It’s 3 in the morning. I pleaded 5 more minutes to stay on my bed but my alarm was telling me to get up, “it is time to leave!”
It has been like this since I was sixteen, since I started university. I guess I am not really supposed to stay. . . I don’t know, to be honest.
All I know is that every time I leave, I feel this lingering feeling, something more than sadness. It’s probably because of wistful goodbyes and the thought that I might not have any space when I return. It’s probably the thought of alienation, of not recoginising home anymore.
But, this is my life now. I chose this path in hope that in my journey, home will find its way in my heart wherever life will take me.
Old friend, I hope I told you that you hurt me when you never said a word after you disappeared. I had a lot of what ifs and I didn’t know how to answer all the questions bugging in my head. You made me feel like I could be disposed easily and I meant nothing to you at all.
But, time took care of everything, and I realized that you were never meant to stay and I was never meant to linger anymore.
Old friend, I hope I told you I liked you (loved you?). I liked you because you showed to me that sunflowers are beautiful and fire trees radiate. . .
I liked you because you love my God.
But, I guess God separately planned greater things for us. Everything was supposed to happen and everything worked perfectly fine.
Old friend, I hope I told you that I waited for explainations when you first messaged me after years! I waited for you to give me answers and probably an apology.
But, I did not receive any. You came back casual. I wanted to cry because I was frustrated yet I held my tears and realized you were not worthy even a drop of my tear.
Old friend, I hope I approached you when I saw you having dinner last night. But i knew I would never speak to you again.
Old friend, thank you for letting me learn that love is not for a shallow heart. You are also a lesson.
This would be the last time that I would write something for you. 🙂 I am moving on, finally.
2018 was all about answered prayers. Who would have thought I would be able to enjoy the job that I did not even ask. Who would have thought that broken relationships with old friends would be mended. Who would have thought that I would spend holidays with my mother after a decade of being apart. Who would have thought that I would be right here in my hometown, spending new year’s eve marvelling of what God has done in my life!
I am thankful for 2018 not because it was an easy year, to be honest I guess it was the toughest so far, but I learned a lot.
I learned that there is victory in waiting on God’s perfect timing. My job is one of the many victories I am enjoying because I waited for God’s best. I waited for His provision and deliverance.
I also learned to face rejections and not to give up on people even it is too painful. 2018 taught me that broken relationships are the worst but I could fight for what I wanted to keep.
I learned that it is okay to welcome new people in my life as well. I would say that I am always scared of new beginnings ( quite ironic coming from me) but tbh, meeting new people is one of my challenges in life. I am afraid that I would not get the same energy and devotion I am giving to my newly-found-friends. But, 2018 taught me that in building friendships I must try even though I might get rejected and ignored. I think, I have seen more grace in 2018. 🙂
Lastly, the most important lesson that I am still learning is to love without expecting something in return. I realized in 2018 that when you love you must humble yourself and “deny yourself and carry the cross.” Loving selflessly is really hard for me, it is probably impossible to be honest. However, I am praying to show love not just for kind people, not just in convenience and in easy roads. I pray to show love for difficult people that I may share grace.
Thank you, 2018, for the lessons.
I fantasized romance. I read, watched and heard too many love stories. I imagined my love story would be something more passionate, something worthy of all the time I waited for you.
But, I realized that I want to become more worthy of you. I want to cultivate myself in becoming virtuous in your sight and in the sight of the Lord.
I want to learn compassion. I want to have eyes like Jesus- to see the needs of others and be selfless enough to extend help. I want to learn generosity, a kind of heart that gives and loves without expecting in return. I want to learn calmness in the midst of trials knowing that God is in control. I want to learn humility that I have nothing to boast except the cross. I want to be always delighted in Christ.
And when you finally arrive, when we finally found each other, I can still be independently strong, being still in the Lord and not in you. I hope when we have each other I can still plant my own daisies and flourish them with grace.
I hope I will become more beautiful in the eyes of God as I experience the man I waited for in my life. I hope I am willing to take risks and never be afraid to give everything to you. I hope I will never get tired to listen to your stories and be always present in your small or big victories in life. I hope I will also become the shoulder that you can lean on.
