Stages of Grief: 4. Depression


   I am in this crowd, submerged in a sea of hundred if not  thousand faces; everywhere I look there are people, people everywhere; yet it  felt like I am on my own, like I am not a part of them, part of the world, part  of anything. Just about anything could make me cry; only thing is that I am  extremely good at holding them back. I have built this huge dam and I am not  willing to let this river flow. No, I would never show weakness, never! I am  strong, but I must admit I feel weaker than an infant; I am bold, but I shy away  at the mere thought of you.

   Everything else seem to be so overwhelming, and I’d lose my  breath; I keep on walking but I know not where; my brain seem to cease its  work, only my feet are in motion and I am unaware of where they take me. Then a  seemingly quiet place I rest my gluteus, only to find out, as I raise my head,that I have been sitting on a roadside very much like that poor beggar I helped  just the other day.

   I saw you today and I flinched, and I hid, and then I ran,as fast as these pathetic heels would carry me. What was I so afraid of? Why am  I hiding? I am not to be ashamed. I did no wrong. But I still ran. And I still  ran because you see, it was too much for me to see your face that once loved me  more than anything in this world; and I believed that because you said it yourself;  but now it wouldn’t smile for me. I wonder, afraid to know who you’re smiling  for now, yet restless to know who.

   It was a good morning when I cheerfully woke up and I thought  the pain was gone. I seemed awake than the rest of the days that passed like  they were nightmares. And then breakfast happens, and of all the occasions I had  to remember you, you! My stomach fell and my taste buds refused to work. My throat  suddenly narrows and not a grain of rice could pass. I felt like crying then and  there, but I wouldn’t show a single tear in front of family.

   What is a man to do when mornings hold no reason for the  day? What is a man to do when the messages that awaits and gladdens the wakening  ceases to deliver? I look at my phone every morning to see it empty and quiet  like it lost its voice to holler me a ringtone. I know it was only a couple of  months and I am probably overreacting, but I know what it felt like and I had  just enough time to have fallen in love with you.

   It is not a beautiful life when it hurts just before you  sleep and it restarts as soon as you wake up in the morning. Why can’t this  just go away? It’s been seven months now, seven months! This is insane! Yet here  I am. I don’t even know what I am doing here. Where am I? What have I done to  myself? What have I done to that beautiful relationship we had? The sun sets. Where  now is the sunrise? I see dark clouds. But there is no silver lining. No showers  of blessing. No rainbows. Just thick, dark, cold clouds everywhere.

   Energy I lack, motivation I lack, I am deficient of hope, life and laughter; because you see, all these things come in a package, and that package is you my love, YOU. I miss you so much it hurts my very core.

26 August 2014
0134 hours


Stages of Grief: 3. Bargaining


   Come back, please come back! Tell me, what have I done; or,  what have I not done? Is it something I did? Or is it something I failed to do?  Is it the way I walk? Is it the way I talk? Is it just being me? Have I misconduct  myself? Tell me; please just tell me where did I go wrong to have lost you this  bad? How can you leave someone you stared at the face with all content  completely in just a matter of one lousy break-up conversation? What right can  I make?

   Have you forgotten how you felt back then? You see, I can’t  forget how you made me feel. Isn’t there any chance that you haven’t forgotten  all the things you said you felt? Isn’t there any chance that you remember how  you once felt for me, and maybe feel that again? I refuse to believe that all those  feelings would just be gone in a matter of not even weeks but days.

   What can I do to make  this right again? What can I do to have you back again? Tell me, tell me and I  would do anything, anything! I worked through my schedule because I was afraid  I wouldn’t be able to give enough time for you; I would re-work through any  schedule if you only would give me a chance. Any kind of displeasure you have  of me I would change it and change it over again till it would honor you.  Anything I did shameful, though I cannot erase, I would rectify and do a  hundred others just so you feel good again.

