I was looking at old pictures of myself and I suddenly had the feeling that I was looking into the face of somebody else. It looked like me but somehow, wasn't me.
In those pictures, I looked like somebody who was craving for somebody to notice her. I wore clothes that called attention. I was looking into the camera with an expression that says "please tell me you like me" or "please tell me you think I'm beautiful". My make up, although skilfully applied, masked rather than enhanced. I was posing like a model, which in itself is OK, if you ARE a model - which I wasn't. In short, these pictures didn't depict who I really was or who I wanted to be. I recognized in my eyes a feeling of being lost, of being in doubt, that all familiar look of fear.
Looking at those old photographs, I marvel at the changes that happened to me since then, both within and without.
Since the beginning of this year, my life has been marked by changes of gargantuan proportions that I barely had time to recover from the last and catch my breath, I am already facing yet another transformation. Not only are the changes massive, but the juxtaposition of all these changes is even more staggering. It took my emotions into different extremes all within a space of days or weeks - despondency with the pronouncement of my separation to excitement with being presented a new job opportunity, grief with the death of my father to celebration with my daughter turning 8 weeks after, from being gripped by fear of the unknown to sensing the thrill of facing it.
So many changes in so little time. I feel like the universe is catching up on all the time that I have lost walking aimlessly through life, and now that I am in the midst of discovering myself, it cannot wait to unfold all the changes and graces that I have been withholding from myself all these years. For together with all the changes happening in my life right now, I also see my own transformation. It is so palpable that I cannot even pretend to ignore it. My paradigm has altered, my core has shifted.
It is strange this place where I’m standing right now. I am no longer where I started but I am still not fully where I want to be though I can feel it nearing. I am still in the process of shedding my old skin and at the same time, already growing a new one. Is this what rebirth feels like? Am I living my own renaissance? They say that being born is one of the most painful experience humans can have. The passage through the dark alley of the birth canal is so excruciating that we have chosen to forget about it and thus we don’t remember our own birth. I guess rebirth is pretty much the same but instead of choosing to forget the heartbreaking and anguishing pain, we do so in full consciousness and mindfulness. This is precisely what brings us to a higher level of existence and spirituality. This is what catapults us from mere existence to a life of purpose. And this lets us usher in our own evolution and enlightenment.
I turned and looked at myself in the mirror…and I smiled. This person looks much calmer, more peaceful than ever. She is beginning to find her footing and finding happiness within herself. I turn back and look at the person I was in the photographs. I still hold her very dear to me. She was, still is, an intrinsic part of me. She helps me to stay grounded. She helps me remember how it easy it is to slip, if we are not constantly mindful of our course. Rather than treating her as an enemy, I choose to accept her as an ally. She will help me steer my ship. She will point out the coarse parts of the seas, the pitfalls of my way. Together, we will find our destination.
I know I will meet more challenges along the way. I will still go in places that will bring me back to that dim corner of anxiety and fear I know full well. However, this time I am prepared to meet my fate. Nothing is my adversary. Everything is there to help me. I don’t cringe nor try to make sense of what is happening. Instead, I open my eyes and heart in curiosity and let the waves of my sea propel me to the crest of wonderment.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Friday, March 12, 2010
Homage to My Father
He was larger than life. With his booming voice and a most self assured stance, he incited both fear and awe. Nobody else more than him could move me to tears and to laughter in a mere space of seconds.
It has not been an easy life with this man that I call my father. Special circumstances in our lives would not allow me to see him constantly or on a regular basis. His comings and goings would be announced with the next phone call and schedules had to be re-adjusted, plans had to be changed. It frustrated me to no end. But at the same time, it would also fill me with excitement. Seeing him would mean being able to embrace him, show him new things I learned in school, tell him of the new experiences I had. It would also mean a wait for his stamp of approval. To hear him tell me that he was proud of me and that he loved me.
As a child, I didn’t quite understand the conditions of our existence. My young mind was beleaguered with questions that sought guidance and answers…answers that would not necessarily be offered nor given.
However, through the years, I had begun to accept that whatever circumstances or decisions that led us to shape the life we lived with him, he had never stopped being a real father to me. As much as our time spent together was restricted and limited, that did not hold him from giving me the necessary love and care to help me mold myself into the woman that I am now, in the way that he knew how and possibly can.
Life with Dad was not one smooth ride. The road was replete with twists and turns, of rising and falling. Inevitably, it would be punctuated with differing levels of pain, sometimes tolerable, at times punishing. But my father showed us how to use this pain to grow up equipped with such strength that whatever life brings us, we will be able to take. He made us see that by letting ourselves fall and crumble, we cultivate within us the strength to get up and continue our journey. Through the experiences we had and the wounds that marked us, my spirit grew into resiliency. The very same resiliency that will help me overcome my own battles in life.
