Bernadette Mayer, from The Way to Keep Going in Antarctica
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@ashleenlb
Bernadette Mayer, from The Way to Keep Going in Antarctica
Grief for my grandmother, 9 years later
My last physical memory of my grandmother was when she was lying in the intensive care unit of St. Luke’s Medical Center in Makati, a tube stuck to a gaping hole in her chest, her hand in mine. I remember the moments leading up to this last moment together, when we were in the waiting area, my cousins and I being brought into the ICU one by one by my mom and Tita. I remember how cold the alcohol felt on my hands as I entered when it was my turn, and how when I got in her room, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I had never seen my Lola so vulnerable and helpless. As I was trying desperately to keep my tears in, she reached out for my eleven-year-old hand, meeting my eyes. I remember the way she looked at me, the life in her eyes betraying her limp body as if to tell me it was going to be okay, that I was going to be okay. I knew then that this was it. When I couldn’t hold in my sob any longer, she squeezed my hand, eyes still in conversation with mine, and I squeezed back. The next morning, when I woke up to an empty space where my mother was supposed to be, I knew.
I knew it when I sat under the cold shower for too long. I knew it when I heard my Tita's car pull up to the garage and I opened the front door to see her, my mom, and my Lolo trailing behind, crying. I knew that this was going to be my first real encounter with grief, and that it was going to be so inexplicably painful, but that it was never going to change the love I had for my Lola and the life I lived with her – that this love was going to live in me forever. Despite knowing the pain of grief, I was still someone who could continue to live and choose love.
Dear random Chinese restaurant in Makati,
on my overloaded bookshelf sits an old, kinda-rusty tissue holder from one of your tables. I’m sorry (not really). It has been sitting there for a couple years now, and recently it has been serving not only as a pretty awful book-stopper, but as a testament of the life I used to live before the world quite frankly went to shit.
I took this tissue holder (without the tissue, of course. I’m not that rude) on one of the many late movie night trips my family was on; we had just finished watching Bohemian Rhapsody when we agreed to stop for food before heading back home. When I look at your tissue holder, I remember the countless movie nights we would reward ourselves with after really long and tiring days. I remember how on some trips, I would be so exhausted from the day I just had that my eyes started feeling heavier than my feet; but even then I felt so light. So glad that at the end of the day, when everyone was heading back home and the malls were near closing and the streets were pretty empty, my family and I were one of the few that waited ‘til the very last minute to see a movie we’d been waiting on for months. The kind of light I felt was powerful enough for me to muster up the courage to grab a sad little tissue holder from one of your tables and tuck it into a hoodie that I borrowed from a friend.
Following the grand tissue holder theft, every time I would pass your restaurant on the way home came a reminder of the feeling only half-full cinemas yet fuller hearts could give me. I haven’t felt this exact experience in a while, but recently, when I would look over at the old silver of this tissue holder, I would find it again. The sleepiness my siblings and I shared, the music my dad would play in the car as we discussed the movie, the soft laughter as we’d recount the day we individually had. This all comes to me in different forms now, but there are days that I just miss this exact thing. I miss it so much that even after months of staying indoors and barely stepping foot outside, I could never forget the lightness of being.
P.S. Your food was okay; and if given the chance, I wouldn’t return the tissue holder. Don’t worry, it’s safe with me.
The things I miss about Everyday
Smiles shared with strangers as we waited for our luck to come in the form of an empty space in public transport, a shared commonality that we all just needed to get somewhere and soon, please. The great sigh of relief upon realizing I had succeeded at being early to class despite the circumstances brought about morning traffic. The different versions of greetings with my friends first thing in the morning; sometimes met with the enthusiasm and excitement that came with an intriguing story or simply acknowledged with sleepy eyes and an eyebrow raise.
Hot, humid afternoons in a cramped cafeteria with a dozen other conversations floating alongside my girls and I, or the stifled laughter in the comfort of the insanely cold library as we tried to dodge the ssshhh from our oh-so mysterious, unfailing favorite librarian. The exchanges that fueled the fire — conversations in class that left me thinking twice, thrice; grateful to be where I was meant to be. Even the meetings after class that required the extra effort and energy only my commitment to contributing could magically give.
I miss the journey home; usually with the same people, sometimes with someone new. The successful, spontaneous trips to the most random places after what felt like the most tiring day on earth — swearing that this would be the last time, on God, that we would ever spend this much money on food. The laughter, the stories, the secrets, the inside jokes tucked safely between me and the people I shared my time with. And the conversations, dear God, the cherished conversations that would always leave my heart feeling fuller than I ever thought it could be.
I miss the traffic I used to curse at, the heat I swore I hated, the quiet walks home that saved me money and served my mind well. The drop of my shoulders as I climb up the few steps that led me home, met with the unrepeated views of the sunset signalling me that I was right on time. And then the exhaustion, the determination, upon realizing I had to get up in the morning and do the same thing again.
