writetowander: poem

The Slow Road to Healing a Heartbreak | Poetry and Article

7:30 PM

"i miss the days when" —a poem of longing

I wrote this poem in the midst of the lockdown last year. Stuck in the four corners of the room, I began to flashback and zoom in on how happy I was as a child. It would be bliss to be that carefree again, wouldn't you agree? No bills to pay, no success to chase, no people to please, no "so much hard work" to do. It was clear to me that I longed to be a child again. And it was more clear that I had to do something to make that child-in-me happy again. I've realized that the story of #adulting is indeed true—we wrap ourselves in our work, in our career, in our money-making, and we lose our joy and bliss along the way. It is so (so, so) sad. Terribly sad.

"i miss the days when"

i miss
the days when we can dance in the rain
like no one's watching. nobody can take
a photo of us looking stupid playing and
giggling amidst the thunder and lightning. now
we cannot dance in the rain anymore, it
is easy to feel like you're being constantly
watched by everyone around. one click
away and the next thing you know you're
on some timeline of some friend you barely
even remember.

i miss
the days when we can run barefoot amidst
the heat of the midday sun in the summer,
laughing at each other for failing to steal
the coins in your mother's purse. now we
cannot go around the neighborhood without
the fear of some random homeless person
who kidnaps children, for God knows what
reasons.

i miss
the nights when we lie down in the grassy
lawn of Noy Kanor, the infinite stars our
blanket and both our hands, the pillows.

i miss
us talking about our dreams. "when i grow up
i want to be" were words that shaped our
childhood.

i miss
you telling me about your dreams. you've
always wanted to be "happy", you told me.
i joked and replied, "no, i meant, what
do you want to become in the
future," and laughed at you for telling me
that's what you wanted to be in the future.

i miss
you being so wise. you were always the
smart kid everyone wants to be friends
with. and i was always the kid who is
never taken seriously by almost everyone
because i mostly joke myself around.

i miss
you being my best friend. you seem to me
like a wizard. you've magic. you always know
what i need before i tell you i need it. i love
you for being who you are. i love myself
when i'm around you.

i miss
us.
i miss
the child versions of us.
the ones who were always optimistic and
cheerful. who were always smiling even
when both knees cut open from falling
from the Sambag tree. who seemed to not
care about what the world sees them to be.
who seemed always jubilant about almost
anything. who always knew how to enjoy
life. who saw wonders in everything. who
looked at the world in awe. always
laughing and smiling at the face of adversities.
i miss
them. the children who lived before us. i
miss
us.
i miss
the child versions of us.
i hope to see them one day, very
soon.
and i wish to talk to them.
and ask them how to go on living
this life.
i miss

us.

The Slow Road to Healing a Heartbreak

It's funny how a lot changes when we're "grown-ups". There are days I miss the innocence and full-on trust I had when I was a little child. Don't you miss it, too? Adulthood robs your sweet trusting self when it hands you doubts and pain and disappointments and hurts and more doubts that no matter how hard you try to avoid, they keep coming back, only a lot worse than the previous ones you had. Indeed a vicious cycle.

Pain makes us hard and tough and hurtful and terrible to both ourselves and others. It blinds us to see any goodness there is—how can there be goodness when life seems unfair and all it ever does is hurt you and break your dear heart?

How great it would be if we still had our childhood bliss and sense of wonder & awe and give our trust and love to everyone we meet as we grow up—as adults. The way a child runs to that slide and slides anyway, trusting his/her parent to be there to catch him/her. If only.

If only. But then again, we live in a broken, imperfect world, and so wishing for this would be fairy tale—it's only for books, it never happens in real life. To wish for a fair, all-good world is to wish for heaven to happen on earth. And we all know that's not how it works.

I have tried to push away pain and suffering and strive so hard to make sense of everything by "looking at the bright side" of almost everything. There's always a silver lining, I thought. But by doing so, I didn't think I had caused more harm than good— I treated Sadness, Pain, Suffering and Heartbreaks like they were invalid experiences that I have to dismiss them as soon as they knock on my heart.

It took a long time for me to be able to be at peace with my own suffering. I've learned—the hard way—that in order to heal from the heartbreaks, I have to let my dear heart... break. B-R-E-A-K. To listen to the sound of my heart breaking. Ever so slowly. Like my favorite slow sad song that makes me burst into tears. To listen intently. To be there-—to be present. To be at peace with the sound of grief and mourning and sorrow and loss and pain. And embrace it—fully. And not to look for band aids or cure it immediately while IT IS STILL BREAKING. Many people make that mistake. They treat pain as something to be cured instead of to be experienced (it is natural for humans to be wounded and scarred in her/his lifetime).

