I was told that love requires patience in waiting.

Not the kind of waiting that easily falters and loses hope,

For that is not waiting at all.

It is not what the heart clings onto too easily,

Mindlessly attaching to romanticism’s end of the rope.

Love is not rooted in the captivity of lonely ideas and sentiments,

Which is mistakenly called as being “madly in love”—

It never does. It sounded more like desperation.

Love is not being enamored,

Letting the intoxicating, dangerous nature of infatuation fill an unloved heart.

Rather, love is simply an addition to one’s wholeness and assurance,

Sparing from the notion that romancing heals brokenness and insatiability.

My heart revolves outside the world of hopeless romantics,

For I know that love, just as Christ displays, is anchored in hoping and believing.

I, too, was told that love consistently sees his lover as one appreciates flowers.

As they are planted, they will blossom.

Their leaves and petals bud into florets,

Until they are fully grown, to whether stay still in the garden,

Or chosen to be a prospect in a bouquet.

One who admires these flowers recognize their worth and beauty

from when they begin to sprout,

Up until they are arrayed exquisitely to be a bunch of flowers,

Ready to be clasped by someone’s hands.

Or even when they wilt, browned to time and pressing,

When they become disfigured from their truest form—

Appreciation never ceases.

You adore flowers for what they are, beyond their given span to bloom, to charm,

For they are mortal beings— bound to die away in their appointed due.

You cherish them for when they are both in bloom,

Until there comes such a time they have bygone their splendor.

When I finally love someone,

I will delight in them just as I would with flowers.

I was told, moreover, that love resembles protecting a plant from weeds.

Here are the things I should do:

It is a must for a plant to be fed enough daily, to hinder itself from drooping and wasting away;

It should be fended off from elements that potentially destroy;

The plant needs to be weeded off of unwanted sprouts;

I should make sure that Mr. Sunshine’s rays cast its light upon it—

I ought to do absolutely everything that I can.

Still and all, I was ordered to get my understanding right to its context—

Only guard it when the love is proved to be true.

For when it’s not, it is just best to leave it on the vine.

Why give it what it needs when there’s no guarantee of how long it will last?

I had been endlessly reminded that love is replacing the same word,

With a person’s name in 1 Corinthians 13’s definition of Christlike love.

Even though I haven’t met the man yet,

Let alone have gotten a clue of the question, “Who?”

But surely, someday, a man’s name will be resembled

To one of the most beautiful things ever written or known in the Scriptures— love.

It says, “Love is patient, love is kind.

It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.

It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking,

It is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.

Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.

It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails.”

To give one’s heart to someone whose heart echoes the love of Christ,

Seems the best decision to ever do—

For Christ Himself demonstrated us His love, unconditionally.

So many other things I had been told about loving someone,

And they all knit together, appearing to be reasonable and sound.

By the time these doors are opened to finally let somebody in,

Then it is the right moment to pass on to those who are after me,

What I was told about love.

i. I was astray for a long, long time, in the coolness of the night, constantly encircling

nothingness and the void. The night seemed to never end; it was like I would never see the sunlight again. It was dark you couldn’t ever distinguish if your eyes were closed or not, all you would ever see are shadows, and all you would ever grasp of were the strong, howling wind, and the muffled, rumbled sounds that one couldn’t understand, and they made me impaired of hearing.

ii. Shadows were everywhere, and I myself became one, like the dreary shadows I had once met. I didn't creep out of the squalid state of mine for I made myself settle with the gloom that I barely even knew. Even my own reflection left me. I shivered from the wintry place I was in, seeking for help. I even waited for the sound of a voice to be recognized. . . Or did I ever look for a helping hand? I never did; I settled in a filthy place unfamiliar to me, let alone linger in a place I should never be in.

iii. I was wrapped in garments, overdressed for the weather even, but I felt unclothed. I believed that my destiny was in a freezing place that I never knew existed. I became a wanderer filled with an insatiable, unknown void inside the chest, that I thought was indeed a future meant for me.

iv. Deep inside the roots of my soul, I longed for the warmth of the fire and the heat of the day. I aimlessly walked until I went to a place called nowhere, and became a shadow, for I drifted away from a place that is for me. I wandered away from... Home.

v. Having no idea of what was real or not anymore, I had certainly guessed I was going to settle with darkness. I would stick to my idea of living, and that was living in the shadows. I was beaten and bruised by my past, and have gotten used to it, immune to the pain. In the back of my mind, I thought, was there hope for all of these?

