zoofreak

Hindi ko alam at maintindihan kung bakit lagi na lang ako ang naghihintay. Marahil isang dahilan na ay ayaw ko na ako ang nahuhuli.
Ayaw ko na pinaghihintay ang iba. Siguro masyado akong mabait o mahiyain, na hindi ko matiis na paghintayin ang iba. Pero minsan, nakakapagod
na din ang palaging maghintay. Minsan, o halos kadalasan na din, naghihintay lang ako sa wala. Pero nasanay na akong umasa at laging mabigo. Nakakainis. Nakakaasar. Hanggang kailan ba ako maghihintay? Hanggang kailan ako aasa? At kailan darating ang panahong ako naman ang hihintayin?

Siguro napakasaya noon; na makatagpo ako ng sinumang maghihintay din sa akin. Kahit sino na makakaintindi at aalis sa aking pagkabigo.
Isang taong hindi ko paghihintayin ng matagal. Isang taong alam kong kagaya ko ring umaasa at naghintay ng matagal. Isang taong hindi maghihinayang at hindi ko paghihinayangan.

Mahirap maghintay; malungkot. Lalo na kung wala kang kasamang naghihintay. Nakakawala ng pag-asa. Hanggang sa tumigil na ang iyong diwa sa pagpapahalaga. Hanggang sa ang paghihintay mo ay mawalan na lang ng kabuluhan para sa iyo. Hanggang sa hindi mo na mamalayang kay tagal mo na palang naghihintay. Hanggang sa umalis ka na sa iyong pagkakatayo at maglakad, hanggang maisip mong hindi mo na kailangang maghintay. Hanggang sa mapagod ka na at sumuko.

Masaya sanang maghintay nang may kasama ka, may kausap, may karamay. Pero bakit pa ako maghihintay kung wala namang kasiguruhan? O marahil ito talaga ang tunay na kahulugan ng paghihintay, ang paghihintay na may pag-asa. Kahit na walang katiyakan, kahit na walang maasahan, maghihintay at maghihintay ka pa rin. Kahit na parang walang kabuluhan, hindi ka mapapagod, hindi mangangamba na baka wala nang dumating. Mayroon man o wala, tuloy ka pa rin sa paghihintay.

It seems to me that at this point in my life, all I know how to feel is anger. I don’t have a particular reason why I’m angry, I am just angry is all. Most nights, I would wake up feeling like I’ve ran a thousand laps for the whole night. Even until now, I’d feel my leg muscles hard like it can never ever relax. Once my mom told me to just lie down and rest because I look so tense. I didn’t really know that my body is still in overdrive after a long day, until she told me to just stop being so tense. In the bus, going to work, I’d take a nap and wake up feeling my jaw muscles ache, like I’ve been gritting my teeth the whole time. I’ve stopped remembering my dreams while sleeping or perhaps I’ve stopped dreaming altogether, another sign of how tired my body is. Actually, it’s my mind that’s tired from all the worries, frustrations, and all the pent up anger inside.

I am very much used to running and walking and being active in school. I’m thrilled when working a laboratory experiment, conducting dissections, discussing new projects. I find myself so easily bored by long lectures and I find it difficult to be enthusiastic about anything that doesn’t half-interest me. Having the kind of job that I have now, waiting for forms to come in, finishing before my deadlines, I feel like going crazy. I don’t really have to use my brains for this.

Does one have to think about being angry? Is not anger an emotional response, and there manifests on its own accord? Is it necessary for anger to have a reason? I ask myself all these almost constantly, and I can answer them with certainty. But this does not help me arrive at a solution to my “anger” problem.

I can manage pretty well; I mean I’m not volatile like most angry persons, maybe because I’m angrier at myself than at other people or things. There are times when I feel like I want to explode, and I end up hurting myself. I’ve forgotten how to cry, and frustration has grown dim, and I’m afraid that only anger remains.  I’m afraid because I know that anger is not good, and I’ll only end up being hurt, I’ll just end up hurting myself.

Teach me how to grow. Teach me how to care. Teach me how to put on stockings and find my way to the ball; for I am a child, bashful and unaware. I glide through life as if I’m not there. Teach me when to yield and when to stop. Teach me how to choose between this way and that, for I don’t want to be broken beyond repair. I wouldn’t want to lose my confidence in life.

Take me to the party. Show mw how to drink champagne. Teach me the right manners so I can make it out there. Show me how to dance and be graceful in air, for all I do is tiptoe in my shoes and sneak out in the back to watch the fireflies glow. I want to learn how to pick up praises. I want to be beautiful. I want to be embraced by your peers.

Take me by your hand and lead me through life because I know that is what you do. Teach me how to be me, mold me into something you desire; into something that can make you proud. Pick my dresses, choose the ribbons I will put on my hair. It matters not if it’s too pink for my taste. Show me how to walk and talk and do those things I should do. Guide me step by step, until I’m someone new.

Take my dreams away and replace them with reality. Fill my head with the world. Show me life as it is so I can forget all the childish things inside. Tell me that fairies are not real and fairytales are bluff. Stop me from not growing up. Then, after some time, look at me and say you’ve done enough.

I will go on from there, and walk out your door. I am filled with challenges and ready to fight the battles. I will not be that dreamy child full of imagination, but an adult: responsible and wise. Then I will look back beyond the window and into my old room from where you first called me and asked me to go down so you can teach me how to grow. And my eyes would wander as my heart wonders where I will go. Where will I go? Where will I go after this? Where will I go after leaving all those things behind? Then it will occur to me: I will go where the grown-ups go and do those things they do. I will work and be paid for it. I will save my earnings in a bank.

And I would thank you for teaching me how to grow. I would visit you everyday so you’ll know how grateful I am of you for showing me the world. And I would tell you my escapades, quite blandly though, for I’ve been working all week. But I still smile and wish you well.

Then I will go to bed, in a room so far away and different from the one I once owned. In this room I will sleep and rest my weary back. And I would remember those long ago nights when I used to dream, and I would wonder why I don’t anymore. And I would feel empty, alone. I would feel bad, but I wouldn’t know why. I would try to fly as I close my eyes but I couldn’t. Perhaps I have forgotten how; maybe because I’m all grown-up now.