When they say time heals all wounds, I beg to slightly disagree. Acceptance and surrender, along with time, heals our (deepest, unspoken) wounds. It is only when we accept that we're vulnerable and human and that we have been hurt and we can also hurt-- to accept all that we are as humans; it is the only way that leads to true and lasting healing of the heart. It is when we learn to let go and surrender and give all our hurts to God that we can ~slowly~ truly heal from all the pain we have been carrying like a badge of honor.

Embrace the pain of the broken heart. Let it break. Let it hurt. Cry. Wail. Grieve. Mourn. Deal with the pain. Do not dismiss and bury the brokenness by trying to be busy in your life or your career or your passion or your love—do not hide your pain. It will only make it worse. It will pile up and one day you will explode in your own sorrow. So, do yourself a favor and deal with the brokenness. Now. Do not try to fix it. Experience it—there is a magnificence in the vulnerability of a person who listens to her/his heart breaking. Not doing anything. Just "being." After all we are human beings and not human doings, right? And then you can let it go. Surrender. Do not remain broken.

It is only when we embrace the fact that while we are alive we can always be hurt and we can also hurt others that we get to fully understand the path to healing the deepest recesses of our broken, weary, beaten hearts filled with seemingly endless pain and suffering. It is only when we learn to embrace and let go and surrender.

"You cannot be alive very long without being wounded. Broken hearts cannot be avoided in this beautiful yet dangerous world we live in." -John & Stasi Eldredge

‘Til the next post, loves! Remember that you are loved beyond borders and beyond time & space. Okay? Okay. 🥰️

Ciao for now! 🤗

life

Poems I Wrote During the Bantayan Island Trip (my latest trip)

4:31 PM

i wrote this after my glass fell to the sand and i was (a little) surprised it did not break lol

when i rode the boat going to the island, i was *overwhelmed* and felt so small in this huge, vast ocean

the sea made me think about drowning. with all the heaviness in a man's heart, how does one sink?

i thought loss is equivalent to nothing but it is when we lose that everything goes on full repeat and apparently loss brings us everything-- all the memories, faces, events, sunrises, sunsets, now, the past, and everything in between

Here are poems i wrote when i had a break from all the working and toiling under the sun.

optimism

on hating yourself everytime you wake up

10:15 AM

No. Don’t give up. Keep fighting. It’s hard. For sure. The kind that wants you to disappear. To get lost. And never be found. For good. The kind that makes you wish you can bury yourself. Along with your thoughts. And all people who came along leaving you nothing but scars and hurts. The kind that makes you angry and frustrated everytime you wake up. Angry at the world. At its people. At everything else. Frustrated. Depressed. Why? You ask. It’s unfair. Hey. Try and look at it differently. And zoom in on the small things. Remember when your Mom told you “it’s about the small things?” She’s right. Imagine just missing one sunrise. Or not being able to breathe. Or drink. Yes, those little things. See? You’re blessed you’re alive and not in a war zone fighting for your right to live. In all that chaos. When you think of giving up, think of how many battles you fought before just to be here now. Now. The today. I mean, everybody is fighting their own demons, too. Many are in their heads even. So no. Don’t give up. You’re stronger than that. You’re stronger than the person who thought giving up is one of the choices. Because it never is. Or was. Keep fighting. Don’t you dare give up.

–things i tell myself everytime i want to give up

poem

Silences

1:52 PM

Today let me share to you some of the designs I made through Canva. These are so random, a result of my so-random thoughts.

poem

shower (and pours)

8:56 AM

shower (and pours)

The December night wind hushed through

the open windowsill, the never invited

guest sent shudders and shivers

– on my thin skin, the likes of a

newborn baby, making its way

to my bones, softly breaking from

his goodbyes and I’m sorry’s,

finding its path to my rib cage,

knocking hard, it echoed despair

over and over, wanting to get

to that part of me which I

never got to protect, it was

hard to breathe, I was turning

ice cold from the grips of my

nemesis, it was slowly creeping,

slithering, crawling to my core,

I battled hard, doing everything

in my power to hide it from

this enemy. I know I am bound

to lose, nothing but a shattered

heart is fighting, pieces are

scattered it’s hard to fit in

the puzzles together. But it

was harder to let him go,

to listen to his bidding words

of iloveyoubuts and repetitive

sorrys, to see him in his

perfect smile holding

not my hand but hers. These thoughts

made me tremble, I can hear

my scrawny body tear apart,

the sound of ripping his love letters

wrongly sent to my address,

the falling of teacups and

plates from an outburst of

shock at his going gone.