vi. In the far side of the wintry place, there seemed to be a well-lit house, its light in the shade of amber. The window panes and its stools were shut, accumulating mounds of snow, but the light from the inside of the house was recognizable because of a clear little portion in its glasses, which thoroughly radiated its luster. As my feet continuously buried themselves in the icy field, I didn’t know why my heart felt drawn to that house. I kept walking. It resonated deep within me. I did feel cozy and welcomed just by the standing of its doorsteps. Humbling to have come there, even.

vii. I never tried to knock nor open the door, because a Man who stood tall in His tunic ran to me, held me by the hand, and embraced me tightly. As He enclosed me tightly in His arms, it brought me to tears. I cried like an infant who was given milk, satiated from his deep longing and hunger. And I knew at that moment that it was my Father. Abba. He was just there watching me by the time I stood in His doorsteps, as if He knew I was coming there. Even by the time I was skulking in the dark, up until my feet journeyed on His doorstep, Abba was watching over me.

viii. “You are home again, my beloved. You are always welcome here,” said the Man. His words came to me like a warm blanket. What He said alone was enough to make me feel relevant. The conviction and calmness in His voice was sufficient to make me feel seen, heard, and known.

“I was gone and away for so long, and even turned away from You, but how did You know I’ll be coming back here in this house, and with all these?”

My voice quivered as I asked Him, shifting my sight to the food served on the table. Tea, coffee, milk, lots of luscious pastries and savory meals were put to the dining table even before I came.

One could help himself to the meal. He just smiled at me and wiped my tears away from my self- loathing.

“I prayed for you, and I knew that you’re going to come back home. You are for me, always and I am for you, and we will rejoice in your homecoming.”

It was my second time to finally bawl my eyes out again, and this time, he reached for me and hugged me again. I knelt crying, overcome by emotions, and He knelt with me. Abba was crying, too. A rush of comfort quelled through me.

“And You even know how my coffee is crafted. I like it served with bread.”

“I’ve always known you, even without you saying a word. I know what You want even before You ask.”

I couldn’t help but to bring up what was in the past, of how I lived my life without Abba. I took it to serve as a resolution of the lost years I had without Him.

“Will You forgive me despite what I’ve done? I had lived my life without You, and I became someone who—” He interrupted me with His words again, but I always like His interruption. Abba will always be Abba.

“Who you were is dead now. It’s not relevant anymore, dear; you are transformed into a new person”.

“I ask for Your forgiveness, Abba.”

“You are already forgiven.”

But what He told me changed my life forever.

“You have Me, and I have everything that you need. Beloved, nothing can separate Me from you, even death nor life. I’ve already forgotten the filthiness of your past, and made you clean from the inside out. Now that you’re here with Me, you’ll always be safe. The food served on the table is just a glimpse of the great things that I have in store for your destiny. When you have Me, you have more than enough.”

I listened with open ears to what Abba had reassured me of. I realized He unraveled me to the truth and to who I really am. I poured out my heart’s content, in reply to what He declared to me.

“Can I just stay here with You, Abba? I never want to leave here. I won’t go back to the dreary, wintry life again.” I told Abba with true repentance. As soon as He heard what I said, He nodded at me with affirmation in His eyes.

“Then I’ll provide You with a fire that will stay with you. Just never put it out. I’ll always be with you, beloved.”

Abba replied to me, as He looked at the fireplace, burning with embers. I realized He was throwing big chips of wood and barks of trees into the fire, and it continually and passionately burned.

For a moment, there was silence. But it was a quietness where you can feel peace in your heart and spirit. I am welling with gratitude in my heart to Abba again, and He just listened as I praised.

“I never could have come up with a way to express my gratitude for You have saved me from who I was, Abba. With all that I am, I thank You.”

“As long as you are here, my heart is joyful. I have found You again, like a shepherd who left the ninety-nine sheep to find the lost one.”

“How did You ever find me, Abba?”

“I never stopped praying for you. I constantly pursued and have reached out to you. I gave my life for you.”

Abba beamed at me with his precious smile, and my heart was filled with warmth again. Abba always looked at me with delight, and it made me feel that I am His, no matter what may come. Against all odds, it has always been Abba and me, I told myself.

