The past few weeks have been filled with dread.
The atmosphere was chock-full of anxiousness. On top of org work, students had to deal with the heavy weight of midterms–students were frantically finishing papers and studying for exams. The amount of stress could be seen in the large consumption of coffee and energy drinks, the furrowed eyebrows, and the eye bags. While these were the little signs that could be seen in public, I can’t help but think of what lies behind the façade. I had never seen so many people break down than in those weeks leading up to midterms and during midterms itself. Today, it remains unsettling and troubling; many people, myself included, found themselves being pushed towards the end of a tunnel, and it looked like the light was disappearing from view.
The mind was filled with dark thoughts. Thinking about one’s mortality seems to have become a pastime and distractions were more than welcome. It was only during moments of privacy that one allowed their walls to come down, and it was only during moments with their loved one that they shared their burdens–this I have been a witness to. Those moments are never easy to bear. They seem to stretch on forever, not because of the length of their stories but the depth of their suffering. It’s the heartache that you feel when they share how challenging it is for them to wake up; it’s the tears that never seem to stop flowing when they tell you that they sometimes hate what they see in the mirror. Because you’d never want to see them hurting. Because you’d never want to see them in pain. You find yourself pleading with them, please, please, don’t let me see your body deprived of life. Please, don’t let me see your beautiful soul marred with cuts and bruises. Please, live a long and happy life.
On the last day of school before holy week, I was able to go home to my province, and I found myself perusing old photos of my lola and lolo on my father’s side. These were photos from the sixties to nineties and, my god, they were so incredibly young. My lola, in particular, was radiating with beauty and energy. I could hardly believe that the person I saw a few months ago, with grey hair, a slow walk, and a tender laugh, was the same woman in the photos. I was moved to tears; I have seen this woman make the most out of her life despite the obstacles and emotional stress that were thrown in her direction. I wish with all my being that those who find it such a pain, such a task to live each day and to build relationships with strangers and to speak up for fear of rejection, that they re-discover the strength they’ve had all along–the strength to embrace every new day, to open up their vulnerabilities, and to ask for help.
These encounters have taught me to bask in the presence of every person I deeply care about; to ask them, “How are you?” as much as I can and to pay close attention to their stories, no matter how trivial they’ll make it seem. They have taught me to appreciate the joy they bring into my life, and to remind them of so once in a while. They have taught me to hug a little tighter and a little longer; to capture the small moments–the way they smile, the way their eyes light up, the way they way bite their lip in confusion or in thought, the way they raise their eyebrows sneakily, the way they talk and laugh; to memorize them and to thank them for being alive. I encourage others to do the same.
To you whom I love: You are not alone.