May 27th, 2020 (shared to my instagram story from a locked note on my iPhone)
A few months back, I read a passage that stressed the idea that life is programmed to get better. And even if that belief has been said on many occasions this was the one time I really sat with the thought and let it transform me. That there have been moments in my life where I genuinely thought it could not get any worse or better, yet time and time again life continued to prove me wrong. Since then I would continue to come across messages with the same idea, that everything is bound to get devastatingly bad before it gets unbelievably good; that this is simply the way life works. As humans we unconsciously to grasp at anything that gives us hope and reassures us that a bump in the road is literally just that — a bump. That it gets better. So when I came across messages stressing that the hurt is inevitably going to be replaced by something beautiful when I was going through a pretty tough time personally, I took that shit to heart. Absorbed the belief and made it mine, unconsciously manifesting the abundance of greater things that would eventually come my way (and continue to do so!!).
So if you’re going thru it and begin to grasp at straws here’s one I can hand — there is really nothing else to be but better. When you’re at your lowest point there is no other direction to go but up. Trust, even if it’s the toughest thing to do, that everything you’ve ever visualized and intended for is already yours.
Getting to know yourself more through a social media detox
Sometimes, we never really realize the realities of what we’ve been doing until they’re pointed out to us. Before I even came across Thomas Bragg of Yes Theory’s video on social media cleansing, I hadn’t even realized that I spent an average of six entire hours a day on my phone—doing God knows what. That’s equal to me spending a quarter of an entire day on my phone.
Table for one, please: Why it’s necessary to find peace in solitude
We have heard it before that there is a fine line between being lonely and being alone, as people often mistake the two as one and the same, and that the two are mutually exclusive. Being alone is a state of being, the state of being by yourself. Loneliness, on the other hand, is more of a feeling, a feeling of alienation, of not belonging, of not being understood. The tendency to think that being alone begets being lonely manifests in many ways—mostly in the form of being scared of being alone, such as not wanting to be seen doing anything without someone next to you, or always finding the need to be looking busy or on-the-go when you’re by walking yourself.
“The thing about ambition is that we never really know when to call ourselves out and say we’re doing too much. When do we draw the line and say we’ve done enough?” — an excerpt from a note on my phone, written on the 6th of June.
I’ve been mentally drawing up a draft of my college application essay for months now. Constantly bringing up new ideas and old memories to try and figure out what would make the perfect formula for the perfect essay. What should I write about? Do I solely focus on myself or do I write about the people I have learned to love unconditionally? A couple of months of thinking to myself and I still haven’t come up with a perfect answer, no physical draft to work with, no final title.
If I were to be known for something it would be for my capability to write; for my ability to make the most horrible or boring people seem other-worldly as long as I decided I loved them. Over time I have realized that my versatility in writing stems from my ability to feel - from the most beautiful, indescribable feelings to the rawest, most ugly truths; this, I have learned, is both a blessing and a curse I carry in the clicking of my keyboard and the tip of my pen. I wish I could tell you how to deal with the subtle power of words, but I must admit that even now, I still don’t know what to do with it except to write and write and
Write. Which is exactly what I’ve been doing my entire life. Yet as soon as I am faced with the subject for my college essay, everything I have ever known about the written word flies out the window and into the hands of the people that will decide if my words are good enough. And because I am one of the most organized, planned-out-to-the-minute-detail person I know, while I’ve been trying to figure out what it is exactly I want to say in that life-changing essay, I have been simultaneously convincing myself that what is meant to be will be.
Slowly I’ve been reminding myself that sure, we can plan everything out to the tiniest of details, and we can make a list to go over until we have it memorized like the back of our hands, but if things just aren’t meant to happen the way we expect or hope for them to - they won’t. Sometimes the things we want most in the world turn out never to be what was meant for us and that’s okay. If there is one thing I know with absolute certainty it is that tomorrows aren’t exactly promised to us but never fail to keep happening anyway. Yes, you can keep things on schedule if it makes you comfortable, yes, you can keep a checklist of what you need, but leave space for the idea of open arms to whatever it is that life or the universe (or God, if you’re into him) wants for us - remember that you’ve done enough and that sometimes the best thing to do for yourself is to just let things be.
Here’s to figuring out our place in life & letting whatever happens, happen. Happiness is anywhere we want it to be.
The perpetual search for the soundtrack of your life
From the entire plot of Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist by David Levithan, the relationship of Mia and Adam in Gayle Forman’s heart wrenching If I Stay, to the very desire of attending once in a lifetime concerts and music festivals – music, I have found, plays a very beautiful, very important role in our natural crave for human connection. Music has a magical way of making the world seem like a better place to live in.
