10.18.

A year ago (and few days) today, I was here at this exact cafe.

I could still see the sight of myself, genuinely laughing and hearing stories I never thought I’d know, stories that are still residing inside my heart right now. I could still feel how my heart beats while being at its happiest. Back then, everything was going well. I know my purpose, what God wants me to do, and where I would be years from then. I was living in a bubble, a bubble that no one could popped.

It’s thought-stirring, realizing that a lot can change in a year.

Everything happened drastically, I couldn’t keep up. The bubble was gone, and I found myself in the darkness praying for a way out. I’ve thrown lots of questions in the skies, but all I’ve got were dark rain clouds that constructed home above me.

Today, I’m here, at this exact cafe, where I lost her –the girl in the mirror that was once fulfilled, that was once happy.  I’m here, a little lost and empty, but with a hope of healing, with a hope that, this time, when I pulled the door open, the coming days wouldn’t be as hard and destructing as the ones that gone by. But if they are to be just the same, and life still gets harder, I will cling to the strength I didn’t rely on through the year, strength that is not mine, but His’, God’s.

It does get better.

In the Crushing

I have hid my scars under the clothes I wear for years now. Punishing myself for all the mistakes I’ve done, words I have waited for but didn’t come. I kept saying hello to the monsters underneath my bed every night who utters the otherwise’s of His truth. I have been giving and giving without considering if there’s something that will be left to sustain even the littlest sparks within. I didn’t love myself enough. I didn’t love myself at all. Everything was seemingly worsen by my thoughts and sin. I got tired of pretending, of waking up every morning with that black slug inside, too heavy for my little hands to hold.

So today, I am bringing my scars to the light, and I am letting that light carry me.

I was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder/Clinical Depression, but I am not my depression. I am not my antidepressants. I am not my sleeping pills, and I am not the monster inside my head. And so are you, you who’s reading this. You are loved, valued and treasured. You are pursued by a Love that doesn’t end just because you feel hopeless, helpless.

It took me a lot of courage. I am not the type to post like this. Maybe a minute or two, I’ll delete this, but I was taught that to have hope is to give one. And being able to share this is a proof of how God loves, a testimony of His grace. I’m still here, not by my strength but by His, made perfect for my weakness. So, I am deeply asking for prayers, not just for me, but for those who are fighting inner battles. Check your friends, talk to your loved ones, be honest to yourself and to God, try to communicate. Help is available. May we all be willing to be carried by His grace. No more shame shall entrap you. You have been rescued by His love.

This is how I will fight, with God, knowing that He already won the battles for me and that peace is a promise He keeps. Under His authority, all the days of my life, for Him I will live.

“One thing I ask from the Lord, this only do I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze on the beauty of the Lord and to seek Him in His temple.” (Psalm 27:4)

sound of

noise;

the truth that
one may not know,
it slips through 
the window and
on bed it crawls
–lulling hearts
to be broadly
roused,
the seemingly
endless explosion,
there’s no pause

silence;

the truth that
one may not know,
it’s distracting –destructing.
the void whispers
and chattering,
all gone,
far away,
left the soul
waiting for the sun

calling;

the truth that
one may not know
is when a gentle whisper
sprung
–hushing the clamor
and putting soothing
hums
a whisper of calling
that surmounted all the sound
until in the midst of
uproar and emptiness–

the soul will be found

Tonight, I am crying.

Tonight, I am crying.

My face is seemingly tear-stained, but it is not because of the creature that keeps on hunting me in my musings. I am assured that it is not because of falling, of failing. No, it is not because of how the world’s current is taking over my being. I am trying to scrutinize every fiber of my heart and its beating, but I recognize the calmness within, whispering, that it is not because of all the persecutions that has been told repeatedly until I decided to accept mediocrity and complacency. No, I am not crying because I no longer sing or write the way I used to. It is not because I was not heard or seen the way I once desired to. I am not crying because of thinking about how many times I wandered in wrong cities and fought in mistaken battle fields, and how many people I have lost along the way.

My eyes are flooding out a Love that knows no bounds –endless tears dripping like the flow of the river, its current taking all of me. I am certain, I am crying because I have seen how I stretched my hands towards the sky and clearly saw how that Love reached out, never losing its gentle grip and touch. I am crying because I am being contained by a Love that explored my totality but remained exactly the same even before I existed, and the moments I thought I was non-existent. There is stillness in my soul saying that I am crying because of a Love that restores me every day, a Love that made me sing and write regardless of my invalidity, a Love that loves me notwithstanding my sins against Him, my uselessness to Him. I am crying because of a Love that never runs dry, only runs deep, deeper.

Tonight, I am crying as my heart is safely resting in Love with a powerful Name, Jesus.

Alethinos Noemata

There is a silence in her heart and an upheaval in her mind.

