THE LAST STRAW

"Charley, do you have a minute tonight?" By the way he sounded, I knew he wasn't just asking for a minute. "Okay, not really one minute. Can you come over for dinner over wine tonight? It's been a while." I knew it. Not a bad idea. I was anyway in the office reviewing blue prints for a client presentation on Monday. "Sure, Kuya. I'd be driving to your place ‘round 8pm, okay?" After arranging how to go about the limited parking space in his condo, we hung up.

It's just 3pm and I can barely focus on the plates after that phone call. Half of my mind was somewhere else, and the other curious half was trying to think about what tonight’s agenda would be. Though we grew up together, my brother was not exactly the sweet kind of guy who would invite me over just so we could catch up with each other's lives. More so, he never really involved me in his personal dealings, unless I know the person he's having quite some difficulty with. Could it be about our cousin who made him a human ATM but who never made a single deposit? Man, Kuya is such a nice-ass who can't say no to people. Could it be about our aunt with whom he had a heated argument about the family inheritance? If you could even consider half a hectare an 'inheritance', to be split among eight siblings. Heavens, I should’ve asked him before he hung up. I can’t believe I could be so much like his girlfriend sometimes. Wait. Could it be about Leona?

My stupid message tone instantaneously bursted my thought bubble. One text from Leona. “Hi bessie, care for some coffee after work tonight? I just thought we…”, read the message preview. Looks like my mental detective game is over. It is indeed going to be about Leona. My brother’s girlfriend is not exactly my BFF, but she fondly calls me ‘bessie’, maybe because we’re of the same age. We hang out sometimes since we have a lot in common --- she’s also an architect, loves coffee, books, painting, Philippine history, just name anything boring. That, aside from the fact that I’m her first aid when it comes to her strains with Kuya. So how does it feel to get caught up between them again? Sometimes I’m tempted to just tell them that I don’t really give a damn. Nah, of course I still do.

As I reached for my phone thinking about a nice alibi, I was wondering if it was one of those self-esteem problems Leona has been dealing with again. She's a board top-notcher, street-smart, kind, sweet, caring, thoughtful, generous, genuine, and not to mention very beautiful too. But for some strange reason, she’s kind of sensitive and jealousy, would always think of herself as unimportant like a lonely little wallflower, no matter how much you make her feel that she’s precious and loved. When I’m not in the mood for her drama, my evil side would wonder if she’s just fishing for compliments. But people who are like that would stop acting miserable when you give them their share of ego-boosters. But Leona? Nah. I just need to hear two magic words from Kuya to figure out what’s going on: I’m drained.

Message sent. I just told her I still need to stop by the organic store to get mom her favorite green pesto spread. Leona has a weakness for mothers. She lost hers to cancer when she was just 12. I know she wouldn’t insist anymore, but I felt a cringe in my guts with that little white lie that I just made. Lies. I used to be a liar. A pretentious, young career woman keeping up an intimidating face when all that’s inside me was just plain crap. I used to be so jealous, so doubting of the assurance that I receive from people who mattered, when they don’t even understand why I needed assurance to begin with. Leona met me after that state. She doesn’t know that we have a lot more in common more than coffee and history. And she doesn’t know that all it took to turn me around were the last two words of someone so dear to me but whose last straw I regrettably pulled: I’m drained.

It’s just 6pm but the February skyline spells like 8pm already. Three hours of mental torture was not healthy at all. Reaching out for my bag to get the car keys, my guts told me to pick up my phone instead. “Hi Leona,” I started typing. “Organic shop’s out of pesto. Are you still up for coffee?” #

AS FAR AS

I.

I sat with Silence ---

On a porch, on a grey-skied afternoon.

Chin on my knees. Arms 'round my shanks.

Harking back, choking up, musing on nothing.

Nothing --- that was everything I ever had. 

You came with Sound ---

With an old, dusty piece of map on hand,

Blocking my view of the forest clearing.

Said there's a pretty Lake into the woods;

Will take us quite a while, but we'll get there.

I sat in Stillness ---

Said I was not a bit interested,

But later changed my "no" to a "maybe."

Noticing this tiny little speck of chance,

You stooped down and whispered "I got you." 

We raced against Permanence ---

Into the woods, amidst the towering Trees

That watched every single move that we took.

Though it felt cold and grey as the now unseen skies,

Your hands were there to keep me warm.