In the same way, my father gave me my faith, the supreme power of belief. He gave me the unshakable knowledge that masked behind every suffering and every grief, lies the gift of grace. That every agony your heart goes through is an opportunity to grow and learn and thus, serves a higher purpose. And that it is our deep spiritual responsibility to seek out this purpose. He would always tell me that “There is no room in this world for mediocrity”, something that has always been ingrained in my head. I always thought that he was speaking of seeking out the best career I can have and rising up the professional ladder. Only now that I realize that he was talking about a much higher truth – that of being the best person you can be, in whatever realm. To try to constantly go beyond your limits of being good enough to that of striving for your own excellence, in all aspects of life – professional, personal and spiritual.
My father was a full embodiment of a paradox. He can be gentle and severe, frightening and lovable, humorous and solemn. He roused both fear and respect, stirred up both anger and compassion, incited both hate and love. It has taken me years to reconcile all these opposing feelings brought about by one single and the same person. It is not easy to understand for somebody whose mind was used to resisting rather than accepting.
But through doing my own work in finding my own spiritual maturity, I finally recognized my father’s most precious gift to me that will let me go beyond my limited understanding – that of giving unconditional love. He showed me that love is steadfast. That love pursues relentlessly, in spite of and despite of, the other person’s weaknesses. He showed me that when we open up ourselves to the full reality of the other person, minus all the image and expectations we hold, we unlock in us that most stunning ability to love wholly and unconditionally. And when this happens, we are presented with the amazing grace to forgive.
Forgiveness bridges the gap between two opposing emotions. In forgiving others, we are able to hold the other person in loving kindness. My father always taught me to believe in the basic goodness of people and that gives me the capacity to not give up on anyone who has hurt me. My heart remains open to hope. My relationship with others, therefore, becomes reconciliatory and not retaliatory.
My father died on March 8, 2010 at the age of 73, when I was thousands of miles away from him. As he wished to be laid to rest as quickly as possible, I was not able to neither have a last look at him nor whisper a last goodbye. He was already cremated when I got home. Amidst my grief, I console myself with the fact that I did not see him suffer. That when I think of him, I shall always hold an image of him that was alive and full of life.
As I write and pay tribute to his memory, I begin to unravel his real legacy to me, much more than any material things he left behind. And I see that he is not truly gone from my life. The values and teachings he had given me, I will strive to pass on to my daughter and my daughter’s children. In this way, my father will continue to live. He will continue to laugh. He will continue to love.
So long, Dad and see you on the other side.
“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” – 2 Timothy 4
It has not been an easy life with this man that I call my father. Special circumstances in our lives would not allow me to see him constantly or on a regular basis. His comings and goings would be announced with the next phone call and schedules had to be re-adjusted, plans had to be changed. It frustrated me to no end. But at the same time, it would also fill me with excitement. Seeing him would mean being able to embrace him, show him new things I learned in school, tell him of the new experiences I had. It would also mean a wait for his stamp of approval. To hear him tell me that he was proud of me and that he loved me.
As a child, I didn’t quite understand the conditions of our existence. My young mind was beleaguered with questions that sought guidance and answers…answers that would not necessarily be offered nor given.
However, through the years, I had begun to accept that whatever circumstances or decisions that led us to shape the life we lived with him, he had never stopped being a real father to me. As much as our time spent together was restricted and limited, that did not hold him from giving me the necessary love and care to help me mold myself into the woman that I am now, in the way that he knew how and possibly can.
Life with Dad was not one smooth ride. The road was replete with twists and turns, of rising and falling. Inevitably, it would be punctuated with differing levels of pain, sometimes tolerable, at times punishing. But my father showed us how to use this pain to grow up equipped with such strength that whatever life brings us, we will be able to take. He made us see that by letting ourselves fall and crumble, we cultivate within us the strength to get up and continue our journey. Through the experiences we had and the wounds that marked us, my spirit grew into resiliency. The very same resiliency that will help me overcome my own battles in life.
In the same way, my father gave me my faith, the supreme power of belief. He gave me the unshakable knowledge that masked behind every suffering and every grief, lies the gift of grace. That every agony your heart goes through is an opportunity to grow and learn and thus, serves a higher purpose. And that it is our deep spiritual responsibility to seek out this purpose. He would always tell me that “There is no room in this world for mediocrity”, something that has always been ingrained in my head. I always thought that he was speaking of seeking out the best career I can have and rising up the professional ladder. Only now that I realize that he was talking about a much higher truth – that of being the best person you can be, in whatever realm. To try to constantly go beyond your limits of being good enough to that of striving for your own excellence, in all aspects of life – professional, personal and spiritual.
My father was a full embodiment of a paradox. He can be gentle and severe, frightening and lovable, humorous and solemn. He roused both fear and respect, stirred up both anger and compassion, incited both hate and love. It has taken me years to reconcile all these opposing feelings brought about by one single and the same person. It is not easy to understand for somebody whose mind was used to resisting rather than accepting.
But through doing my own work in finding my own spiritual maturity, I finally recognized my father’s most precious gift to me that will let me go beyond my limited understanding – that of giving unconditional love. He showed me that love is steadfast. That love pursues relentlessly, in spite of and despite of, the other person’s weaknesses. He showed me that when we open up ourselves to the full reality of the other person, minus all the image and expectations we hold, we unlock in us that most stunning ability to love wholly and unconditionally. And when this happens, we are presented with the amazing grace to forgive.
