A Holiday for Healing

“Never have I imagined that you would be here,” he opened. “Not at a time like this.”

“Do I look like a ghost to you?” I laughed.

“Nah, nah. Of course not,” he replied. “But you act like one, not only to me, but also to everybody.”

He finished watering his orchids and did exactly what I imagined he would do — he fixed his thin, silver hair with only a sway of his fingers, walked through the door even if his feet were covered with mud, and pushed two heavy couches which he thought he can never move around. Usually when he does this routine, he would complain about his backaches, which would worsen after cleaning all the serious mess he has made on the floor. In the end, the job will inevitably fall into my hands.

But today, he was different. He grabbed a wet mop and proceeded with the cleaning. Looking at all the sweat hurrying down his face, I knew he was too exhausted, so I attempted to grab the task by gently wrapping my palm around the handle. He glared at me and continued moving — which was another way of saying, “I don’t need your help, moron!”

The night turned quieter and colder. He exhaled deeply as he shielded his arms with his loose jacket. He handed me a scarf, which I only placed on my laps.

“I didn’t even ask how you were doing,” he said. “My apologies.”

“No need to apologise,” I replied. “Besides, my answer will always be the same.”

“Tell me.”

I stared at him intently and said, “Nights will swallow the days; sweet arrivals lead to bitter departures.”

He sipped freely from his cup of coffee and rested his back on the couch. He did not speak, but I believed he knew what I meant to convey.

My sight began hopping on every bulb of the differently-colored Christmas lights that ran across the walls of the room. The speakers sang the tunes of common Yuletide hymns, albeit in their classical versions. I saw the Tree standing like a tiny, defenseless child being driven into a corner.

“I’m sorry about the tree,” he commented as we walked around it. “It’s been years since I last installed it. Look at all this dust …”

Afterwards, I sat on the floor and examined each box neatly covered with costly wrappers. I shook some of the boxes in an attempt to guess the contents. Most of them I guessed correctly —watches, shirts, earphones, and body essentials. The names of the recipients were individually written on tiny gift notes glued atop each box.

I stood up, walked towards the table, and drank all my lukewarm tea in one shot — just like how I treat cold liquors.

“Your name’s not here,” he said, as he held the two smallest boxes. “I’ve got too many things to apologise for.”

I beamed a smile. “Haven’t I told you before? I don’t expect receiving anything from anybody. Not even from you.”

“I know. It’s always okay for you.”

“And if jealousy and/or envy arise from within me due to materialistic thoughts, I will seal them away … just like what I actually do.”

He then leaned on his couch and shifted it in such a way our eyes cannot escape the force that drove us to continue the conversation.

“You’ve always been different, Josue,” he mumbled. “But your uniqueness makes me sad and enthralled at the same time.”

“Why so?” I asked.

“Because what you have always wanted couldn’t be fit into any of those boxes; they can never be demanded.”

“Is it love?”


“What is it?”

For a moment, he paused as if he was trying to find any affirmation from within his reach over my soul. He slouched, motioning like he had arrived with a very specific answer.

“Healing,” he said.

My mind went blank. I moved silently to divert my attention and proceeded to pour another round of tea into my cup. Some of the tea spilled on the table like a stream of mossy river that led to a green sea near my toes. The cup fell on the floor as my hands instinctively and desperately searched for paper towels.

“You’re always like that,” he continued.

“What?” I replied.

“You’re always like that,” he repeated. “Like a cup of tea — you are often prone to spillage and breakage. And yet, no matter how many times you break, you still try to pick yourself up and look for your missing pieces …”

“And each attempt is a disappointment,” I replied hastily. “And each day is an opportunity to bleed and to nurture hatred.”


“I am a duality of love and hatred.”

He did not reply and appeared to be waiting for what I will be saying next. I finished cleaning all the mess and threw shards into the trash bin.

“Some say that love and hatred are polar opposites. But, in some instances, they can coexist and complement each other.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Every time I try to love, reality further drowns me,” I answered as I sat. “It’s like an ocean that has its own hands to pull me underneath until I can no more breathe. But by the next day, I’ll find myself on the shore, still breathing, having realised that the scars I had have renewed to become wounds—some of which are much deeper or more serious than their precursors.”