II.

So we walked and ran and paced,

As far as our legs can take us. 

We breathed, breathed, and breathed,

As deep as our lungs can take in.

By the smell of wind blowing on my face

I could tell the Lake's within arms' reach now.

I smiled and looked back, but you seem to have stopped.

"Is anything wrong? Are you scared? Or just tired?"

I rummaged for medicines, but I have none.

I scrabbled about for water, and I have none either.

How could I tell you that I can give you nothing?

Nothing --- that was everything I ever had. 

III.

We sat in Silence, wishing tomorrow will be as beautiful as yesterday.

We sat Still, like water, on that Lake that we can't reach.

But can't we? Or we cannot just yet? 

I leaned on you and listened to the Sound,

of your tired and cold hands reaching out to rest on mine.

Let's just sit and wait until we can go on with our Story, together. #

BURDEN OF PROOF

"And Mom, Jamie's a girl." Again. That's always where our conversations boil down to --- me having to clarify to her that the person I have been chatting with, talking to on the phone for hours, and planning to meet up that weekend is actually a girl. I don't really like having to explain myself and what I do to other people, including my Mom. But what choice do I have? If I don't, next thing I know's that she'd be cross examining my younger sister asking if I've been sharing secret crushes with her during our midnight gossips, working so hard to probe evidence to pin me on the cherry of the dartboard. Especially if the names she's been hearing from me lately sounds suspicious enough to be a guy. Like Kris or Andy. Or Jamie. Seriously, she really should have finished law school and not settled to be a plain housewife after marrying dad and having us. She would have made a great lawyer. I bet she can win a hundred percent of all annulment cases, including her own.

"I'm not even asking." That would always be her defense. I can sense she was trying to keep her eyes off mine as she looked straight down the table, perfectly julienning those poor little baby carrots. I actually have no idea how it became a full-blown discussion since I just popped out in front of her in the kitchen to ask if I could borrow her Mondeo to meet Jamie in Ortigas that afternoon. Since I got back from this children's storybook writing competition in Vegas the other week I haven't had time to have my Cortina overhauled after floodwater seeped in during a huge storm while I was away. Still annoys me to think how apathetic my elder brother could be. I called him from overseas several times that day to make sure he'll move my car to the elevated part of the garage. He said he will, but after a few hours I got a text message --- "Sorry sis, bed weather." Wow. At least he was considerate enough to update me that my car's totally useless now. On a lighter note though, had it not been for him, I would not have been inspired to write about the struggle of a little boy growing up with Asperger's syndrome in a rather dysfunctional family as my final story line. It won first prize. The judges said it was a "rare, representational piece".

"When are you going to start dating, honey?" She started doing her direct examination. She'd be telling me I'd be turning 30 next year, that she understands if I am now in a mindset of not getting married because of her feminist influences raising the three of us alone, but that she and dad have a different story and perhaps I can still consider starting a family of my own someday. I don't really mind answering the same questions over and over. In fact I love it when these discussions come up, because I can finally take part in her forensic games. Best part would be when I get her to suddenly be the defendant and narrate to me to the last detail, sometimes excruciatingly, how she met dad in law school, how they fell in love, got married, and how she eventually found out about his other family. It makes me guilty sometimes, but I feel relieved whenever she would end up with just conceding to my decision to not date guys just yet.

"Say hi to your friend for me," Mom yelled as I started the car. I saw her waving goodbye from the rear-view mirror and felt another tinge of guilt for a second. Though single-handed, Mom did a pretty good job at raising us, no doubt about it. But for some reason, even if we constantly have those conversations in the kitchen, I never really told her about me or what I do, or why I do what I do. Could it be the reason why she keeps on playing her forensic games on me? I have no idea. As I stepped on the accelerator, I thought to myself how different this morning's conversation could have been had I played my role as the daughter, and not the defendant. Mom, Jamie's a girl. Yes, she's also a freelance writer. Well it's legal all over the US now. Do you think Vegas would be a nice place for us to start together? #

PACES (A Short Short Story)