12th August, 2018 / 19:13
There are different types of love you feel for different type of people. The only way you truly know that your love for someone knows no bounds is when even after proving you wrong time and time again, at the end of the day you still remain their shoulder to cry on. When even after hurting you over and over again, your faith in them to be a better person never wavers. This faith is hard to let go of. Especially when it was something you stood by, something you firmly believed in to be true because it just had to be, right? Because anyone can be a better person. Anyone can change. But sometimes you have to let that faith go. Sometimes life really is shit and sometimes people really are just toxic. And this is not your fault, this is not your responsibility. It isn’t your responsibility to have so much faith in someone to be better that you end up black and blue in the process. Cut yourself some slack. Save yourself the hurt. You can only love someone so much.
a life lesson in the form of hurt
I believe that everyone has to go through some sort of life changing experience to mature and become the person they're truly meant to be. Let me give you some context.
For about a year and I half, I found myself experiencing this one type of bliss with someone; and when you're stuck feeling only one type of happiness with only one person, you forget how other types of happiness feels like. And while that may seem safe and enough, it isn’t. It won’t be.
I stayed grounded to only one constant I thought I would never lose, and that is one of the biggest lessons I learned not to do. Before you rely on anyone else to give you happiness, you have to be sure of yourself first. You have to love and prioritize yourself first. So that if this one constant you thought you'd never lose does leave, you can always come back to yourself. Because you're always going to be all you've got. No one knows you better than you, and that is your power.
Listen, I can't lie to you. I can't say I was truly satisfied feeling just one kind of happiness because I wasn't. And I missed being happy by myself, I missed being happy with my friends. I knew I was going down a path I didn't want to take and despite always having one foot out the door, I never made the last push I needed to put myself first, to just get up and leave.
I don't blame anyone for ultimately ending up hurt in the end. I was going to learn and it was going to be the hard way.
I read a tweet once that said, "If I were given the chance to go back to the past to give my old self advice, I wouldn't. She'll live." and while at first I couldn't understand how you wouldn't be willing to save yourself from being hurt, I see what she meant now and I agree. If I could go back to the past to give my old self advice, I wouldn't. Because without all the past hurt and sadness I felt and experienced, I wouldn't be the person I am now. I had to go through all these messy feelings of anger and hurt and betrayal to learn to love myself like how I do now.
A few months ago, the universe gave me a lesson in the form of hurt and heartbreak. And even though for awhile it really didn't seem clear to me where to go from there, I accepted my diamonds wrapped in barbed wire with grace. I nurtured it, hugged the wires and cared for it as much as it hurt. And slowly, after letting myself bleed from the hurt, the wire fell away and showed me the beautiful, irreplaceable gift the universe gave me — the art of self love.
I see it now, universe. I've never been so thankful to have felt so hurt and broken if it meant it would lead to this. If being hurt would mean leading to the art of self love and reliance, happiness with myself and my solidarity, I would go through it again and again if it meant leading to becoming this better version of myself.
To you, reading this: If the universe gives you hurt, take it with grace. Let it change you. Even if the reason may still seem a bit blurry and unclear, believe that bad days will always lead you to better days.
Here's to taking loss and change in stride. Write you again soon.
You touched my heart💗thank you for amazing thoughts.
Thank you, words like these are what keep me going.
Have you forgotten what it feels like to feel?
I am no longer in denial of the fact that I haven’t been writing. Neither am I in denial that writing is the only thing I have to offer to the world/worlds, universe/universes.
And I can’t deny either how wretched it has made me feel. Worthless, stuck, frustrated. I’ve got to get over this hump. I have something I want to tell you.
It’s been a long time coming.
An attempt to reflect on life so far, here’s TSC volume three.
Time doesn’t change things, you do
When you take time to see how you were doing a year or even a couple of months from now, there is always that moment of realization that so many things have changed; whether you wanted them to or not. Sometimes, it’s even you that changes.
Alas, it’s always up to you to choose good change or bad.
March 19th, 2017 / 01:12
I didn’t realize how deeply I’d fallen with you until I found that you were always on my mind. Stay, love, you are more than welcome.
I didn’t realize how deeply I had fallen in love with you, my love, until I listened to you tell me you loved me without expecting me to say it back. Until you kept saying it even if I was scared to say it back. Until I finally did and your eyes looked so bright and your smile took my breath away and you asked me if, “really?” because really, love, really I do.
I didn’t realize how damned in love I was with you until I got close enough to really look at your eyes and realize they were my favorite color, the best damn pair of eyes I’ve ever seen. Until we held hands and I realized how I only felt this safe with you. Until we told each other things we’ve never thought to say aloud.
I didn’t realize how happy I was that I was falling in love with you until we touched foreheads and we kissed and I felt as if the entire damn world - all 7 billion of it - was on my side.
back in Baguio (November 2016)