Parting

The arrival of an adjunct to our team, is accompanied by sweet sorrow as epitaph of twilight was gone from our presence. Yet, it is strange, but I feel no great sadness or sorrow. Is it due to the iron encasing my frozen heart? Or is it due to the fact that we still associate with each other in the homeroom. Indeed it led me to the profound thought of partings.

While parting seems to be a big matter to everyone else, the concept of its sorrow is indeed lost to me. Parting is not a curse, it is an inevitable gift. It forces us new perceptions of people, gives time from a mold to a new shadow, allowing a glimmer of metamorphosis. It allows for new opportunities, new impressions, new relationships. Parting is indeed sweet.

Indeed, I see the logic behind the sorrow of parting. Yes, you might never see or hear of that person that you love until he dies or you die. But is it not for the best. At least nothing happens to jeopardize your impressions of him and your memories together. There are indeed possibilities that you and him are destined to have more wonderful memories but there are also possibilities towards the contrary. In positive light, the memories you have are protected forever. When he comes back to you a worse man, you can avoid him using the distance from parting as an excuse. If he comes back a better man, your memories turn sweeter and you can yet again make new memories. Indeed parting is a gentle light that casts bittersweet memories into sweet nostalgia.

Maybe because of the fact that most of my memories here are filled with deep anger, bitterness and sadness that I could not wait to leave to perhaps gain a new hope. But parting, is not the end. It is the beginning of something else, a gift bestowed from God and thus do not be sad if it comes to pass but collect the mementos that are your memories and cherish them so that the time spent is not empty and the parting does not leave a void of emptiness. Friends, when it is time to say goodbye, do not cry. Sayonara.

Being Short

*Wow, it’s been, what, two months since I updated?…Ah well, hope this’ll make up for the time gaps, folks. Enjoy :) *


I swear they all seemed to be giants; large towering bulks of bodies striding past my small, insignificant being without so much of a glance let alone acknowledgement of my existence. Their eyes projected toward those of their own height, rarely looking downward, save for the few, rare moments in which a shoelace would come untied and they would have no other choice but to bend down and take notice of puny, little you. Sauntering down the busy streets of Toronto, where people of every personality, culture, as well as temperament would emerge, I often would feel even smaller and more vulnerable than I would otherwise have felt if I happened to be lost in the polluted alleyways of Indonesia, accentuating my lofty height of a mere 5”2 among the locals.

I admit, perhaps that was a bit of an exaggeration regarding my sentiments toward my given height. Ever since I moved to Indonesia, I realized that there are others of a much shorter measurement than I happen to be, but nonetheless, one could not keep the misgivings of intimidation at bay when compared to taller beings, especially in the instance of when they happen to stand side-by-side with you coincidentally in the elevator or wherever else chance meetings would take place. Living in Canada had definitely taught me a few things, one of them the idea that being short was not always fun and never truly advantageous, especially in a world filled with people who would smile at you indulgently as you strive to reach for a book placed at a particularly high shelf that they themselves could effortlessly reach. How that would at times irk me, especially when they ask if you need their assistance after you’ve stretched yourself to the limit on your tiptoes, with your arms flailing about you in desperation. Ha.

Numerous times I would resent my stubby little self, being reminded of my height, or lack thereof, every so often when a friend would remark that I’m practically a ‘midget’. How lovely is it also to be considered one of the tallest students in class when you’re 10, only to be surpassed in later years as the rest of your friends sprouted, leaving you behind in the same height as you were years ago. Thanks for the reminder that I myself often tell to others, I truly appreciate it. What’s even more frustrating would be that perfect strangers would also comment on my petite-ness (*ooh, I coined a new word!*); at an Esprit shop in Australia, I had so far managed to impress among the towering store sellers of my ‘small frame’ as I browsed for new jeans which were all of a larger measurement than I would’ve ever fit into! I walked out of the dressing room with jeans at least two inches too long for me, drawing out laughter from even myself as I twirled in front of a mirror.

Ah, the negative outlook on life I would eventually have if I must continually gawk upwardly at those giants. I’ve tried everything to grow taller; from praying for a growth spurt (only lasted a couple of days before I gave up) to jumping repeatedly to reach the ceiling in the hopes of such ridiculous movements would stretch my little self length-wise rather than sideways. For the last couple of years, I’ve finally decided to accept the fact that I will always be short and could do nothing else to change that physical trait unless some miracle was granted to me. I’ve tried to convince myself since now that being short isn’t always so bad, so long as I could fend for myself despite my height on the streets or wherever else I may be. So far, it isn’t working. But I’ll persuade myself yet :)