June 27 2014 Friday

Today I met a Pia. Pia Magayao if I remember correctly (though it was just a few minutes ago). She's an incoming freshman (I wonder why "freshwoman" or "freshperson" sounds so wrong), speech com, in UP Diliman too. She's staying in Kalay dorm at the moment, doing and heading volunteer work somewhere. She has fairly brown skin and neatly-lined teeth.

Anyway that's not what's important, as the Little Prince would have said. She's a jolly energetic woman (or talkative, depending how you look at it). She's paranoid; afraid of ghosts in Kalay. She even got scared by Drag Me to Hell =)). I think it's funny, maybe even a little bit cute. Also she knows how to converse (how to conversation in internet grammar); meaning not just talk but listen well, which is a great thing.

That's enough I guess; you might say I'm in love again. I say I'm getting the hang of complimenting people truthfully. I hope I can encourage more people too.

June 23 2014 Monday

Today I saw my love. She is ten times more beautiful than the last time I saw her. She grew her smooth, hazel-streaked hair, and changed her hairstyle. I don't know what changed exactly; I never was knowledgeable about women's hairstyles and I was too mesmerized to notice. What I do know is that it fits her so well like a tiara would on her head. She changed her perfume, too; it's more fragrant but less strong; the kind of smell that's gentle and sweet.

I wanted to hug her so badly, but I have to honor her words and refrain from doing so. I do wish I could've talked to her longer and accompanied her home, but I am a friend, not a full-time lover. (I won't say "I am just a friend"; I treasure our friendship more than gold.)

I know I love her but I can't be with her. Yet I can't stop, because I love her and I cannot do otherwise. Here's to a year of daily death and confusion.

Us Who Have Fallen

I am much tired and weary of that unwanted pity. We who have become lukewarm, who have ceased to care, caught in the trivialities of the world; we who have backslidden and been left behind, whose hearts are callous and souls are seared; we who have fallen, need neither pity nor the rod.

It is most annoying and most awkward whenever you churchgoers and active members ask “how is your ministry?” and “how many disciples have you had? “ and “how many people have you shared to?” and “how is your walk with God?” (regardless of legalism, or of genuine concern, or of ignorance, or of insensitivity). How am I to answer “I don’t”, without receiving that low-voiced “Ah” while looking down on the floor, almost at me, followed by a short, awkward silence, and then finally, a “why?” almost like a whisper. How am I to avoid that gaze that expects a rigid answer when I haven’t figured it out myself?

Why the pity? Are you better than me? Do you think that I wanted to be like this? It is the blandest thing in the world to lose that Flame. Better a bitter life than a bland one. I hated that I didn’t care, but now that hate is fading too. Maybe I simply don’t have the passion. Have I not prayed for it? Did I not ask for it? Even now I knock, but the door has yet to open, if it ever will.

In the end, there are no words for us. There is always encouragement to the faithful servant and punishment to the lazy one. But of us who tried and failed there is none. For one supposes there is instant victory in Christ, and leaders would always clamour and rejoice over that fruitful member. But of us who are not quite there, who carried our crosses and stopped to rest, there is only silence.

There are no words for us, yet maybe we only needed one: “Come.” Sheep in the flock need the rod and staff, but those who are lost need seeking. To be able to just come; no questions, no scolding, no indifference, no pity. An extended hand, a simple smile, and a patient invitation, “Come.” Maybe that's what we need, us who have fallen.