Until the day we meet . . .
I am scared. I am scared firstly, of getting used to talking with you, of having a conversation in the middle of the night and of speaking my mind freely to you. I am scared that I might get conversationally attached if that thing even exists.
I am scared that you won’t listen to me anymore and you won’t respond to my questions.
I am scared that I am only a past time, a convenient friend at your convenient time. Or probably, I am not a friend at all.
I am scared because I am starting to develop a sense of care, of passion and emotions to you. I am scared because you have become one of my constants and I don’t want to lose you anymore.
I am scared that you might be just like my other friends, who would leave in uncertainty.
Please tell me I can trust you. . .
My heart is breaking
. . . When I reflect on what I have become
. . . When I celebrate pride instead of humility
. . . When I curb in my comforts instead of extending my limits
. . . When I enjoy solitude rather than building relationships
. . . When I compare rather than encourage one another
. . . When my dreams become practical rather than extraordinary
. . . When I nurture brokenness rather than rejoice in the light
. . . When hate becomes apathy rather than forgiveness
. . . When trials look like punishments instead of lessons
. . . When faith becomes an emotion rather than truth
. . . When victories become pride rather than testimonies
. . . When a blessing feels like my good works rather than grace
. . . When sin becomes usual and obedience becomes hard
. . . When kindness becomes subjective rather objective
. . . When love becomes expensive instead of free
. . . When cross becomes symbols instead of redemption
. . . When redemption becomes a history rather than the gospel
. . . When Christ becomes an option instead a whole part of my existence.
My heart is cruel even evil and apart from Jesus I am nothing but a filthy rag.
Isaiah 64:6 KJV
 But we are all as an unclean thing , and all our righteousnesses are as filthy rags; and we all do fade as a leaf; and our iniquities, like the wind, have taken us away.
I am missing home.
I remember white morning glories on the alley of a convenient store. Flowers bloom as the sunshine strike at 7 am.
I remember walking home on a warm summer afternoon. Looking at a purple sky and a peaceful sunset.
I remember lying on a dim pavement street, staring at the milky way. I remember crickets and chirping birds.
I remember the sound of raindrops and the cuddle mornings. I remember home feels like the smell of my father’s hot chocolate.
It’s two in the morning. We just finished a bottle of white wine and a dozen of stories. I included myself in the circle of adults sharing experiences. There were six of us that broke the late night silence of the living room. Loud laughters and happy memories were remembered.
Everyone exuberantly narrated their own stories as their eyes litted up in nostalgia. It was like a never ending narration of experiences. They shared insights and wisdom. Some shared lessons. While, others opened their ears in listening.
I deliberately listened to them. Their voices were full of emotions trying to convey the exact feeling they had with the event back then. Their faces looked tired as the night gets late, yet everybody seemed hyped.
One started to stand. “We’re going to a party,” he implicitly asked our consent. “We better get going,” someone added. We cleared the table, fixed the sofas, then went our own way.
It’s two in the morning. I am going to go to bed.
I can’t sleep. More than my anxieties, the noise outside the balcony keeps me awake in the middle of the night. I hear different stories as I unintentionally listen to some acquainted voices. I close my eyes as the smell of the cigar intoxicates me. I tightly hug my pillow, hoping to find comfort in chaos. Then, their voices fade in the darkness of the night sky.
The rain started to pour on my way to Chinatown. The thunder was loud. The streets were wet. People were hastily getting off the street as they hid themselves to the small canopies of the stores, enough to keep them dry.
I did not mind the rain. Instead, I happily walked around with splatters on my shoes. I searched for nothing in particular. I entered to different shops while my eyes wandered. I found stores selling dried leaves for tea, dried fish, and dried meat. I saw vendors selling Asian fruits like Durian and Jackfruit. Souvenirs were displayed and items were offered cheap. It would have been nice to have bought something, but my eyes were full, my feet ached sore. The rain subsided. I left the place telling myself, “it is time to write.”