Forgiveness bridges the gap between two opposing emotions. In forgiving others, we are able to hold the other person in loving kindness. My father always taught me to believe in the basic goodness of people and that gives me the capacity to not give up on anyone who has hurt me. My heart remains open to hope. My relationship with others, therefore, becomes reconciliatory and not retaliatory.
My father died on March 8, 2010 at the age of 73, when I was thousands of miles away from him. As he wished to be laid to rest as quickly as possible, I was not able to neither have a last look at him nor whisper a last goodbye. He was already cremated when I got home. Amidst my grief, I console myself with the fact that I did not see him suffer. That when I think of him, I shall always hold an image of him that was alive and full of life.
As I write and pay tribute to his memory, I begin to unravel his real legacy to me, much more than any material things he left behind. And I see that he is not truly gone from my life. The values and teachings he had given me, I will strive to pass on to my daughter and my daughter’s children. In this way, my father will continue to live. He will continue to laugh. He will continue to love.
So long, Dad and see you on the other side.
“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” – 2 Timothy 4
Monday, March 1, 2010
Dancing With The Shadows
It strikes in an unforeseen fashion. The sadness. The melancholy. The loneliness. It catches you off guard.
I guess this is how babies feel when they learn how to walk. They start out wobbly and then they start to gain their bearings and find their balance. From inching a foot forward, they find out that they can do the mechanics faster. And then they get thoroughly excited that they rush forward and suddenly trip themselves on a dense mass of nothing. They fall and are left with a bewildered look as if to ask “I was doing so well….why am I down again?”
If I look back and see where I had started and see where I am standing now, I can’t help but feel a surge of pride. For me, I have done the impossible. Six months ago, I was just about ready to cave in to the darkness. I was ready to accept that I will forever be roaming aimlessly in a valley never touched by light. But little by little, inch by inch, I crawled forward, lifted myself up to my knees and finally stood on my own two, albeit wobbly feet and dragged myself out of the black hole that enveloped my existence.
Since I started letting go and gave up resisting, I felt my world open up to a myriad of possibilities. I finally feel the Higher Power at work and showering me with grace to hold myself upright amidst all the staggering blows. I finally feel hopeful and optimistic.
But sometimes, the shadows come. A song. An image. A thought. A circumstance. Anything can lead them in.
You get a dream job and there arises melancholy. You fall sick and there appears solitude. You get some really bad news and there surfaces loneliness. They come in because you don’t have somebody to share wonderful news with. There is nobody to bring you tea. There isn’t anybody’s shoulder to put your head onto and comfort you.
Yes, sadness still comes. However, I notice a different kind of sadness descend upon me this time. This sadness is wrapped in a certain kind of calm. It is swathed in a cloak of serenity. And realizing this, I now know how far I have come since I began my journey. I have finally learned how to accept my sadness. I have finally understood how to give up my struggle. I have gained knowledge of how to sit down and just let my emotions go through me without judgment, without fear.
Sitting through my sadness, I am no longer gripped by panic. I am no longer thrown into anguish. I no longer recoil in fear.
Sitting still, I am finally learning to dance with the shadows.
I guess this is how babies feel when they learn how to walk. They start out wobbly and then they start to gain their bearings and find their balance. From inching a foot forward, they find out that they can do the mechanics faster. And then they get thoroughly excited that they rush forward and suddenly trip themselves on a dense mass of nothing. They fall and are left with a bewildered look as if to ask “I was doing so well….why am I down again?”
If I look back and see where I had started and see where I am standing now, I can’t help but feel a surge of pride. For me, I have done the impossible. Six months ago, I was just about ready to cave in to the darkness. I was ready to accept that I will forever be roaming aimlessly in a valley never touched by light. But little by little, inch by inch, I crawled forward, lifted myself up to my knees and finally stood on my own two, albeit wobbly feet and dragged myself out of the black hole that enveloped my existence.
Since I started letting go and gave up resisting, I felt my world open up to a myriad of possibilities. I finally feel the Higher Power at work and showering me with grace to hold myself upright amidst all the staggering blows. I finally feel hopeful and optimistic.
But sometimes, the shadows come. A song. An image. A thought. A circumstance. Anything can lead them in.
You get a dream job and there arises melancholy. You fall sick and there appears solitude. You get some really bad news and there surfaces loneliness. They come in because you don’t have somebody to share wonderful news with. There is nobody to bring you tea. There isn’t anybody’s shoulder to put your head onto and comfort you.
Yes, sadness still comes. However, I notice a different kind of sadness descend upon me this time. This sadness is wrapped in a certain kind of calm. It is swathed in a cloak of serenity. And realizing this, I now know how far I have come since I began my journey. I have finally learned how to accept my sadness. I have finally understood how to give up my struggle. I have gained knowledge of how to sit down and just let my emotions go through me without judgment, without fear.
Sitting through my sadness, I am no longer gripped by panic. I am no longer thrown into anguish. I no longer recoil in fear.
Sitting still, I am finally learning to dance with the shadows.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
