Once upon a time somewhere in Metro Manila, PhilippinesâŚ
Itâs two oâclock in the morning on April 15, 2024, Monday. Iâm on here writing my feelings again, because I cannot afford therapy. Iâm feeling nauseous â not pregnant, not that thatâs anyoneâs business but mine. I wrote that as a ânote to self.â
I remember a Ken I had a winter fling with back in early 2022. A guy who lost his mother and who said he was OK soon after. He was able to shake off the grief so easily. Or so he says. Iâm not quite sure if that is part of his seminarian training or him projecting a macho man image or just his personality. He also was very interested in simulation theory. An old acquaintance of mine observed that he had the same look about him as my ex-husband. I must have a type. But the weirdest thing about all that? He and my ex-husband coincidentally have the same American hometown. Itâs a small world after all, I guessâŚ
How is it that some people can shake off grief like that? Or do they just say that? Meanwhile, they lie awake most nights grieving still. Who knows, right? What I do know is that going back and forth through all the theorized stages of grief is what Iâd mostly done since coming back to the Philippines last November. I gave up my life in the States and gambled that someone I care about (because I care a lot â no, I care entirely too much) somewhere here in the Philippines would also go all in, catch my fall, and help me right back up. Thatâs not what happened. I kept swimming in the shallow parts of the water and flailed about and flapped around when my feet couldnât touch the bottom anymore. I craved healing. I craved saving. But theyâre not anything I could get my hands on in such isolating circumstances as the eldest child and daughter who has always been the one doing the healing and saving. Ang hirap maging panganayâŚ
Time is precious, and itâs slipping awayâŚ
Time is precious, alright. And thatâs why I came back here when I did. Because I know thereâs no turning back time and I wanted to be with my younger loved ones. I truly just want to spend the rest of my life â however short or long â with them. But how do I do that without the means to make a living here? How do I do that with my dual citizenship status in limbo? I feel my brain draining every moment that passes that Iâm unable to work, support, help, or give. I do try to savor and stay present in those moments of lightness and love. Love, though, is not enough. Love alone is not going to magically put food on the table or pay the electric or water or phone or internet or gas bills or buy milk or diapers or clothes or soap or any of the daily essentials of living. Perhaps in an ideal simulated world, love would be enough. But not in this realityâŚ