It was a lazy Tuesday afternoon. At least for me, it felt like a Tuesday. One of those Tuesdays. The sun was struggling to stay up, but dusk was already pushing its way over the orange horizon. I could see its majestic red rays peep from the gray clouds above the city skyline. I look back inside the room where I was sitting on my working desk, anxiously waiting for 5 o'clock. There you are, seated across where I am, busily writing something with your fountain pen on sheets of loose white paper. Your forehead almost kissing the ink, I could see from behind your rimless glasses that your eyes were glinting with whatever you were writing. Or were you sketching? I didn't really bother. I wanted to offer to turn the room lights on for you since you looked really pathetic while forcing each blot on the now messy canvas. But I didn't. I just wanted the darkness to force you in turn to finally stand up and tell me you've had enough. For the day, at least. I don't even know why I'm waiting for you, aside from the fact that it's only the two of us left in that cramped office, aside from the decade-old tables and dust-covered swivel chairs. Always been the case --- we go home later than the others do. But for some reason, I've always looked forward to get off at 5 o'clock with you.

It was still sunnier from outside the building than I thought. In the city where we live and work, there aren't really much residents, and walking to and from our apartments was more of a given rather than a choice. That afternoon was perfect for a slow walk. As we started heading right along the pavement, I could see a lot of people were still strolling around. The minute we crossed the street, you stepped forward to get ahead from where I was standing. You looked back at me with an almost inconspicuous smile and asked, "Tara?" I just hate it when you do that. Not your smile of course, but the fact that I know that it simply means you're inviting me to hurry up and jog our way to the streets before the gray skies totally consume the red lights of the skyline. I didn’t tell you of course, but you just spoiled my walk-in-the-park dream that afternoon. But I am powerless. All I know is that your energy's inevitably viral that when you start running, I end up just running too --- even though I always fear my heartbeat's going to suffer at some point. I let our distance widen by a few meters. It is just then that I noticed you actually looked prettier than usual that day --- your short hair let down, resting on the plain white sleeveless knee-length dress, in full contrast against your favorite dirty black Chucks. I have always envied your sense of style. How can you wear something like that with such effortless confidence? "Artist ka nga," I smilingly thought to myself. To put a halt to my envious admiration I just tried to run faster to close our gap.

As soon as I caught up with your pace, tremendously catching my breath by the way, you abruptly stopped and picked up your phone from the right pocket of your white dress. I never got used to listening to people's conversations over the phone so I brought my eyes to linger on top of the buildings, watching the city birds do their last V-shaped formation above us before calling it a day. Slipping back your phone inside your pocket, you just said "Si Sharon. I have to go." Oh, Sharon. I thought to myself. Sharon also worked in the same company where we used to. I met her two years before we actually met, remember? Without even looking at me, you started heading forward. Actually, you started running. Again. But I didn’t ask why --- and you didn’t stop me from following you either. We ran at a pace that has always been familiar to us, racing against the last drops of red shimmers across the gray skies. I don't even know where we're running to, but all I know is that we're not going back. At the sound of every hurried step that we took against the concrete pavement, we just know. #

ARRHYTHMIA II

Isang daan lang daw kada minuto.

Isang daang tibok. Pintig. Sikdo.

Sinubukan kong damhin sa aking mga daliri.

Bakit ang sa aki'y tila higit na mas marami?

Pakiusap, huminahon ka na.

Wala namang sayong nakikipagkarera.

Kahit ga'no kabilis ang iyong kumpas

Di ka makalalabas sa munti mong rehas.

Matagal-tagal ka ring hindi nagpadama.

Buwan o taon - ang huli'y kailan nga ba?

Para bumangon ang isang masidhing agam-agam,

Isang gabi lang ang aking kinailangan.

Isang gabing inilarawan ng kanyang tinig.

Kalmado, malamlam, nababalot ng lamig.

Kung paano nahulog ang buwan mula sa langit,

At nag-iwan kinabukasan ng isang mahabang guhit.

Sana ba'y 'di ko na lamang inusisa?

Ngunit ako rin para sa kanya'y balisa.

Sana ba'y hindi ko na lamang nabatid?

Kamangmangan ko'y walang buting maihahatid. 

Lunes -

Para sa kanya,

Marahil isa na naman lamang

Pangkaraniwan at nakaririmarim na Lunes.

Subalit,

Ang hilahil na ito'y

Habambuhay kong papasanin

Sa hudyat ng pagsisimula ng kanyang Lunes.

Isang pangakong pilit kong ipinabitiw.

Mga himig at salitang pilit pinagsasaliw.

