From Our Readers: To the Girl Who Gives More Love Than What She Owns
Maybe it's in the way he says your name, tranquil and evanescent, in which you find yourself swooning over this man of refined language—both verbal and heartfelt.
But he does not love you. He does not adore you in the way you think he does.
He smiles at you from across the room when he hears an inside joke only you two can understand. He laughs lightly as his eyes meet yours, leaving both of you in a state of hushed laughter and pursed lips, trying to hide what you only call yours.
He quietly sits next to you as you go about your uneventful day. He watches you scan the pages of that one book that makes your heart flutter every time you read it, smiling to yourself, wishing it was you that got swept off her feet in the middle of California. He subtly sits there making short conversations with the people around you, not making a single effort to get your attention; you notice him anyway.
You notice him. You always notice him. Whether he's right beside you watching short videos on Facebook, or across the room talking to the prettiest girl in your class, or meters away as you pass him by on your daily commute to school, you notice him.
But let me tell you, he does not deserve you in the way you give yourself to him.
He doesn't deserve you because when he sees you, he sees nothing else but the image of a girl who laughs at his insanely unfunny jokes and helps him score the number of his dream girl who coincidentally lives next to you. He doesn't deserve you because all he sees is the girl who is there to get him through the day. You are a mere wingwoman, nothing more than a sidekick. You are just his friend for the good times.
But you stayed there, lying down with your eyes gazing out the window, catching a glimpse of the stars and asking why? Why can't he see that you are here, willing to give him so much of yourself? Why can't he love you back?ADVERTISEMENT - CONTINUE READING BELOW
Whenever you look at yourself in the mirror, you are supposed to see the traits you have and love them fully. Instead, you stare coldly at your reflection, pinpointing everything you don't have that you think hinders him from loving you back. You envelope yourself in a blanket of self-loathe and desperation all because of this one boy.
But right now I want you to take a close look at yourself, at everything you have done for your undying love for this man who cannot even look at you straight in the eyes before turning his eyes to the next girl who's willing to submit herself to his lousy flings and 11PM text messages. Is it all worth it? Is it worth it after seeing yourself bend down to the world and its so-known cruelty because of a love you can never call your own? Because of a boy who cannot even see your worth?
Please stop crying at night. Stop pleading and begging and asking the stars to align just for the two of you to meet ways. Stop forcing God to make him yours, for him to suddenly realize his undying love for such a broken and beaten girl. Stop wasting the 23rd hour of each day wishing for him to suddenly come up to kiss your bruises and heal your broken bones. Stop hurting yourself at his expense.
Most of all, stop convincing yourself that he secretly loves you, that in between the platonic high-fives and jokes, noontime dates and favorite songs, he feels the same way.
Because if he did love you, you wouldn't reach the height of hurting yourself just to prove it. So wipe your eyes, remove the dust off your kness, and pick up the dignity you dropped on the floor the moment you laid eyes on him. If he did love you, you would be loving yourself, too.
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Before, sliding over the rainbows
Now, our hearts are bruised
Days once full of love and laughter
Became dawns of forfeited ever after
Smiles that bring ticklish sensations
Turned to cold question and answer
Figuring who would be the next instructor
The queen’s awake
Grappling to the happiness that the sorrow and sadness take
Going back to all the promises he couldn’t make
Poetry #2: YOUR VOICE
When you talk, your voice brightens my days. You provide me comfort in all the little things that you do. Your deep and mellow voice sends a tingling feeling inside me that makes me want to keep you in my life. I love talking to you every time, every day, every night and every minute if I could. You're someone just simply amazing.
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Today, I am sharing my mother's story. I wish my mother was a constant in my life, like an angel who guards you to sleep and comes right there when you called. But angels come back home too, in heaven where they always belonged, and my mother went back a little early. My mother died when I was 13 years old. My last memory of my mother: Letting go when you are not yet ready is a very cruel thing that one has to ever experience. It is a sudden wave of total sadness and desperation crashing into your very core.
On the 28th of July 2013, we went to a resort in Bataan for the employees’ getaway. My parents own a 7-11 franchise, and it had always been a tradition to give their store clerks a get-together every year. I remember very well the last breakfast I had with my mother. The Sunday morning sky was clear and sunny, and the sea was calm and tranquil as we ate our breakfast on a cottage under the tall palm trees. She shared with us a strange dream she had the other night. She dreamt about an unknown woman holding an ice pick chasing her down on a dimly lit street, then she woke up just before the woman could grab her arm. We never knew what that dream exactly meant and now, I wished I never knew its meaning. After breakfast, my family and our employees decided to take a swim at the beach. The day was nice. The morning air may be chilly but the sun’s kiss on our skins gave us warmth. It was perfect. Everything is fine and the tides are low which made it very enjoyable to swim. We swam a little farther from the shore and we stopped to the point where the water reached our shoulders. We were talking about the good things in life and reminiscing the good old days. Those are the things that I’ve always loved about my family because I never had a meaningless conversation with them.
