Learning from Miseries
The nights of early October are weird. Few classes, no activities, no companions, no money. Well, I actually never cared, not until the day I found myself thinking deeply while standing in front of jeepneys marching from Dalahican to PN or San Antonio, buses blowing their horns in might, and different faces of worried people. Something in them just hit me hard to make me ask, “wala pala talaga akong kasama.”
It was my saddest face for that month. In fact, I already wrote a poem that shows my sorrow of being left alone on one of that month’s first nights. That thought I inscribed in the poem is something special. It brags about my – now broken – insensitivity to loneliness. I went home teary, and in deep thoughts.
My capability to do complex things alone makes going back to my house easy. I am born with that personality. I love the fact that I am a certified LONER. I love being naïve. I even love to keep my hurting away from other’s knowledge. These reasons made me find it odd when I cried about that one-time loneliness. Perhaps, it is my other emotional characteristic: my love of nostalgia.
People around me know, at least, my good memory skill. It is so good that I can manage to remember events that happened to me even in my pa-dede days. I always remember them. And remembering such stuff “always” gives me a problem or two, especially on my relationship with others. I am NOSTALGIC. I am afraid that my often-reminiscent attitude would give me more problems in the future.
After thinking a little more, I suddenly realized that the combination of frequent reminiscence and being used to loneliness is troublesome. I am right: it is an epic conflict for my case.
It is painful when your friends (congratulations to me for finding the real definition of friendship) leave you when you are finally attached to them. I found loneliness sorrowful. And its pain kills.
***
I arrived home from school. I know it was not late at night.
Our house’s main door is locked. I stayed calm (as always) and quietly entered the house via its back gate. I asked my mother why our door was shut that way. She replied that thieves and robbers are at large nowadays. Okay, I got the point. I asked her again “why lock it three times?” – the main knob, and two other locks are fastened tightly.
She did not return an answer. It was just fine to me… until I reached my room, finally taking in that its door was also locked, while its key was left beside my bed. I grumbled. I told my mother that there are no reasons in locking up my room, but she insisted that it was because of the roaming thieves and robbers, including all of our squatting neighbors. I then told her that it is okay for me if those people enter my room (because I know that there is nothing to rob in my room on the first place), and she replied that my reason is senseless.
Abruptly, my thoughts were filled with hate – hate with insecurities. I was maddened by the reason on why our house’s main door, and even my own room, is tightly locked, considering the time I arrived and my rights for that sweet and easy entrance to our house. Her distrust to anybody limits ease and comfort, even in our relationship as a family.
How I wish she could know that her disbelief makes other people hate her.
From that, I learned that INSECURITY is synonymous not only to lack of confidence, but also to lack of trust to others.
***
This is life. Problems and conflicts are not always happening at random. They also happen based on how you deal with your personal thoughts, happenings, and decisions. Sometimes, the conflicts reside in your own over-/incapability to manage emotions and assumptions.
Refrain from learning to think one-sided, to promote being judgmental, and to decide selfishly. Balancing things out is as important as your life. Take a deep breath, and plunge into the reality of living in accordance with others.
The nights of early October are weird. Few classes, no activities, no companions, no money. Well, I actually never cared, not until the day I found myself thinking deeply while standing in front of jeepneys marching from Dalahican to PN or San Antonio, buses blowing their horns in might, and different faces of worried people. Something in them just hit me hard to make me ask, “wala pala talaga akong kasama.”
It was my saddest face for that month. In fact, I already wrote a poem that shows my sorrow of being left alone on one of that month’s first nights. That thought I inscribed in the poem is something special. It brags about my – now broken – insensitivity to loneliness. I went home teary, and in deep thoughts.
My capability to do complex things alone makes going back to my house easy. I am born with that personality. I love the fact that I am a certified LONER. I love being naïve. I even love to keep my hurting away from other’s knowledge. These reasons made me find it odd when I cried about that one-time loneliness. Perhaps, it is my other emotional characteristic: my love of nostalgia.
People around me know, at least, my good memory skill. It is so good that I can manage to remember events that happened to me even in my pa-dede days. I always remember them. And remembering such stuff “always” gives me a problem or two, especially on my relationship with others. I am NOSTALGIC. I am afraid that my often-reminiscent attitude would give me more problems in the future.
After thinking a little more, I suddenly realized that the combination of frequent reminiscence and being used to loneliness is troublesome. I am right: it is an epic conflict for my case.
It is painful when your friends (congratulations to me for finding the real definition of friendship) leave you when you are finally attached to them. I found loneliness sorrowful. And its pain kills.
***
I arrived home from school. I know it was not late at night.
Our house’s main door is locked. I stayed calm (as always) and quietly entered the house via its back gate. I asked my mother why our door was shut that way. She replied that thieves and robbers are at large nowadays. Okay, I got the point. I asked her again “why lock it three times?” – the main knob, and two other locks are fastened tightly.
She did not return an answer. It was just fine to me… until I reached my room, finally taking in that its door was also locked, while its key was left beside my bed. I grumbled. I told my mother that there are no reasons in locking up my room, but she insisted that it was because of the roaming thieves and robbers, including all of our squatting neighbors. I then told her that it is okay for me if those people enter my room (because I know that there is nothing to rob in my room on the first place), and she replied that my reason is senseless.
Abruptly, my thoughts were filled with hate – hate with insecurities. I was maddened by the reason on why our house’s main door, and even my own room, is tightly locked, considering the time I arrived and my rights for that sweet and easy entrance to our house. Her distrust to anybody limits ease and comfort, even in our relationship as a family.
How I wish she could know that her disbelief makes other people hate her.
From that, I learned that INSECURITY is synonymous not only to lack of confidence, but also to lack of trust to others.
***
This is life. Problems and conflicts are not always happening at random. They also happen based on how you deal with your personal thoughts, happenings, and decisions. Sometimes, the conflicts reside in your own over-/incapability to manage emotions and assumptions.
Refrain from learning to think one-sided, to promote being judgmental, and to decide selfishly. Balancing things out is as important as your life. Take a deep breath, and plunge into the reality of living in accordance with others.
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