In all my 34 years of living, I have done a few brave things. My friend would argue and tell me that I’ve done a lot of reckless things in my youth, which is different from being brave. Or she would tell me, “Mas matapang ka naman talaga eh.” Or this, my favorite comment at the moment: “Hindi ka naman talaga ‘docile’ eh”. I just laugh at them all because they’re true.
But the bravest thing I have done so far is finally being honest with myself–realizing, accepting, and admitting to myself even though I don’t fully understand all of it and despite being afraid of it sometimes–this pulsating truth that I love you. That I looked for you once, years before, among unfamiliar faces, that those few chance encounters I tried to chalk up to just random and meaningless when I really wanted the opposite, that time stopped for me when I finally saw you again, that I had to will my rabbit’s heart to calm down and just go for it–talk to you and give you that letter. It was many moons ago, but my heart flutters anew at the memory. And probably to top it all of, the bravest thing of all is this–letting you know through what I do best–writing down the whispers of my soul, that I love you, still. ♥
F A I T H is trusting in something or someone without tangible proof that the trust you are giving will pay off. You just know and believe that it feels right to invest your trust even when everyone else around you disagrees and tells you it’s only an illusion, that it’s a crazy childhood fantasy and not worth giving your heart to.
But your soul would never let you rest. The more your heart yearns for it, the more you are emboldened to fight for it. And you are never alone. The Universe / God is cheering you on, showing you the way if you listen to the yearning, believe in the signs, and follow the compass within.
I have never known this kind of faith until I saw you again. Out of all the things you unraveled from me, faith in this love is the best discovery. It has reminded me who I am, what I am made of–stardust, the Universe and infinite possibilities, light. We’re mirrors of the love we have in each other.
And it’s something I continue to treasure and fight for every day. 🌟
You need to be made of sterner stuff, dear, before you can be ready to build a life with someone you love.
Love is not always lounging on a queen-sized bed during the weekends and making coffee the way she likes it. There will be days when the coffee spills and she’s late for work, and nights when you refuse to sleep on the same bed, just to prove a point. There will be times when you’ll do the opposite of what she tells you not to, just to get a rise out of her, and times you’ll be so frustrated with her stoic silence, you’d want to wring her neck.
No one ever said love was easy, but it’s also a rarity to find someone willing to dive into the darkness with you, and glide through the thoughts that cripple, and the words that ruin if you let them. All the things you sweep under the rug and never talk about unless the rug is bunching up already, you can’t hide the dust mound any longer.
I am telling you now, it would be the stormiest night before our dawn And hardships would be twice the load of normal I know all these things before they even come What I want to know now is am I made of sterner stuff? And are you? I would need unlimited supply of patience and compassion to make room for you, To reassure you every day that my love doesn’t end in the words I write, It fights to live in moments when to trust is to risk everything we’ve known And meet the aftermath, hands clasped together But I’m your poison apple, your weakness, they’d whisper into your ear, The one thing that’ll ruin your ambition And with little thought you’d drop me like a hot potato on asphalt I wouldn’t know what hit me before I got up
If you can’t be strong on your own, might as well be content to tell yourself, yes I love her, but I’m not brave enough to build my love a home. Then let go. Release it to the wind. Instead of fumbling around in a playhouse of sticks that crumbles at the slightest pull.
I had a dream. I was reading my poems to you, my face hidden by my leather bound notebook. You were loving me and the sanctity of the moment. You couldn’t seem to keep your eyes away from the light haloing my flushed face. I have never felt more innocent and bold at the same time. I wanted to cup your cheeks with my hands and just gaze into your eyes all night. But you needed to hear my voice. So, I read my poems to you one by one and filled our room with whispers of love and longing, of beauty and hope, of passion and honesty. We both claimed something that was ours and sailed away on calm silken seas, ready to brave tempests together…never to feel lost and alone again. ❤
Ed. July 2, 2019 | Originally written: What now feels like a lifetime ago
She takes off her hat and kicks up small splashes amongst the waves. She inhales long breaths of the sea air, which clear her head. Possibly the ones observing her speculate then about the manner in which delight seems to overtake her and to fill her with the joy of anticipation. And are surprised as she is by her acceptance of her fate. For in the space of time it has taken to walk from the seawall to the sea, perhaps the distance of a hundred yards, she has passed from being a girl, with a child’s pent-up and nearly frenzied need to sweep away the rooms and cobwebs of her winter, to being a woman. — Fortune’s Rocks (Anita Shreve)
I imagine that might be a bit like how I welcomed the waves at sea, sans the part about discovering desire, of course. Mine’s more of recapturing that feeling of blissful freedom every time I reunite with the sea.
It was dark. Whatever bit of light we had came from artificial sources. Even the moon and the stars chose to conceal themselves. The sea was a huge rolling mass of darkness. I was hypnotized by the sound and sight of waves crashing on the shore; I just had to see it all up close. I picked up my slippers and walked to the shore slowly, tentatively, as if every imprint I left on the sand, every step mattered. I skirted dangerously close to the water’s edge, letting small waves lap at delicate feet. The water was very warm and inviting indeed; a contrast to the slightly chilly air. I was excited. A splish, a splash. I kicked my feet playfully, delighting in the feel of both water and sand caressing my feet. I could smell the salt in the air, every breath reinvigorating both body and soul. I was awestruck as I took it all in–the semi-darkness and the rough waves, both a magnificent and terrifying sight. I decided to flirt with danger and be a little adventurous. I ventured a little further, advancing as though I would brave every wave head on, and then retreating when it almost crashes to my knees. I pulled my dress up so it wouldn’t get wet. Then suddenly I felt it–that familiar feeling of pure bliss, as if all my inhibitions fled and I was left standing there for all the world to see–real and vulnerable. I waded a little, splashed a little, laughed and smiled a lot. I almost couldn’t contain it–this love affair with the sea.