Sakaling makatanggap ng di inaasahang tawag

Ako ba'y matutuwa o higit na mababagabag?

Hihinto nang tuluyan ang iyong pagpintig

Dahil sa kabilang linya'y di marinig ang kanyang tinig.

Subalit ang tawag niya'y hudyat sa akin ng kamalayan, ng kalayaan.

At ikaw, puso ko, ay titibok, at titigil na sa isang daan, #

SEVEN DEGREES

Seven degrees. Sun setting on my east.
On my left, a single row of trees
That stand sturdily
Amidst the chill of year's end.

They look down at me. Down. At me.
They utter narry a word,
But their glances pierce heavily
Through my thick winter wardrobe.

I look back. I stare back.
Can a tree still be a "tree"
When its leaves are no more?

What good are you, then,
When you fail to give me shade?
How can you stand up so proud
When you do nothing,
But sleep and wait for spring?

But then, birds still cling onto you.
Squirrels still find your dry branches
Playground for their silly games.
Insects still find warmth
In your cold, empty trunks.

Stop. Stop looking at me
Like I can do better.
I have not gone to this place
In the past two summers.

Today, every green from you was shed.
Not a single dangling leaf can I see
From this cold wooden bench where I sit.
I am taken aback.
I have never seen you like this before.
But, have I ever "seen" you before?

The winter bared to me a part of you
That I will, perhaps,
Never would be able to fathom.
For I am merely a random visitor
Who happened to sit beside you today.
For I am just like everybody else
Who can see your beauty
Even when all life is shed. #

ENDURING SEASONS

It's officially Autumn, and it started to get cold this side of the world. Tonight the temperature's around 10 degrees Celsius; that's not by far the worst as I woke up to a 4 degrees a couple of weeks ago, but for someone who grew up in the Asian tropics, this is starting to kill me. Or at least, my focus. If there's one thing that this weather has done bad to me, it's distracting me fully. But I have to go on. There's no other way but for me to get up and get going. As long as I put enough layers of clothing I know I'd be fine anyway.

This afternoon I decided to pop out of my dorm for a pretty little picnic that the seniors prepared for new students. Yes, a "pretty" picnic is how you call an event where they basically give you a nice welcome before the nightmares start. And a "welcome" is a shorter word for "tips to lessen the agony" or "warnings for freshies taking economics".

My favorite shortcut to the university is the sports ground, comprised of a small running track and a couple of tennis and beach volleyball courts. It has been raining the whole morning, and now I realize that Autumn only looks pretty with the orange leaves, but not the wet ground. On my way today it was very noticeable how the trees along the sports ground started turning yellow in a matter of days, with their leaves turning yellow to orange, like a poetic sunset, before they finally fall to the ground. The whole Autumn season here is pretty short, from mid-September through November. While I was looking up the trees, I felt like telling them, "the next couple of  months will probably be just enough for your leaves to completely shed off before winter."

But as I stepped and walked past the orange leaves on the ground, I found myself asking, "Were the trees designed to endure the months that they can only stand Autumn, or was Autumn designed to be that short until a time that trees can only stand?" Which one was made for what?

In a number of times we find ourselves in the middle of something difficult. Like trees, we turn to a color which people don't normally see the whole year round. Further, we shed things from ourselves --- our resources, our happiness, and our strength. We try to endure it to a certain stretch, but when all is exhausted, we finally ask if it can just be taken away from us.

I just realized that the Season is very wise, and He sees what the trees are going through. He knows when the they're experiencing extreme cold. He knows when they've had enough shedding. But He, too, knows that He can't stop until such time that the tree has shed off from it's last earthly leaf. He even knows that after the trees have been stripped off of all its leaves, it's going to have to endure more months of colder weather in Winter, so there's not much of a point in stopping the challenge in Autumn. Why? Because He knows that it would not be possible to bloom the most beautiful flowers in Spring if the trees don't shed off and endure that difficulty.