“Beloved, that is just the proof of how much I love you.”

ix. The birds that soar high on the skies know where they permanently stay after they go into their whereabouts. They come home in their own nest to rest, to their shelter. A sea creature can’t breathe above the waters. Even itself knows that it has to be deeply inhabited in the abyss. Every creature of its own kind recognizes its own home. How much more I, a treasured possession of Abba, could ever forget that my safe retreat is only found in Him?

x. Now, I always remember what Abba did for me. What is needed to always remember the love of Abba is to have a good memory that never forgets, that never fails to recall salvation as time goes by. What we have is always rooted from the never-withholding grace and salvation of Abba. A humble and obedient heart that stays in awe of Abba is considered, as well.

xi. It seemed like an eternity to me, that restless and disquiet way to live in the bleak, frigid place. And from the renewed state of my point of view, I learned that there is something more eternal, infinite. What seemed to be the only thing to prevail forever, stays to be forever constant. It is Abba. The unconditional love of the Savior reaches out to the lost, broken, and weary, and it makes one’s life whole again. Besides other ways, there is no way to live anew but to live anew with Abba Himself.

xii. I’m never leaving Abba’s house anymore. Until the time I came back to where I belong, I finally came up with a decision to forever reside in Abba’s humble abode. I realized that I am more of myself when I live inside His home. Well, that is because I am made in Abba’s likeness.

What He does, I also do. What He thinks of, I also come to have thought of. What He feels, I feel, too. He makes me comprehend how things are supposed to be. That just shows that I am just like Him, and that I am created for Him and through Him. I am His son, and He is my Abba Father. I have my Father’s DNA.

xiii. Bringing things into a new light, I then perceived grace as a general knowledge more than a living truth. It felt like the first time to be alive, from that day of rescue. One thing I have learned and have stayed in my mind— everything about the grace and the love of Abba is extreme. When I fully comprehended the extent of His love and grace, I was overwhelmed. It made me not to ever turn back to who I was, and I disagreed with unrighteousness. Since then, I have never been the same. I never looked back nor turned my gaze on the snowy, icy-cold way of living again. My life wouldn’t stay that way forever, lurking in my old ways, said Abba. It doesn’t matter what I had done in the darkness, because ever since I’ve become a son of the Light, it has brought my life to be in step with it. When the blood of the cross was shed for me, who I had become in my former life was condemned no more. I don’t know where I would be

now, if it weren’t for Abba’s saving grace.

xiv. No greater love there is besides Yours, that completely finds all of me again. What complete joy there is to be with you. I'll stay here until eternity, to where I truly belong. I’m home, Abba.

Jubilant is his heart for his Maker

Over and over again, like an adored child to his Father,

No other place where he searches for his safe place,

Apart from the Father of all wisdom and creative ways.

This man, whose love for Him sparks to joy of worship,

His heartfelt songs, orchestrated in words of wisdom so deep,

Absolutely pure, and Spirit-filled, only obtained through the

Nearness of his heart to Him.

Oh, he is the epitome of a humble and gifted Christian man, whose

Godliness speaks over all the works of his hands!

Delighted is his Father, and whoever listens to his hymns, for

Everything he does he points them to the Father, and not to him.

Now and forevermore, may his heart’s light never grow dim.

Does knowing everything left to be known make an impact on your healing? I do not think so. Is it required to check up on that person’s latest tweets or Facebook post every now and then, either? Doing so can further hurt you. It can slow up the process of your healing. Does thinking about a person from the past make a difference to your wounded soul and heart? The answer is always no.

It is painful to pour an acid to an open wound, isn’t it? Remember when you were still a little kid, and you tripped on the road because you were running and chasing your playmate, or you were the one being chased to be the next ‘it’. You saw your wounded elbow and knee, and blood gushed out. Is rubbing it with alcohol your option when you were a kid? Absolutely not, for you would find yourself bawling your eyes out because of pain. You chose to patch the wound with a strip of Band-Aid over cleaning it with rubbing alcohol and cotton balls. Did you?

Yes, you know it. You now got the logic. As a wound gets more pained if it will be poured a chemical, so will be the pain in your heart and soul when you get to know things. In fact, not all things are worth knowing after an aftermath. The more you know about the person after a detachment, or what other people may say regarding a circumstance, the more you will grieve about it. The more you will devastate yourself, and you do not want to make yourself be stinged any further. The more you care about, the greater the questioning and doubt you will have. It’s over; you are done with that.

You need not to know what is up on that person’s life anymore. It is okay to cut off ties from people who made you compromise your values, standards, and principles in life. It is alright too, to never listen to the hurtful opinions of other people. Never ever regret the choice of muting, unfollowing, or blocking some people’s accounts, who would not help you regain your peace, and who would not help you in your walk with the Lord. God will replace them with people who will show you genuine trust, kindness, care, and love.

