saying goodbye is not easy. it gets harder to say goodbye as the relationship grows. in mathese, saying goodbye's difficultness grows proportionally to the depth of the relationship.
just stating the obvious here for the sake of my clarification.
as an missionary kid, third culture kid, international kid, i have had maybe too much experience in saying good byes. saying byes are damn easy. you wave, you hug, you shake hands, smile, and walk back. saying good byes are damn hard. how can a bye be good? is it possible to say a good bye?
most of the byes i said aren't good at all. i couldn't say sorry, forgive me, i forgive you, i love you before they left and walked out of my life. i wasn't able to say the truth when it counted the most, where it would leave a long impression.
because of this, i settle for simple byes. most of my life. classmates from my small international school. fellow mks. i go for the simple byes, mostly because i can't handle the goodbyes.
"i'll see you again. so don't cry. why are you crying if we are going to see each other again?"
this is what i say. this is what i tell myself. this is the half truth half lie that i tell myself.
sometimes it is true. i am going to see them again. sometimes it isn't. they're gone and that's that. emails and facebook is just not the same as the time you spent together.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Friday, January 2, 2009
Thoughts On Sleep
People sleep. A lot. Some sleep too much, other sleep too little.Some fall asleep after a heavy meal, in front of the television or within five minutes of laying in bed (If you nod your assent for all three you probably have sleep deprivation). Sleep is essential. Without it, we cannot function our best. They say that lacking a lot of sleep is similar to being drunk. You can't walk, talk coherently. You can't function at all.
So, why can't I sleep? I can't fall asleep, stay asleep and sleep when I need to. It's currently 2:46AM and needless to say, my room is the only one in the neighborhood with the lights on. (Actually I had to turn them off in case I wake up my parents and in turn, wake up the house with their (too) expressive concerns).
I began this night the same as any other night. I set myself into my 'relaxed mode' in which I did little high activity things: taking a shower, solving math problems, washing dishes etc. I did only low activities: reading in bed, eating, drinking. So my body was slowly easing itself into a non-working state.
Then I lay (laid, lie?!) in bed, reading till I think I'm ready for bed. At about 11PM, I stack my book on the book table next to my bed, turn the lights up, set the fan timer and slip under the cool covers. I lie in bed. I pray to God. I think about my past. My future. Unable to just lie there, alternately covering and uncovering my body to cool/warm myself, I get up and stick my iRiver earphones in my ear. I set it to a low-mid volume level and turn on Death Cab for Cutie's latest album, Narrow Stairs.
I lay there, sometimes tuning myself in to the lyrics, sometimes focusing on the bass or the soft piano. The catchy haunting melodies. I keep my body absolutely still and straight for the last 3 songs, to lull myself to sleep. No. I cannot. It is 1AM.
I get up, pee, sip some water and look for something to do. I start to read my favorite, Dr. Paul Brand's book, The Gift of Pain. I read the familiar chapters, eagerly absorbing the material on the strange connection between pain and leprosy. I grip my eyes on the book, forcing myself to keep reading. I don't want to look at the clock and see time go by, and myself still not falling asleep. At last I can't stand it any longer. It's 2:25AM.
At last, I start writing. Writing has always been the outlet. I've kept journals, or little writing notebooks, as I like to call them since I was a little elementary kid. The first notebook was a free scheduler from Cebu Airlines. It came with a yellow pen which I would faithfully write down important dates and happenings. I assume from those writings that hamsters, Dodong and Neneng, were very, very important to me.
I've had slim notebooks. Spirals notebooks. The latest, a soft leather-bound notebooks with Bible quotes and other saintly quotes interspersed throughout the pages. Crimson lines keep words in line, and a dark red cloth keeps my place. The deep marigold and blood red colors cover the soft book. It lays next to my bed, in case I get any epiphanies or need a quick place to spill my guts.
It's 2:59AM. No sleep yet. Maybe rest comes with the dawn, not with a bed.
So, why can't I sleep? I can't fall asleep, stay asleep and sleep when I need to. It's currently 2:46AM and needless to say, my room is the only one in the neighborhood with the lights on. (Actually I had to turn them off in case I wake up my parents and in turn, wake up the house with their (too) expressive concerns).
I began this night the same as any other night. I set myself into my 'relaxed mode' in which I did little high activity things: taking a shower, solving math problems, washing dishes etc. I did only low activities: reading in bed, eating, drinking. So my body was slowly easing itself into a non-working state.
Then I lay (laid, lie?!) in bed, reading till I think I'm ready for bed. At about 11PM, I stack my book on the book table next to my bed, turn the lights up, set the fan timer and slip under the cool covers. I lie in bed. I pray to God. I think about my past. My future. Unable to just lie there, alternately covering and uncovering my body to cool/warm myself, I get up and stick my iRiver earphones in my ear. I set it to a low-mid volume level and turn on Death Cab for Cutie's latest album, Narrow Stairs.
I lay there, sometimes tuning myself in to the lyrics, sometimes focusing on the bass or the soft piano. The catchy haunting melodies. I keep my body absolutely still and straight for the last 3 songs, to lull myself to sleep. No. I cannot. It is 1AM.
I get up, pee, sip some water and look for something to do. I start to read my favorite, Dr. Paul Brand's book, The Gift of Pain. I read the familiar chapters, eagerly absorbing the material on the strange connection between pain and leprosy. I grip my eyes on the book, forcing myself to keep reading. I don't want to look at the clock and see time go by, and myself still not falling asleep. At last I can't stand it any longer. It's 2:25AM.
At last, I start writing. Writing has always been the outlet. I've kept journals, or little writing notebooks, as I like to call them since I was a little elementary kid. The first notebook was a free scheduler from Cebu Airlines. It came with a yellow pen which I would faithfully write down important dates and happenings. I assume from those writings that hamsters, Dodong and Neneng, were very, very important to me.
I've had slim notebooks. Spirals notebooks. The latest, a soft leather-bound notebooks with Bible quotes and other saintly quotes interspersed throughout the pages. Crimson lines keep words in line, and a dark red cloth keeps my place. The deep marigold and blood red colors cover the soft book. It lays next to my bed, in case I get any epiphanies or need a quick place to spill my guts.
It's 2:59AM. No sleep yet. Maybe rest comes with the dawn, not with a bed.
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