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Seeds from the Ashes


                Nature has her ways to do a facelift. Her course is violent. To create a homeostasis coming from too much carbon footprints needs to have catastrophe. The catalyst brings chaos, the catalyst is chaos and as every night that passes by comes the dawn, just like every storm that brings tranquility also is forest fire to new life. The wheel that governs birth and rebirth must have suffering in between, at worst death. Pain and joy are indeed two sides of the same coin and in this case we always hearken to joy as the consequent and the last. A moment’s triumph is felt in its prime after a monumental struggle. These are inexorable laws of nature and I am bound by such determinism.

                A perfect family does not exist. Error should be an outcome coming from an incapacity that is not willed but allowed since it is beyond control. However, to amply choose the devil’s card as one’s fate, role in life that is one selfless act as it defiles oneself for the wisdom of the other. However, still I am scarred with such mindset but have already seen the light from that willed dark. Where I came to be and grew up is filled with broken bottles, aroma of a brothel, noise of a cockpit and countries that have not yet ended a conflict.

                I remembered the wisdom of my sister and I am deeply affected by her realization for it is also the truth I found. Happiness became our enemy because we never felt it died out in a mere passing of time just like a cup of hot coffee kept untouched. No, it’s a crown given but dethroned a few minutes later. A symphony that was maliciously stopped contrast to a soothing decrescendo. We have been allergic to happiness for the very reason it spelled imminent tumult thereafter. Eating the best part but eventually vomited. Yes! Birthdays were brothels. Social celebrations are no way different. That is why, we never see what it is to be happy in a layman’s perspective.  Social gatherings, events, days of worth have become a stimulus telling us of what disaster predictably and surely will come in no more than a complete blink of a smile.

                From that fire, we learned that there is a kind of happiness beyond conventional occasions. We learned the hard way although be it of an enlightening moment but that stirred us to find our sun as the dark moon dominates. We have greatly learned from out worst experience, but the nail driven to our hearts are not yet removed. We have learned but have not yet forgiven. The scar of being aloof to happiness is a scar we rejoice for we see a higher one, yet we still cannot forgive.

                Is it not exciting that you are told to go to a park, to a beach, to a mall, to a movie, to a random place? How that excitement fades to sadness and in sadness, fear, stress and trauma. Trauma of the scent, trauma of the noise, trauma of thumps and trauma of being to see happiness in a meager way.

                I am now married and my happiness is not centered in imitating the forest fire I came from. The happiness I found is peace, no brothel, no cockpit, no demilitarized zones. The silence enjoyed when being with someone dear. Yes, that is the happiness I came to realize I enjoy. After the noise, I love to hear nothing and see my wife present and not angry. But in this humble realization of a happiness I just found, a happiness of having a family without that huge of a pitiful forest flame has been a stumbling block for me. Again, I have never felt so happy to be with someone that I do not argue as how they’d hellishly argued, nor smelled as how they smelled. Someone that is caring, soft, humble than that of the personalities that I came into traumatic contact with. Yet, with this one, I failed to cater to her needs, the need to fly, the need to see the world. For that is her happiness and I am lax about it, for I still bask the comfort I have found of having this loving peace with her. A peace that I dreamt of when I was still holding my sister away from shattered bottles. I have found my redemption in proving a new world with the canvass given to me and that is not to repeat a history close to memory. Her silence, her presence, her soft voice soothes me and the peace along with it makes me feel complete. But I have been incompetent, negligent of what is to be romantic. I am, my stares, my hugs, my jokes, my annoying tease yes this is the romantic me. A flower may die, but my hug warms and is available until my last breath. A hug I truly needed when I was young, but a hug I really can give to her.


                I am banging my head, teaching myself actually how to be romantic for her not just romantic to her. I am struggling, I am being complacent with the peace I have with her. I understood her needs, I am still trapped. I am to be strong, but my mind is an every battle. The seed is yet to sprout after the flame. It is still in love with the ceasefire it has. Let me grow for her. I struggle. Am I really enough for her? I have been lazy. Still sleeping after the fire.  

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