Now, there is bliss in unawareness of the facts that will bewilder you. There is bliss in oblivion, for not knowing everything will make you happier, even more joyful and peaceful, than knowing everything after all.

I have seen all great things before my eyes,

Have I seen them all?

Not yet, but all I can recall

Are the wonders of You.

My gaze has not yet laid upon

The treasuries of this earth,

Such as diamonds made in the rough,

Or precious stones dug from the mine,

Nor gold that is hidden under the ground

To be sought by miners,

And being weighed to be sold.

My eyes have not yet beheld

The Northern Lights

That dances upon the skies,

My human understanding

Cannot perceive what lies in the ends

Of a rainbow and of the universe!

Nor have I swam the vast space

On my spacesuit,

And landed on planets and the moon.

But in the moments of knowing You,

To be with You,

And to spend time with the Creator

Of all these wonders

Are the greatest of them all.

The list here does not end

For there are still more!

I have seen all great things before my eyes,

Have I seen them all?

Not yet, but all I can recall

Are the wonders of You.

Thinking of someone of special meaning is fleeting, and at the same time, leaves a tug of emotional uncertainty inside the heart. It is surprisingly confusing, always. We tend to unknowingly jumble these two things: missing and longing for the person, and missing and longing for the feeling. These two are mistakenly thought as exactly the same, but these are wholly different. To ask why do we feel like that is inevitable, and it’s true. Confusing and mind-blowing, and we barely receive answers.

Do you yearn for it because the person is absent, or you long for it because the feeling is already non-existent? Being drawn to a fresh sensation of a newly-born love is overwhelming, with the look of ocean-deep eyes, mesmerizing exchanges of smiles, and heartwarming conversations brought to life. It’s priceless, the feeling of being a witness to that affection; the feeling of being the recipient of that affection. On the other side, to long for the reason behind that elation, which is the person — is complicated and delightfully confusing, too.

Is that the totality of the person you miss, that person’s mere existence, and the way that person presented himself? Or do you long for receiving that affection? Just the thought of the name constantly ringing in your ears makes you have that stirring ache at the roots of your heart, that lingers for a long time, with a wish to remake the memories buried in our minds.

How can you feel the loss of someone you never possessed? What a tricky question, you might think, but answerable when once felt and savored.

It is way too impossible for you to read this confession of mine, that was so deeply and unexplainably felt by this heart. Nevertheless, this will remain a story that repeatedly pierced my inmost being; this ache will be turned into a work of art — immortal.

Losing you was both unexpected and intuited; the vastness of the distance between the both of us dictated me that you would soon be gone. Here’s the most ironic part of it all: I never had you, or more appropriately I should say, I had all of you in silence, but you never had me at all.

I beheld the most calming and expressive eyes, and the most engaging wide smile that showed all your perfectly aligned teeth. Your hair, black, shaggy, and shiny, that hung above your broad shoulders, I never seemed to forget that. How could I? How could your long fingers sweep away the stray strands of your hair from your face, with such guileless brio? How could I easily forget that, when it caused a brand new feeling of admiration in my heart?

Everything about you was effortlessly splendid, as if every move you make was done with so much grace. In every gaze at the window of your soul, it felt raw and true, with lingering passion that your eyes could only say, in everything you do.

It seemed like an invisible string was tied, both in our hands and feet, that led me to you, in the uniqueness of you.

The world is unpredictable, either our chance of holding each other together, and to say what our souls really feel. Had you not known that in you, you are someone cherished, but in a quiet manner? That you sparked an admiration lavishly poured onto me? You had not known that, I am sure a hundred percent. Of course, it was all caused by you. These beautiful expectations were all caused by you.

It is pretty obvious: I had all of you, but you never had me. You were a universe with so many unknown splendor and exquisite beauty, waiting to be discovered. But you saw me only as a passing shooting star, which you witnessed for a short period of time, with deteriorating awe.

There is nothing to blame if I lost you, because the proximity of us is unprecedented. There is a high probability that you will embrace another arms, and a low chance to be able to know the wonders of these feelings.

There you were, slowly drifting away like a disappearing shadow, ready to be welcomed by somebody else’s arms.

There was I, letting you break free, just watching you from a distance while you head to a far, far away place, with me carrying a piece of you that you had left here inside.

To lose someone you never possessed is inwardly devastating; you have to do the art of letting go with a sigh, and just let things be.

A jaded splendor, after all.

I lay awake at night,

With my pillow being sodden

Of seeping in tears that

Flowed from my eyes,

My heart thumping heavily

Inside my chest,

My whole being, twisting and turning,

Trying to let go of this momentary ache

By silent cries,

And a prayer to God.

