Black Eye and everything that goes with it

Two days ago, I got a black eye. No, I did not put up a fight just like other people say when they have a black eye. I just hit myself with something. Surprisingly, it hit my left eye. So until now, I still have to cover it up with concealer and wear my eyeglasses. In a way, people won't recognize I have a swollen black eye. Last Saturday, Janice (my colleague-friend) cried just before we went off for work. She was shouted at by our boss. Knowing Janice, born under the zodiac sign of virgo, is just like me, wasn't able to contain the feeling and eventually poured it out. I cannot blame her for crying, especially when you know that you shouldn't have shouted at because it was not your fault at all. I did not take sides. Even when other colleagues tell that we should not show those kinds of feelings especially with work, I could not blame Janice for letting them see how she really feels. Both have a point. Actually we all do. And we have a right for our own opinions, which is actually based on the life that has been and being laid down to us.

I admit. I cry for many reasons. Sometimes, I cry for very lame reasons. Friends often find me weird for crying because of rainbows, or because of sunsets, or because of the rain. Maybe I then realized, I cry because I am awed, and wondered by the sight and magic I see in God's beautiful creation. I find magic in them. And I cry.

I cry on situations when I need to let go, may it be anyone or anything. I find it hard to let go of the things that's been so important to me, played a role into my own becoming. I kept letters since my grade school years, wilted flowers that were presents from people close to my heart, chocolate and candy wrappers, tissues from restos and bars, receipts, etc. etc. Yes, I am basurera. And I don't want to let go of them, just yet. I might cry.

I haven't mastered letting go of people too. I remembered my first ever major letting go experience. It happened when I was at a very young age of twelve. When I was in grade six, she was my favorite teacher, which eventually became a godmother on my confirmation, but wasn't able to attend because she left for New Zealand before my confirmation. I clearly remember how hard I cried during that time. I felt I will never see her again. And it was followed by more letting go experiences. During that year, I had three, close friends leaving for Canada and other parts of the world, one after the other. It has been hard for me to cope up, and continue with life. I thought then, that all these people close to me would eventually go and leave, and find a life that's far different from mine. And yes, I cry.

I cry for personal problems. I cry for family problems. I cry for my country. I cry for the people that are victims of tragedies, calamites, and war. I cry for people close to me that's hurting, that's in pain. I cry too, for love--that I can love... that I have loved... that I’m in love... that I am loved... that I am unloved... that I am loveless.. that I may be loved...

I'm almost five months here in China, trying out to what I hoped to be a greener pasture. The future is vague from where I stand now, but I am excited and more hopeful to what and where God wanted me to be. And until now, I cry, for more reasons than when I left the Philippines.

I cry because I realized it's very hard to wash my own clothes, and I wonder how hardworking my mom is for washing all our clothes for more than twenty years.

I cry because I cannot eat now the food that my mom prepares that I have often taken for granted way back home.

I cry because I cook my own food now, whether it tastes good or not, I just have to eat to survive.

I cry because I am missing a good sleep. I miss my bed and my dream catcher.

I cry because I miss my family. I miss Hannah too. I miss the things I used to do, having coffee on mornings with my mom at the garage, putting up Hannah's swing and just take photos while she perfects riding and making her swing move.

I miss our Sunday barbeque party. My aunts and cousins would come over to our place and we would have inihaw na liempo, grilled fish, and talong for lunch.

I cry because I miss my friends. I miss Friday night outs at Café Agogo, or Xaymaca, or Nine Ball, or Starbucks with friends at work or with college friends.

I cry because I miss the places I used to hang out to. Coffee Indulgence, I soo miss you.

I cry because I am seldom hugged now than before. Ratio then for my hugs is averagely 10 hugs: 1 day, while now, its 1 hug: 3 months. I really needed more hugs when I get back home just to make up for the hugs I missed while I was here.

I cry for an uncertain future.

I cry because I am missing a life of dilly dallying I left in the Philippines.

I cry because I was exposed early into the real cruel world. I cry because I know, life moves so fast. I could not make it stop. Or even just make it slow. People I left in the Philippines are moving in different directions as much as I do. And I know, and I am preparing, that one day, we will never be close as much as we were before, just when I left the Philippines.

I cry more often now, whether with audience or without. But the difference in crying now is that I am also the one who comforts and gives courage to my own weeping self.

It's funny how painful it was to be hit by something in the eye and get a black eye. But it's funnier to know that I did not shed even a single tear because of this.

But still, I cry for infinite reasons. And I never get tired of comforting myself after.