I couldn’t feel my nerves,

frozen from impact of the clash

I just lost, knowing that whatever

I’d do—to try to fight, to

try to fix, to try to hold on—he

will never be getting in that

door again. Nor knock. For

it was all over. I was numb,

I didn’t try to defy what came

next—sobbing, silent sobs,

a curling up on the bed, crying,

more wailing, silent shouting,

letting tears attack like thunder

and lighting letting everyone know

that like the sky, I can also destroy

thousands of papertowns with my

soft, gentle cries.

poem

(catharsis]

2:19 PM

kiss her cheek once more.

for the glowing gumball to

still-beating heart—awaiting

wide eyes, calloused hands, and

parentheses. Of brackets. Only

rescue umbrella. No more of

shoulders—alone, no more

rain fall {hard} on her loose

the sun kiss her cheek or the

now is ice cold and dull) of letting

[oh the fire it used to breathe

the caged Phoenix in her bosom

name, knowing this would free

holding back in uttering his

and remembering at once. of not

and of morning strolls. of forgetting

go is hardwork—a series of daily pills

and brackets, she learned, letting

it into nothingness] In her parentheses

to be found [a cloud must’ve swallowed

each star, Her North, was nowhere

paint the calm night sky, tracing

unclose. the clatter of her thoughts

unparentheses. unbrackets.

yet mouthed Iloveyous.

and dried tears and suppressed

the unopened letters of sobs

the quiet lonesome world. opens

no less than a quake shattering

fogs her blurred eyes, the intensity

scattered, attacked. steam

dusty piles of rage, pages

throbbing. unboxed the

of burnt tears and temples

of wrath, there came a shower

she opens the year-old boxes

out:

S gone—she has to let it

[bracket… no more pair, the

holding her hand (parenthesis

gone with no goodbye. of him away

solo ice cream and movie ticket. of

self. of midnight daydreams. of

than its sum. in her uncontainable

her parts only a squareroot bigger

the entirety of her chopped. deduced.

[brackets] shredded. squeezed. stored.

she’s been enclosed (parentheses)

(catharsis] by joanna lanojan

all rights reserved 2017

poem

Seasons of Life: A Poem

11:00 AM

Life is as quick as how seasons change: that’s how I understand it. There will be bright summer’s rays (happy and joyous moments) and cold frozen winter chills (rough times and challenges). I realized this when my mother got hospitalized last month. I thought to myself how fast things change without you even knowing it. Everything happens real quick that you don’t even have time to think; you just do what’s needed at the moment. That a single click; things change, people change and so on… And you’re left to wonder how a moment changes your lifetime and that you know you won’t live the same way you used to. And guess what. That’s life. It’s unexpected and you just gotta know how to enjoy whatever is on your plate. But it will never be easy. Just have faith in you and in God and you'll be fine.

Seasons of Life

-Jong-

The morning light, the sun- kissed

Dew on the newly opened petals

Of roses and daisies dancing on spring

Filled with hopes of the future’s dream

Along with laughter of innocence

And purity of soul

Makes the young traveler’s heart

Burst with joy, contentment.

Here comes the warmth of Old Father’s breath

Forming glitters of sweat

Among the townspeople’s eyes

Asking for cascades of rainy

Afternoons and a handful of freezing drops

To quench the cracked lips of strength,

To enliven the drought of faith

As the traveler walked miles

Away from one place to another

She saw for herself

Little by little, leaves fell

Off the sturdy pack of trees

Once robust and strong

Now left with nothing but

Pieces of yesterday’s youth.

Winds carried their bravery away

The young traveler,

Felt blue and left

Onwards to a new track

Only to find out the worst

To come:

Cold, dark without a heartbeat

Withered flowers greet with stiff

Broken hearts.

The still trees,

Frozen wind

Sent chills deep within

And slowly crept through

Her bare thin being

Pain possessed her poor spirit

Chains of excruciating torture

Gripped her; unable to move

She watched with blood-stained breast and

Hand-squeezed brain

The sun shines across the

Meadow.