I know I am embraced and held

By two big hands and mighty arms,

My welled up tears,

Wiped through the hem of His garments,

Whispering to my ears,

Soft and sweet,

"I am in control".

Things too dreadful to ponder on

Are silenced by that still voice;

The voice of the One

Who holds me now,

Who held my yesterdays,

And who will hold

My tomorrows.

I am safe and sheltered,

And held by the Savior.

Writing... It’s always been writing that I do to express myself, to make something beautiful in all things. The stirring of these bottled-up emotions and thoughts that are inside of me always let me grab a pen and a piece of paper at all times, to scribe words and phrases, sentences and paragraphs. Whatever it is that my soul’s telling me, writing has been a way to turn what I feel into a masterpiece, to create beauty and wonder in everything.

What I write tells a lot about who I am. It simply is me and my creative instincts, just in written words. And these are turned into pieces of poetry, stories, prose, essays, and songs — works that are a part of me, a soul of mine, a masterpiece. Wondrous creations with a breath of fresh air lingering on them, in every stroke of ink, inscribed on a blank piece of paper. This is because, I wholeheartedly believe that the simple and the extraordinary occurrence in the cycle of daily life can be always written about; everything that rests here on Earth, inanimate or with a breath of life, lies a story behind it. Everything deserves a well-written story.

When my heart and soul are blissful at something, when they ache or mourn, or whatever these two feel at their best, these words, the ink and the paper, have been willing companions. Even though lifeless, they reach the infinity of my creative thoughts. This trinity always go together, witnessing the ups and downs of life.

Many times I find the greatest inspirations in the things that most of the people have overlooked or have taken for granted in the busyness of life: signages, moving vehicles, strangers who are strolling, or even the mud under the soles of their feet. In the eyes of a writer, these portray meanings that are queued to be written as a poem, a story, an essay, a prose, and a song.

Even when my mind sparks with endless ideas, bursting forth with colorful vivid words and imageries, the firecrackers of words sometimes die down and disappear, turning my mind into a blank slate, like a clean sheet of paper. The mind is in a loss for words and in search for the right things to say to come up with a literary piece — a writer’s block. It is inevitable, for not at all times a writer’s passion is burning. But that is completely alright. What matters is the constant desire to acquire new vocabulary and new inspirations to work on. A burning passion, for it to grow, needs the flames to be fanned, continuously.

Nothing can be more meaningful than to write about people. People’s existence carry hidden messages through the words they say, through their actions, and through their beautiful minds. In them lie an implicit story waiting to be written about, in their oblivion. Countless times I have turned people into works of art. They are in the verse of a poem, they are in the catchy lyrics of a song, they are a subject in a prose, the main character of a story, and the main idea of an essay, and it is, always, in their oblivion. Never did they know that they had been a subject of something beautiful, read and sung over and over again. Maybe that is one of the mysteries of having a creative blood running inside your veins, you are always in awe and wonder; you are constantly making wonders.

Everything deserves a well-written story. All the things around us have a voice, and all we have to do is listen. There is beauty out of something. There is a masterpiece out of nothing.

“Woah, why does he look like,”...

I uttered these words with surprisement as a guy passed by me when I was on my way home. My jaws dropped and my eyes were widened. Like man, he really did look like... Someone that I used to know.

The guy was a complete stranger. I followed him with my gaze, still in awe of what was before me. The physical features of the guy were identical with somebody.

He had a skin that was fair as the sunlight. He had the eyes that saw lesser when jubilant. His nose was pointed and perfect, complimenting his facial attributes. His hair, shiny and black; was parted in the middle with bangs flowing freely. He had a pair of thin and smiling lips. His teeth were perfectly aligned. He dressed the same way like he did; oversized shirts paired with skinny jeans on his lean body figure. That guy was also like him; he came from the same land he breathed. Oh, his visible Adam’s apple.

It was like, I saw another version of a person who never knew me, even a bit.

I turned my back. My eyes were still glued on the guy even if he had walked some meters away from me.

“Woah, why does he look like,”...

I never continued to speak. Even if that stranger looked like a particular person, it totally did not drive me crazy like before.

I was reminded of someone who meant the world to me when I saw that guy. Some memories flashed back, too. Yes, I couldn’t deny that I remembered him when I saw his carbon copy that day, but it didn’t bother nor affect me anymore.

#Prose #IUsedToBeAFangirl #notanymore #Carboncopy #notgoingback