 

She wants to run away from her concerns. Comforted by the cradle of this world, she just wants everything to stop for a while.

 

Too worn-out.

 

The road of nothingness is seemingly ceaseless;

 

Her heart unfailingly exhausts her –

for constantly wavering;

hesitating;

and

falling

short.

 

For the lengthiest time of being tough, she just wants to end the concealment. Yet,

 

Her Rest and Comfort away from worldly notions echoed how He satisfies soul through healing–that there is no such thing as too broken not to be fixed.

 

When He has never failed to put back every broken piece of what was thought to be brutally damaged, who are we again not to be fixed?

 

And there is so much more;

 

He is so much more.

 

For when suffering stings deep; His grace mends deeper.

Signed

I’ve signed a contract.

 

Inadvertently,

the paper was poured

with words,

stained by blue;

by blues.

There are million reasons

to not let my hand move

and to not let the ink

embroid changes,

so huge changes,

my heart’s not equipped

to reject

 

No

It wasn’t your surface;

It wasn’t the way you shine;

It wasn’t your glimmering dust;

nor your striking sight

Okay,

I lied.

It was you,

it was everything about you,

my typical confusion.

 

 

I’ve signed a contract.

 

“I like the moon. It wasn’t hard to be enthralled by its beauty even from immeasurable distance.”

 

…

You look so strong

as if you never slept

with a tear-stained face

and a soul so scarred

—a heart so scared

 

You let your eyes transmute

into thin curve lines whenever

you smile

as if nothing was missing

You are filled with glistening dust

—and the blinding vivacity of sparks

I was gravely searching

even for un-lustrous stars

to offer an add up to your museum

and unceasingly restore those shining eyes

But as much as I intend to,

I recalled that,

the only One who can complete

the starry night within you

is the One who created

the

vast

universe

for

you.

 

“Shine, always.”

 

For some

and for some people,
it does not need to be breathtaking;
no, it does not need to be a
grand entrance;
no scenic sights
nor pleasing beats;
for quite a few, it is merely
collecting all the happy thoughts
inaudibly;
or
otherwise,
gathering all the wails and cries
with shush and whispers

and for some people,
it does not need to be breathtaking;
when burning brightly
or collapsing;
it is merely
kneeling on your knees
with undisturbed heart
and soothed bones
that undeniably aches
solely for its
Home

“My home lies within a heartbeat on the cross.”

 

The very first letter I wrote to myself

I’m sorry.

Life has been so tough lately that everything seems nothing but nonsensical. There was a weird rhythm in the singsong of your heart. It was battered, bruised and broken. All that could be heard was the deafening noise of nothingness and fullness at the same time. I’m so sorry you had endured all these heartaches, all these howls and cries. I’m sorry you had kept searching your worth and value at the wrong havens. I’m sorry that you had to end your life each night and kept having delusions of a better tomorrow. I’m sorry you had to pull down your walls and give each one of them the entry ticket only to have your eyes witnessed the downfall of the gem inside you. I’m sorry, for I had never protected you from everything that hindered you from growing into the woman that your Creator conceptualized you to be. I’m sorry for the wounds –the scars written in your flesh, deep within, in the cavern of your soul. I’m sorry for not always allowing your Master to heal those. I’m sorry for being so stubborn. I’m sorry that you have to endure every single day of embracing this wretched soul. I’m sorry that I didn’t teach you the concept of happiness. I’m sorry that you heard nothing but my rants and whimpers, my insults and abuses. I’m sorry for letting my own words abolish your self-esteem and self-confidence. I’m sorry for binding you with the notions such as “You are worthless.”; “You are untalented.”; “You are ugly.”; “You can never make it.”; “You are unlovable.”; You are worth scarring for.”; “You deserve hate.”; “You can’t.”. Forgive me for telling you all the otherwise’s of God’s truth. I’m sorry for blocking His words –words that should have given you life. I’m sorry, I have damaged you so much that you are no longer amazed in your waking-hours. I’m sorry for giving you… death.

I’m proud of you.

It was so rare for me to say this but, yes I am. I am proud not merely by your strength but by your vulnerability. It’s hard to show your weakness, but you let it flow to the shore where people can play it, where people can use it as something worth using. I’m so proud that you have learned to surrender people to God; that you have learned the idea of letting go –slowly losing grasp and letting the Lord lead the way. I’m so proud of you, and there were days that I wasn’t, or maybe tomorrow or the next day, I’m no longer cheering for your progress.

But I want you to remember that the story–our story–isn’t predominantly our story. I’m no perfect. I’m no angel. I can take this all back even after just a minute of utterance, but again, my words are not the arguments that matters –it was His, it is His and will forever be His. I can’t still formulate I love you but He can, always.

All the forces in the universe can’t love you the way God does.

That’s more than enough.