One more time.

poem

To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time: My Reply

8:24 AM

To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time

By Robert Herrick

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,

Old Time is still a-flying;

And this same flower that smiles today

Tomorrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,

The higher he’s a-getting,

The sooner will his race be run,

And nearer he’s to setting.

That age is best which is the first,

When youth and blood are warmer;

But being spent, the worse, and worst

Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,

And while ye may, go marry;

For having lost but once your prime,

You may forever tarry.

Source: The Norton Anthology of Poetry Third Edition (1983)

My Reply:

From The Virgins, Making Much of Time

The blooming rosebuds have gathered

Fresh, young not withered.

The same flower that smiles

With seconds of a thousand miles.

Yes, the fiery ball of fire

High above and rises

Shall also bend lower.

But we say there are still doses

Of sunlit-kissed petals

Glittering with crystals.

Yes, the purest is best

Naive; and blood is warmest.

But it takes hours to choose and see

To give our pollen to any bee.

(Tick tock will stop.

Old Time will drop.)

Yes we're not coy, we use time wisely.

Making sure we won't marry

To just anybody.

Because love is prime

So we don't press time.

Than to marry

And be sorry.

Jong

life

Updating Life Status with a Poem

9:04 AM

Yes. I am still alive and kickin'. Well, for most part of the week. Lol. Anyway, I've been too preoccupied with many things that I wasn't even able to check how this blog's goin. And I'm just so thankful I'm able to update a post today. *sighs in relief*

As for today, I'm gonna share a poem I made last (holy) week. I didn't have a job cuz it was a Philippine holiday so I observed the things that should be done by a Catholic-- fast, pray, reflect, meditate and repent. On top of that, I also visited different churches (Visita Iglesia) and did the Stations of the Cross (Via Crusis). Since all should also do fasting, many would prepare "binignit"(Visayan term) for this special time of the year (We are part of the majority. Fyi, my mother's the best cook in town *winks*). For you who don't know, it's actually a yummy soup filled with root crops such as banana, sweet potato, ube, etc mixed with glutinous rice and "landang"(a special ingredient from a tree, yeah, but it tastes good) to make it sticky in texture. What gives it flavor is the coconut milk; color, the tapioca balls. (Yum!) *Wish I can tell you the steps on how to make it. But there's always a room for next time.*

My brother, sissie and niece striking for a pose after our Via Crusis.

Now to cut to the chase, here is a poem I randomly thought about after attending the "Blessing of Fire and Water Mass" during Black Saturday.

Soul's Silent Prayer

When all you see are silhouettes and

shadows and darkness and people
Fitting in, trying to be good
Others, really good
Kindhearted
While the rest are not that bad
At all-- mending broken ties
Repenting on their evildoings
Going an extra mile
All for the second chance they're given

Still there are others whose hands

are filled with mud

Of deceit, lies, treachery, adultery

Of sins I can't count, can't attest to

How tragic would it be if they don't

at least try to make up for those acts;

To be sorry for the same repeated

brutally bad behavior been done

Daily

Every single day,
Not knowing how much
did our freewill
cost--
A Precious Breath!

Yet we are given this brief chance

To make things right

Make straight the path

towards where peace is abundant,

Rich and endless

And so we begin today

as we look forward for tomorrow

That's as bright as the sun

piercing through my bare eyes

Now despite the sourly sick sinful nature

we have

He accepts us with arms wide open

Welcoming us with warmth

For He is beyond our mental grasp,

our limited mind, our compressed thinking.

Because He still loves us despite having been

Wrong

Daily

Every single day.

He chose to die for His love of us, mortals.

May we also, in turn,

Try hard to let a part of us

Or us as a whole,

die in love of

Our King.

And let our heart be torn open

For Him to dwell inside.

Yes, that's it for now. And let me end this post with a question I know too late to ask but it's better late than never, right. :)

How did you spend your Holy Week? Did you go on a vacation like what most people did or just stayed at home and prayed like I did? Please do share!

Alive and kicking,
Jong

life

Poetry's Stories: On The Bright Side

6:37 PM

A coin has two sides, as always. Just like life-- you choose which side to take. Of course, people want to be on the bright side always. Yet it's difficult to do that 'cause there are many hindrances everywhere-- greed, pride, jealousy, anger, hatred and more. And on this note, I only have two poems to share.

"What Now?”

The battle between good and evil

The fight between heaven and hell

Do these ring a bell?

Or unabsorbed by the mind still?

What life does a bad man give?

What sadness does a great man live?