   Have I broken your heart? Have I bruised you  unintentionally? Have I scoured your feelings? All I have done, and all that I  am willing to do, and everything else there is to; nothing in the world would I  allow to leave not a scratch on you. Mine is not so beautiful as compared to  yours when you smile, mine is not even half alluring as your beautiful  physique; but my heart is pure, and this is my one pride. I know what I feel  for you, and I know that these feelings are true. If anything else fails, if anything  else I am not even a competition to the more attractive world, but I know that no  other soul will love you as much as mine does.

   I did my best, I swear! I trusted you, I had not a single  wrong notion of your being; no, not in the slightest of sense. And in the  greatest of sense, my ever-aching heart longs for your presence, your smile the  most beautiful of all; I ache for you, please, come back home.

Sunday, August 24, 2014
2109 hours

Stages of Grief: 1. Denial


   I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it. This is not  happening to me. It was barely two months and you can’t change your mind too soon. It was only during our second last conversation you said about your comfy zone and I was already thinking along that line. Most relationship ends when both sides got no fighting cause; you didn’t even give me a fighting chance! Any kind of feelings can’t end too soon. It could get deteriorated and finally disappear, but not like this; not overnight.

   I refuse to believe that I am nothing to you. I refuse to belief that all those times were of nothing to you, that you don’t remember the good times; that you’re not affected by the affections we had. Please do not make me remind you that it was you who noticed me.

   It was you who took note of me in my apron with a small stethoscope heading towards the out-patient department that fateful morning, and I was looking at nobody and noticed no one around me. It wasn’t me who was responsible for whatever happened after I accepted that stupid friend request. It wasn’t me who was determined to get me. I never had so much peace, confidence and yet now a breakdown in my life. I never knew I could be so loved, I never knew I could be so rejected by the same.

   What did I do wrong? Where is my mistake? When did I provoke you? Was it something I said? Was it something I did? Or was it something I did not? Was it me? Was it the way I talk? Was it the way I walk? Did I not smile enough? Did I laugh too much? Had I not given you enough attention? Did I neglect you? Was it my busy schedule? Was it my livelihood? Was it my job? Was it my family? Was it just me? Where did I go wrong?

   I believed everything you said, from what you said when you claimed to be busy to the times when you just don’t feel like chatting. And I understand; I force myself to even when I don’t. I trusted you, except when you told me you wanted to wrap things up. My system could just not register that final piece of information. I found it hard to believe you loved me, and now I find it hard to believe that you don’t.

   I refuse to talk myself into thinking that you are a  scumbag, a good-for-nothing bitch who went in and goes out heartlessly. I have nothing but good thoughts of you; I did, and is still doing it. But that is the exact thing that drives me insane. You see, what I thought of you, and what you’re making of me just doesn’t add up.

   I do not want to label this as love because it is just one-sided now, yet I can’t label it as fowl-play. I just can’t get myself to thinking that you are as heartless as it seems to appear. You are but a cruel angel to my hollowed heart.

Dated 12 August 2014
0017 hours

Letter to you



   “If only you could be here, things wouldn’t be as bad as they seem to be. I’d give almost anything for you to be alive today. Now all that’s left is this memory of you, and visit where they lay you, six feet under.”

   Why does the star shine in contradiction to the beauty you emit here when you were with us? Why were those short memories you left felt like relics that just went beyond my ability to excavate from my own lonely mind? When did you ever stop shining? What trouble befell you that you gave way to such horrible retreat? It’s not like you, to walk away in the middle of your absolutely beautiful song!

   I remember the time you and dad were cooking. When the time for supper came, we all had a good laugh as you opened the rice cooker to rice all brown from being burned which turns out that you forgot to pour water before closing the lid to cook. I could recall only a meager amount of memory I’d known you spent with us, and I treasure them as best as I could. Secretly smoking out of either fear of or respect towards dad, which one I did not know, was one funny memory which I, to my surprise, happened to repeat the very same deed.