A few moments later, we heard a panicking call for help from one of our store clerks. It was Rachel. She was struggling to keep her head above water. She was already drowning but the odd thing was, she was only a few feet away from us. At first, we thought she was just playing around until we felt the sand in our toes dissolving like powder. It felt like as if the seafloor submerged deeper. I remembered sighting the shore and it seemed so close yet very far away. We were all panicking at that time. No one knew how to swim except my mother so without having second thoughts she swam towards Rachel and called out to my father, “Yung mga anak mo! Dalhin mo sa pampang yung mga anak mo!” and I never thought I already heard my mother’s last words to my father. I was paddling like a dog, gasping for air, as I say a little prayer to God to take us all back to safety. I felt my father grabbing our swimsuits, trying to lift our bodies so we can breathe even though he was also struggling to keep himself alive. Once I felt my toes touch the ground, there came a veil of relief that covered my whole body. As soon as my father and my sister made it to the shore we started calling out for help. There were no lifeguards on duty at that time, no personnel, nor guards. I saw my mother already floating in her stomach. We sighted a boat sailing nearby, we waved our hands and called for their attention. They almost ignored us because they cannot comprehend what we were trying to relay but the good thing was a passenger in the boat noticed my mother and Rachel in the water.
My mother’s body was laid on the shore. She was unconscious and her whole body was pale as white. My father performed CPR but my mother couldn’t get the water come out of her mouth because the food she ate earlier got stuck in her throat and blocked the passage. A concerned tourist offered his car to deliver my mom in a nearby health center or a clinic of some sort since the hospital was miles away from the beach and she needs immediate care. My father told us to stay in the hotel room and prepare mom’s belongings so that if she wakes up she has fresh clothes to change into. My sister and I finished packing our things and waited for our father to pick us up from the hotel. I was crying and I couldn’t stop myself because I was afraid to lose my mother. I couldn’t imagine what my life would be if I lose her that day. Moments lasted until we heard a knock on the door and it was my father, crying, and apologizing to us. He hugged me and my sister tightly and saying, “Sorry, anak, sorry hindi na uuwi si mommy, sorry hindi ko nasagip si mommy”. And that was the moment I felt sinking into the ground. I never knew what to feel at first. I was numb because my worries were now actually a reality that I have to live in. I was at shock because I am now one of the kids in those cliche teleseryes who lost a mother at an early age. We went to the health center to settle everything. The clinic was very small and it sure did lack equipment. He told us to stay in the car. I wanted to see my mom, but I know he never wanted us to see her like that. I didn’t know what to feel. I was having high anxiety levels that my stomach is churning and I wanted to vomit. I got off the car and entered the health center to find the restroom. When I was finding my way around, I passed by the emergency room. I saw my mother lying in a foldable bed, lifeless, her hands dangling from the side of the bed, she has violet bruises on her skin, and her body was partially covered with a white towel.
That is when it sunk into me that she’s dead and never coming back. My father asked the others to just commute back to Manila because what we need right now is comfort from our family. The drive back home was one of the most painful memory I had as a kid. My father was in the steering wheel crying his eyes out. We drove from Bataan to Pampanga. We went home to my grandmother’s house, the nearest house that we can call “home” because how are we still going to be “home” without her?
Once we reached Pampanga, we stopped over to the gas station and my father made some calls to our loved ones to tell them that my mother passed away. He then called my aunt to help him arrange for the funeral. We got home and my grandmother hugged us and told us to get some rest. Already tired of crying, I went to sleep for a while. I woke up and for a second, I thought everything that happened the other day was all just a dream. That she was there in Manila, sitting on the couch reading some furniture magazine, waiting for us to go home. But that’s how cruel life is, right? I got up and weirdly, I felt sands in the bed. It was gray, just like the ones on the beach. I thought maybe it was just dirt but it was a fair amount to believe that maybe she visited us before she left. - ?
- The part of how I conquered the grief of her passing is shared in my personal blog. I felt the need to share my story with everyone since she's the woman I look up to. Feel free to visit my personal blog too when you have the time. I love writing my stories. Thank You! link: http://qkathreece.wixsite.com/kathreecequizon/post/breaking-waves