Do both of 'em in sins dive?

Or in the sweet tune jive?

For this I say at once:

Never judge someone by chance.

They have their own unique style.

Within them lies a great mile.

Why not just offer a smile?

Instead of whine and fake file?

'Cause little happiness is all it takes,

To caress the burden that life makes!

“To Them Whose Lives I Despise Not”

No matter how hard they pull you down,

Never believe them or else you'll drown.

Don't let anyone say you're no good.

Nor let their ideas ruin your mood.

Those people are just insecure.

Their sickness don't have any cure.

They're jealous of what you have,

'Cause they see the things they love but can't have.

All their life their busy gossiping,

Since they don't have to do anything;

For they focus on others' lives,

To end the pity and the bad vibes

Yes, they're all in the same boat.

Those people who leave their minds to float:

In the gross misconception of reality,

Sank in lies, dipped in fallacy

They believe, “That is all life has to offer.”

So seeking the true you, they don't even bother.

They're contented with the mere hope,

That dragging you down will help them cope.

Listen: “Don't and never believe what they say.”

Because doing so will only give you dismay.

Believe in who you are and in what you can do;

In what you can achieve and in You--

You're better than anyone,

Because you're the only one!

Always stay on the bright side

Everything happens for a reason. And no matter what happens-- be it a huge trial, a hopeless case, a calamity (e.g.: a strong typhoon), a serious misunderstanding, a "dead end" trend, a health obstacle and many more challenges there are-- STAY ON THE BRIGHT SIDE. BE OPTIMISTIC. TRUST IN YOURSELF AND MOSTLY, TRUST GOD. HE NEVER FAILS TO MAKE YOU HAPPY.
BELIEVE.
Be positive.

Thank you for reading, dearies!
Stay safe.

(P.S., Here's a song during this time:)
"When the oceans rise and thunders roar
I will soar with You above the storm
Father You are King in all the Earth
I WILL BE STILL
KNOW YOU ARE
GOD" J

Dearest yours,

Jong J

literature

Poetry's Stories: (Friday) Poems of Waiting

9:16 AM

This week is really as “Grand Waiting Week” since I am preoccupied in waiting to – some important documents, a reply, the salary and the struggle of waiting in line for a jeep every after work. Yes, it’s a crazy- busy week indeed. Whoo! TGIF I survived the week, I tell ‘ya.

Inspired by this week, I’ve made these two poems. Hope ‘ye like it, dearies.

Different Kinds of Wait

A usual afternoon after long day’s work

Exhausted and tired, seems like

The fluid feeding my body

Was drained automatically

Dizzy, just longing for home

And comfort and rest

Badly needs to devour tasty

Crazily dreams to shut these eyes

When you think about it

Halo it brings, effect of ecstasy

But then when you try to get a jeepney

You’ll find out people you meet have same story

Hungry for home, thirsty for rest

They’ll do everything out of their best

So long as they catch the key

To unlock their portal of safety

You look around and find different

Kinds of wait:

Those green greedy eyes watching for prey

Acting rough and edgy

Those silent deep eyes which

Keep closed yet opens to danger

Those impatient and unwanted eyes which

Then give up after brief moments of the sickle

Those assertive righteous eyes which

Act on the right tick tock and timing

So long then, it’s near the end of waiting

Go grab the key you were longing

You were fighting

For, and go take your

Peaceful, dreamy endeavor

The Wait

Look at them

Face sagging, posture drooping, patience decreasing

Respect seems nothing out of waiting

Waiting for their ticket to the future

Future they think would save their souls

Souls which wander for a greener pasture

Pasture as healthy as the sheep which gather

Gather and feed on the grass and let live

Live long enough for your kin’s sake

Now, now

Line seems the end is nowhere and I’m late

I can’t stretch the patience, the wait

If only this can be done as quick as lightning

Then no need to bear with the torture of

Waiting

Dearest yours,

Jong J

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The Slow Road to Healing a Heartbreak | Poetry and Article

"i miss the days when" —a poem of longing

The Slow Road to Healing a Heartbreak

Poems I Wrote During the Bantayan Island Trip (my latest trip)

Here are poems i wrote when i had a break from all the working and toiling under the sun.

on hating yourself everytime you wake up

Silences

shower (and pours)

(catharsis]

Seasons of Life: A Poem

To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time: My Reply

Updating Life Status with a Poem

Poetry's Stories: On The Bright Side

Poetry's Stories: (Friday) Poems of Waiting

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