   It was blissful to hear you active in church after left us. But a couple of years later, it was more than shocking to hear you gave in to intoxicating drinks. I was young back then, and I didn’t understand much of it. So I simply shook the shock away into thinking that it’d be only a temporary phase in your struggles and that you’d be better soon. Now I know I was terribly wrong!

   Life has its demands and toils, I continue to spend most of my days busy with school and continue with college without a single year to break. You’d come to mind once in a while, and I couldn’t wait to finish my studies. The feeling rocketed when I one day, during a vacation in my final year, asked my mom about you and she said the same sad thing which I ever so dread. That was when I made up my mind that possibly with the profession and the skills I require I’d take care of you.

   And one day, after having finished all my college duties, flunked in two papers and waiting for the time I could give my exams again to clear the papers, I asked mom again, and I felt as though my breath itself was ready to leave me. News so old, yet so new, yet so old, yet so shocking! I just kept everything to myself and quietly observed the mental clash between what I heard, what I wished for, and the undeniable truth; death. Mom said it happened a long time ago, that made it even worse.

   I was having this dream, this plan, that even in your worst condition I’d be there as soon as I was capable. Death was never an option; never was, never is and never will be! And I didn’t even know it happened! The funny part that I was mentally bracing myself to the condition I’d see you in was hilarious as you already died, isn’t funny at all! And just to make it worse, you came to me in a dream and told me of your struggles. That took my thoughts away for weeks, and nothing makes it better ‘cause it’s useless information now.

   And every time I get a little lonely, every time I get a little sad, I’d think of you and I’d somehow comfort myself. I’d like to think that you’re now watching me as I stand under the stars on a cold winter night, when the sky is clear and the stars are bright, I’d think of you. And as I’d write this letter to you, I don’t know where to send it ‘cause it’ll just get lost in the blues, as there is no address in the stars.

   The other day parents of a so-called friend of mine told me I looked just like you. That’s when I smiled my best smile and lit up instantly ‘cause the only image of you I recalled was that of your perfect smiling face. I guess I could now try to live my best as having a same name and a same-looking face; I might just be able to live in your stead and do all the good deeds you might have planned to.

Remembering him



May 6, 2012 at 7:41pm

Those who are special, they never go away. They walk beside you everyday, unseen and unheard; still near, still special, still missed and still very dear.

   I have never met him in his lifetime but I felt like I knew him all along.  He was promoted to glory on a date same as today’s (6th May) and on a day like today’s (Sunday). I’d like to think that the moon shone brightly like it did tonight and stars watch over him as the Ancient of days finally decided to take his pain away for all eternity. And even though I’d like to think of myself as his reincarnation, I immediately thought that impossible in all manner of consideration because I was born the same year as he was; just two different happy couples relishing over their new born dream. But then, I’d like to think of him as my spiritual bother simply born to different parents. Even so, I am not ashamed to admit that I am not and will never be as special as he was in all aspect of word, thought and deed.

   Gifted would be just one of the many characters he exhibited during his short but blessed life here on earth. He was nothing short of an artist, be it with a pencil or pen. His written thoughts ever treasured by the ones who missed him most. I take pride in sharing with his writing skills and finding meaning in the songs that we’d listen to. Every aspect of life, even the simplest of word, deed or thought has meaning and beautiful ones too. Talented is another I can think of, not in any other sense but talented in loving dear ones, talented in building relationships, talented in giving happiness, talented in loving his God; altogether very, very special.

   I daresay he had had his moments of weakness in life as a thickheaded, perplexingly stubborn teenager. But why should I consider one minor wrong turn he made when all I can do is cherish the rest 99% of impeccable memory? Could have anyone been so caring? Never running out of beautiful words like ‘I love you’ and ‘Thank you’ wherever he go, never exhausted of words like ‘I am sorry’ and ‘Please forgive me’ when he’d commit minor mistakes. Could anyone be so possibly graceful?