As I stepped and walked past the orange leaves on the ground, I thought maybe the answer to my question is, it's both. I felt like a tree shedding in Autumn, and I know there's still going to be a long Winter ahead of me. But God has designed me in such a way to help me endure these hurdles, and He designed these hurdles in such a way that I am sure to endure them. My favorite quote says, "God doesn't give you what you can't endure." It has always been a game of trust that I continue to fail on every day, but I'm happy to have heard His message through the beautiful leaves of Autumn today. #

'Do not fear or be dismayed because of this great multitude, for the battle is not yours but God's.'  --- 2 Chronicles 20:15

KATIPUNAN

Dalawang nakaraan ang bumabalik sa isipan.
Isa, noong nasa rurok ng kamusmusan.
Panahong unang makita ang "mundo",
       ang inaakalang kalawakan.
Panay umaga, panay hapon.
Sa aking isip isang agam-agam
       sa susunod na apat na taon.
Panay aklat, panay sabi-sabi.
Kailan ko makikita ang mundo
       para sa aking sarili?

Sa pagitan ng tatlong taon binaybay
       ang mas malawig na daan.
EDSA sa mas kilalang tawag ng karamihan.
Subalit sa biglang tawag ng "tadhana"
Akoy' dinalang muli sa dating kalsada.
Sa pagkakataong ito ibang "ako" ang napagdili-dili
Maliban sa edad, bitbit ko
       ang libong kaisipa't damdaming kinukubli.
Sa uma-umagang pakikibaka
       sa paghihintay at pagninilay
Umuuwi gabi-gabi sa parehong rutang
       tanging ilaw at busina ang karamay.
Minsang aambon, madalas ulan at baha
Sa napakaiksing panahon ang daang ito'y
       saksi sa lahat ng hinuha.

Sa umagang bitbit ko ang ligayang walang tungo
Gaya ng ilaw na itinutok sa langit, may pinagmumulan
       subalit walang dulo.
Sa gabing pasan ko ang lahat ng hapo
Nangangarap ng isang biyaheng
       matatapos sa iilang pulso.
Sa bawat oras, hindi gabi't hindi rin araw,
Na ako'y nakalutang sa isang balintataw
Nagmumuni-muni sa susunod na hakbang
Nakatitig sa malawak na luntiang lupaing
       sa harap nama'y puno ng harang.

Isang iglap, muling kinailangang magpaalam
Isang libo't isang tagpo ang tumakas sa aking agam-agam.
Hindi ko nagawang tignan ka sa huling pagkakataon.
Ang mga tulay na sinubok ng mahabang panahon
Ang mga posteng nagsisilbing gabay
Ang mga taong ipinaubaya na sa 'yo ang kanilang buhay.

Pa-Silangan, pabalik sa aking Kabataan.
Pa-Hilaga, patungo sa aking Kinabukasan.
Magkaroon kaya muli ng ikatlong pagtatagpo?
Akin na lamang ipinikit ang mga matang
       sa pagod ay sumuko.
Sino nga ba'ng makapagsasabi, aking kaibigan?
Marahil ang butihing Hangin, kung ito'y muling aayon
       sa Kanyang kalooban. #

Andreo Bongco Photography

RESISTING RESISTANCE

I was sitting on my bedside quietly, holding my plane ticket which says departure is at 11am at Terminal 1. I jumped to my still unlocked luggage, and turned to the laundry where I'm still washing and forcibly drying a couple of clothes that I know I have to bring with me. Outside of my room, mom and dad didn't look ready either. It's almost 9am. We got into the car. Along the way I realize I forgot my ticket and passport at home. No choice but to go back the tracks of the horrible EDSA traffic. It's almost 10:30 and at this point I know I'm definitely going to miss my flight. Ironically, I am not worried at all. Suddenly, my mobile phone alarms. It's 5 in the morning. I'm alone in my room, in Germany, and it has been almost two weeks now. And I have been resistant so far.

I guess it's but natural to compare old things and habits when you get a chance to see new places. When I first came here, it was just nice to see that airports and train stations were clean, buses come and go on time, streets are safe to walk, cars make a full stop for crossing pedestrians, water everywhere is safe to drink, prices of goods are reasonable, and the environment is generally peaceful. Before I left though, one of my friends said, "Give yourself a week to adjust, then you'll see." Indeed but unconsciously, I started missing things little by little. I missed having to wake up early to get rid of traffic, working at 2 in the morning, cooking for the family, preparing for Households, getting scared of going home late, Sunday mass, UP and jeepney rides, Tumana, Technohub, Megamall --- everything and everybody I've been used to in the past years just come flashing back in my head every now and then. I'm a very nostalgic person, and when I say "I miss" something, it means missing the feeling that comes with that beautiful memory. So yes, this is the very reason why I sometimes intentionally get up before dawn here --- because I wanted to get in touch and chat with people I am familiar with back home.

