The Puzzle.

If Neruda can write the saddest line for a lover's lost,
why can't I write the happiest line for a lover not yet found?

Someone told me that I had to start picking up the pieces of the puzzle I am trying to solve. All this while, I have been thinking about Sphinx's riddle and digging into the passages of this wandering. It was a task neither easy nor dull. Solving it made me twist myself until I can't breathe any longer. I was suffocated. I thought I was going to burst and die from asphyxiation. Little did I know, there's nothing left to burst. The last drop that could fell has already passed by even before I realize it. The only consolation left to my despondent weariness was that the puzzle never made my life dull. Each time that I had to stretch my brains was a learning opportunity in disguise. It was a stretching situation that made my deciphering painful, yet exciting; baffling yet, intelligent; and critical yet redeeming. It wasn't really bad after all. All the while it was my outlook that made me missed the greater purpose of the puzzle. It's a good thing that someone told me that I had to start picking up the pieces of the puzzle that I am trying to solve. If not, perhaps I have been brooding eternally upon how to do it, when all I should have done is to pick one up and fit it with another one.

Love Found.

And she kissed him on his soft-parched lips. It was so tender, a brush on a midnight stroke of light, and smooth, like a perfectly brewed latte. They have been wanting such moment to come that the world would stop churning and the season would come to a halt. He gently held her in strong arms. And they were kissing against the moon, which seemed to have forgotten that its light doesn't come from itself. Played at the backdrop of Shakespearean's CXVI, the intensity of a deep human emotion forecloses.

"So long have I waited for this moment," he lightly revealed quivering in the cold. "I always hoped for this, even dreamt about it many times. But I was afraid, too much afraid that once I say this that tiny little would would vanish away in thin air." Listening intently to him, she lightly loosened from his grip and relaxed her voice, "I prayed for this moment when you can hold me in your arms, when I can just be with you, when I can just be me and be with you." She was grasping his moist palm. Her voice started to break, "From the time I wake up to walk along the red bricked road, to the time I sip my coffee, until the light shuts itself, I have asked that you'd be given to me. I have loved you... even before you knew it."

Shifting Sands

There is light sheer joy
in seeing the sands
shift with the waves.

It was as if forever
it is destined to do
the same over
and over again.

There is a convulsing impetus
at the sight of the sands
shifting at the shore.

It was as if
they are traveling on
and on to reach
the ocean's floor.

There is sheer contentment
in seeing the sands
move from space to space.

It was as if it
has a life of its own
But the wind and the water
push it, swerve it,
move it from space to space.

Freewill.

Our freewill is a gift given out of God's love. It's a gift, not a curse, as most people may think. It's a blessing; not a vehemence. God gave us the ability - not the power - to choose because he initially graced us with rationality, that ability to process information and concept and decide after. It is in our blueprint to think, to decipher rightness and wrongness of a thing or action. But of course, what good is it for us if we could only decipher and differentiate but can't choose which side of the coin to go, and which path to tread on?

Exercising freewill on the belief or unbelief of God for instance is a direct manifestation of this precious gift. But the more important thing about this is that it shows that as much as God wants us to be on his side always, he did not coerced nor forced. He wittingly left us to our own thinking devices and capacities because he trusts us.

Choice therefore means learning. As we make choices, we are flooded with many opportunities, chances we can take to either turn things to our favor or let us be consumed harshly. And choice slash freewill slash freedom just proves how God works to make us understand the reality of this physical world - the lightness or heaviness of beings, the bearability or un-bearability of passions, and the rhythm or stillness of moments.

Often, we say his ways are magnificent; his works, a wonder. But how many of us truly understand this? Statement-wise, it is the visual that overpowers our senses. We've never really tried to dig into the reasons of how things work.

Why in times of trouble we often think that God abandoned us? Why is it easier to put the blame on him? Why do we question his credibility when things go against our liking? Perhaps, it may even not our choice that they happen, that we just randomly meet them along the path we tread on. Have it ever occurred to us that in a snap, God may command the heavens, the earth, and the seas to conspire against us? But of course, he wouldn't do that. Not in an unintended, purposeless manner.

So God, that omniscient and omnipotent being, left us instead with choices and to make choices for us to learn by ourselves, for us to realize the consequences of our own choosing, for us to personally navigate into the depths of our humanity, and for us to intentionally choose him and accept that we are his most beloved creation.

Imagine a world where we can think but we can never choose, where we can believe but can't fight for nor negate such, and where we are just like any other forms of animals - living each day by internally recorded instinct.

Letting Go.

There was a time in my life that I was lost, sauntering blindly in a path so thorny, so dim. I felt betrayed, consumed by the thought that I am alone - always. No one stood by my side to lift me, to inspire me, and to bring me back to my senses. Not even my parents were there. Neither my friends - or they were there but I didn't mind them being there.

I was inches close to self-destruction. Everyone conspired against me; even my self. One blow I would've been shattered into pieces. Literally. I was no better than broken pieces of glass, forcefully banged and finely crushed. It was nearly impossible to construct myself again.

Until that one fine day I finally decided to move on and let those build-up simmer into vapor. I was never the same again. Much to my favor, the past is just a memory now - still lingering, yet controllable; lamentable but diffusable.