   I guess it’s true what songwriters wrote out ‘The good ones die young’. He is one prominent testament for my ever bold proclamation that ‘we all live the lifetime we are meant to’. He may have been gone for six years now but he is more than alive in all the painful sense in the hearts of the ones he meant most. I daresay he is much more alive than most of us who kept to ourselves, oblivious to the world and the world to us. He is still touching hearts, still changing lives, still giving joy and still bringing tears six years after his corporeal existence.

   I think of the last few month of his time here on earth, and it breaks my heart. Diseased with a viral infection, the medical side of me partly wanders to the possible symptoms–the pain he would have had suffered. He was alone, taking care of the kind of people he once used to be, loving them in all their being–their best and worst part. He was there for the children of the God he loves, but no such child was there for him. His ill and suffering days, when for so many nights he’d have gone to bed in a lot of pain, all alone, aches me to even think of! I can almost see him struggling with the meagre amount of energy he had left, as each day his illness drains the life-force out of him, making him go pale and hurting. He must have remembered that he had a mother and a sister in the medical profession who could have taken care of him the best way imaginable, and must have missed them so badly. Sometimes I even reckon he’d cry in bed albeit quietly, but then I’d chuck the thought away because I want to think of him as a strong person.

   I don’t even know how to start thinking about his last week. You see, he didn’t even get to spend much time in the hospital, he was pronounce deceased soon after. I can only imagine how much he’d suffer without getting any care. Once again, my medical background gives me thoughts like high fever, chills and rigor, convulsions, altered sensorium, delirium, hallucinations; and it gave me no peace at all! Would he have embarrassed himself in his subconscious suffering? I could never picture him messed-up, or screaming in pain, or uttering nonsense. How would he have looked just before he died? I don’t know, but I do know that he need not have struggled to death; he was going home, home to his eternal Father.

   Even then, like all of us locked up in a decaying body sustained by the life-force of our soul, it pains to have to think that his face could not have been as beautiful as it originally was, his body cold and stiff. No more warm smile, no more pleasant vibe, his soul left his body. No more warm ‘hellos’ to greet his friends who came to have one last glance of this prince. Everything has come to a standstill. The clock once again seemed to tick away so slowly and yet so fast. It felt like time has slowed down to prolong the pain of mourning this prince, yet it felt like time was not enough to hold him even for just one long last time.

   The mother who once rejoiced over her special and an only begotten son now wept bitterly with a heart broken beyond comprehension. She thought to herself, and she cannot think straight; so she cried ‘My son, my son, my love’. She remembered the many patients she’d nurse to health, and she is broken because she did not even get to nurse her own son, her own flesh and blood even just for a night. She is hurt, she is angry, she is frustrated, she felt hopeless, and she felt helpless. She wants to scream, tears are too pitiful, unfit to mourn her prince. She is in agony, she is devastated, she is desperate; she is mourning.

   A loving sister deemed useless of her healing talents as she now observe he only brother, finding herself beside his dead body. She finds it too hard, too much. This cannot be! If she could just take back all the hard work she did to every other patient and exchanged it for but just a night to hold her brother in his dying bed. But nothing can make it better, nothing heals, nothing helps and nothing counts.

   Have I told you, that he is beautiful? He has an aura about him that move mountains, and I can tell you this even though I have never met or seen him. He is the same kind of person, that same kind of fussiness, perfectionism, emotional affection and compassion. The last time I went to his place I saw his picture, he is handsome too. There was this nephew of his, a splitting image of his now departed uncle, and I thought to myself, if only he could see his adorable nephew how happy he’d be. And then it broke my heart to see two more kids, a niece and another nephew he would surely have loved beyond crazy, and then I just prayed quietly ‘God, I hope you’re making him see his beautiful nephews and niece’.

   Six years then, and now the hearts of his family are suddenly renewed with sorrow and mourning. They say time is a panacea, that time heals, but truly time is not even that good a panacea for when all those years they have hoped the tears will slowly fade and remember only the good ones, it is but the good ones now that begets the tears in their eyes as if it were the very same day he passed away all over again.

..It’s not like you to walk away in the middle of a song
You’re beautiful song; you’re absolutely beautiful song…