Bit by bit, too, I started to dislike two facts of life here. One, that everything's just too convenient. For someone who grew up in the third world, hardship is a part of life; and it makes me uncomfortable how comfortable things and people are here. So what are people actually living for? Second, that I'm doing things here for me alone. It was very timely though that around the same time that I'm feeling this, Pao, one of my former officemates, told me, "Ate remember, hindi lang yan para sa sarili mo." In a snap I was reminded. That line made perfect sense. Indeed, I have to accept the fact that everything I do here is part of the dream I wanted to achieve. I know what I am fighting for, but I cannot choose the battles that can come with it. In the littlest of things, my patience, endurance and faith will be tested, and I'm going to have to lose part of the familiar along the way.

I'm not yet in the verge of homesickness. I might be missing things, but I realize today that I'm happy. I'm happy not because I'm away from thousands of my country's third world problems, but because I realize that I was actually very happy with my life back at home. In fact it is now that I appreciate coming from a third world even more. It may not be a first world life that I live, but it's a life I lived with people, for people, with love, and for love. And I am proud to say today and every single day that my country is beautiful, and so are my people. Those are the very things that's going to keep me for now.

Today, another week has passed. Although the first week has excruciatingly been slow, this one went by pretty fast. So maybe two years won't be so long after all. I would just need to remind myself to resist the feeling of resistance more often. And I would be needing your prayers more often too. #

PICKING UP

Man, has it been a while.

When it has been months since your last post, there's no other way to start all over but to mull over your random thoughts. Yep, that's the sign of a true fake writer. For real.

So people thought that I went on a writing hiatus. Was I keeping myself in the corner, contemplating on the next big thing to write about, like a rock star hiding away on the outskirts of Memphis, listening to the Mississippi with pen and paper on hand? Not true --- I simply could not do it the past months. Lack of inspiration? Too cliche. Preoccupied? Maybe. Well let's just say I have been that lazy that I didn't even lift a finger to type you a short paragraph. Yep, "lazy" is indeed the perfect adjective.

Five months. I can't even keep up. What actually transpired? I knew there was a whole lot. What pains me though, is that I could not type them all now as they have just gone past in front of me. Like an unexpected cool wind that greets you on a hot summer noon --- five seconds, and that's it. Five months. The adventures perhaps could have been written somewhere in this blog. It could have been a narration of colors, of emotions. But none of it was ever written. It was regrettable, but at the same time it was not.

The past five months, I now realize, has been a time of significant silence. Incidentally, it has also been five months since I have muted myself on Facebook. For people who know me, I'm a one-line orator --- I speak my mind in one line, whether people like it or not, whether I build or destroy. But suddenly, what started off as a break from insanity eventually became a habit. My initial intention in deactivating my account was to focus on a last-chance project I've long been working on. I have been bothered with so much noise around news feed, tags, posts, and other social media what-nots, and I know that a distance from all these would definitely be handy.

And so it has been. The last-chance, by God's grace, has unexpectedly become a turnaround opportunity. I had to pay the price though, of course. Some friends thought I "un-friended" them. In many occasions I thought I was so out-of-date that I don't even know what's happening not only to friends but to my surroundings. I don't even know who's going to read this if this doesn't get posted in FB!!!

Still, I have not touched the log-in button. For one, I learned to challenge myself to make the effort to get to know people better not by looking at their profiles, but by taking a conscious effort to give time for a sweet talk. Informing myself on the latest news is another. I had to do a little trick though and create a second account for my Singles for Christ updates ---  I accepted no friends though, so that made me look all the more anti-social. It's not cool telling people you don't have FB, but being anti-social though makes you realize who your real "Friends" are. Believe me.

I have been silent most of my conscious life. I always thought that when you're a woman of few words, more silence would not mean anything anymore. But this period of silence has been the greatest and most humbling thus far. The noise has consumed me both ways --- inward and outward. Over time, we unconsciously become products of culture and the environment. As for me, I talked more and listened less. With silence, I learned to listen to only the most essential sources, and depend on the One source of all things essential.

I have accepted that I will be misunderstood a while more. But the journey is not over yet. At a point when I have started picking up the pieces, I know that a little more silence won't hurt. #