For a moment, I stopped. My lips failed to connect more words to the previous ones I uttered. I inhaled and exhaled, as if the air that went in and out of my lungs gave me more courage to speak. I knew he wished to talk, and yet, he remained silent.

“That’s why this one here never healed,” I said, as I lightly thumped my chest. “Because every time I try to love, the pain becomes much worse. And that pain breeds more hatred.”

“I understand,” he replied, as he removed his eyeglasses. “It’s like a part of what you’ve always been saying.”


“”Nights will swallow the days; sweet arrivals lead to bitter departures.””

I smiled and gave my short reply. “Indeed.”

He stood up, grabbed a new cup, and poured tea on it. He carefully placed it on the wooden table in front of me, as if he was encouraging me to invite more caffeine into my system. I nodded and took a sip.

“I must say that you’re right,” I said. “Healing is all I needed; and it can never be demanded. I don’t know whether it can be found through love or through something else, but I’m sure it’s there. It may take a long time, but I know it’s reachable.”

The doorbell rang repeatedly. We both smiled when the voices of the children singing Christmas carols reached our ears. We took our purses, launched ourselves to the gate, and gave the children some coins. I checked my phone and realized that it was already past nine, so I quickly bade my farewell.

“Bye, John,” I said.

“I won’t demand you to return soon,” he replied. “But I wish you’ll have the best of healing this Christmas. Take care of yourself.”

“I will,” I answered.


Love in Pain and Sickness


Today’s Motivation

I would like to omit the word “sometimes” at the beginning of the quote.
First and foremost, this quote is really essential for someone, like me, to understand that there are much better things in life than pursuing a relationship that is about to sink. Saying goodbye is hard, but it is meant to forget someone and totally move-on from the love you once had.



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True Friendship

Photo from what-buddha-said.net

Photo from what-buddha-said.net

Months ago, I began writing one of my unfinished novels, entitled The Butterfly of Winter Plains. I published ten chapters on Wattpad, but  due to subsequent interruptions in my schedule, I decided to unpublish it while having 1000 total number of views.
The story centers to Thaddeus, a foster father of a child, Chen, who soon acquires a rare congenital disease. In Chapter Eight, when Thaddeus encounters his long lost friend, he quotes this:

“There are only two kinds of friends who apparently entered my life:
1. A friend who only knows and understands my sufferings;
2. A friend who sometimes does not understand my pain but still chooses to suffer with me.

“And I won’t mind keeping in my heart those who belong in the second kind.”

Thaddeus’s view of true friendship reflects mine. How about you? For you, what distinguishes a “friendship only” from a true one?


Sueju Takeshi 武

Who Accompanies Love

Photo from londonoa.com

Photo from londonoa.com

This morning I thought of Mr. Alvin Ibalio, my former high school physics teacher — the coolest male teacher I ever had. He taught us optics and a only a bit of mechanics, and then left after our first periodical exam for that academic year after he had applied and been approved for a study leave.

While he was teaching us the concept of light, he told us the story of love and madness. At the end of the long narrative, he said: “[Therefore,] Love is blind accompanied by madness.” I proved this statement to be true because when I first fell in love, I disregarded the facial features of that someone whom I’m in love with, even his bad attitude. Since love is always associated with madness, one gets furious if he or she sees his beloved flirting or entertaining someone else, thus, I got mad and we fought almost everyday just because of that.

What do you think is the basis of his quote and story? Have you found this true in your case?

The Reality of Death

“I was just thoughts, just air. There was nothingness all around me. Was this what it was like to be dead? When you died, did you still sense everything going on around you, only it was happening so far away that you didn’t care about it? You were floating through space and time, and nothing that happened to you mattered because nothing really could happen to you because you didn’t exist?”
― Melissa Kantor, Maybe One Day

Inspite of my hectic schedule, a friend still recommended this book to me … I find this novel a powerful instrument which reminds us of our bestfriends, either living or deceased, and how we chose to sacrifice our own happiness for the other’s sake.

Now back to the quote, the author and I have the same idea regarding death. If you die, you will feel loneliness, either because everyone mourns for you or not. You will feel emptiness because you can’t anymore feel what humans have to feel — the emotions and the senses. It feels like you were just air, something who gets to pass to someone’s life and then, in a snap of finger, you were already gone — a feeling like you never existed at all.