So I woke up this morning, went on my run and if you had gone on that run with me, you’d have seen what I saw: the world awaking to a brand new day. This priceless gift of 24 hours where even the richest man on earth on his deathbed might not have—no matter if he throws all his billions at it.
And do you know how beautiful the world is when it’s brand new?
How the dark blue sky gets tinged with some fiery red then orange, then slowly, ever so slowly, like a lover reaching out to embrace you, the yellow sun smiles at you.
Then, from hearing just the steady slap of my Asics on gravel and the even in and out of my breath, to hearing the world wake up.
Birds singing, mothers kissing their children goodbye, husbands and wives in a lingering hug, it makes you want to scream at them “GET A ROOM, YOU GUYS!!”, the occasional car that zooms past me, yayas flirting with drivers. (“Ikaw talaga, Dudung!” Hihihi)
All I can think of is “Damn. What a beautiful world I live in!”
And I go online and I see so much bardagulan/basag ulo.
And it weighs heavy on me.
And all I know is what is true with me.
That there is no difference I see between me and that man who wrote me to say my words were for sale to the highest bidder and that the highest bidder, at the moment, was the President of this land.
Or that I write what I write because I am in need of a job. Or that my 3 children were fathered by 3 different men.
Nor do I see any difference between me and those who’ve called me the worst names ever in my entire life. Slut. Fame whore. Bayaran. Bully. Liar.
I don’t because I understand a thing or two about wounds because, look! I have wounds! Lots, in fact.
And I know that if there is anything that binds us, that would be our wounds. Our human frailties are our commonality.
And I’ve lived long enough to know that where we stumble is where we can find our biggest victories in life. And that in our deepest wounds lie our greatest strengths, our most profound gifts to the world.
If I am called to love all parts of my Self—the part that can betray as much as the part that stays true, the part that can wound as much as the part that heals, the part that is profound and values soul above all else as much as it values that part of me that adamantly wants to remain vain—then I am called too, to love my nearest and dearest in their darkest as well as in their finest hour.
As I am called to love and accept fully humanity when it is glorious as when it is petty, vindictive, hurtful.
There will be no choosing which parts I must accept and which parts I must shun. Everyone must be accepted, everyone taken into the fold of an embrace.
And if I choose which parts I can love and then turn away from parts I find unacceptable, if I make this an ‘us’ and ‘them’ situation, then there will be a price to pay.
And that this cost will be unbearably high for all of us.
Because there is no ‘us’, there is no ‘them’. And the differences that exist between us, merely illusions of separateness. Fleeting, temporary. Surmountable.
And I don’t know how this gets done because all I really have are two feet of clay and an inordinate amount of limitations that drive me up the wall because they’re so, you know, REAL.
But my dreams are big and they often make me weep. And I feel the contours of my heart and I hear it whisper, “Go for it now, girl.”
And I must strive with all that is in me to get there—this place where I am a much better human being than I had ever hoped to be.
The strains of this song in my heart that I hear is faint but unmistakeable. And I try to keep in step with it and I hope that when I do, you will take my hand, give a low bow and dance this joyful dance with me.