Post It No. 2

05 August 2020
7:03 PM

Hey,

I know you're taking all the time and space you need. I get that. I just need some indication, some hint that you're still there, listening.

I spent most of this day reading, writing, and revising my paper, in the hopes that it would fill the silence. A distraction. In a way, it did make things a bit bearable. Well, somehow. Things were okay until I found myself having a writer's block. Does it happen to you often? It's ironic how it's possible to be overwhelmed about what to say and not be able to produce a single word to express those thoughts.

I had several flashbacks of our research date at Blue Turtle last year, when we were both cramming our papers while drowning ourselves in macchiato and flat white. If my memory serves me right, it was the night before the research deadline. I could almost hear you teaching me the correct way of analyzing and writing the discussion. I know how you don't approve of parroting or merely echoing the words from other articles. How do I best describe that night -- stressful? educational? fun? I don't know. 

I did find myself smiling during those flashbacks, though.

Oh, I did stay up until 3:30 in the morning earlier writing a "COVID-19 prevention protocol" for our household. I wrote it in Filipino so that everyone could understand. I bet reading it will give you a good laugh.

Anyway, I'm about to have dinner now. I hope your meals today were good. I hope you're adjusting well in Pedia. I hope you learned a lot from the grand rounds on Miyoshi myopathy earlier. I hope you're okay.

Love,
N

Post It No. 1

02 August 2020
3:03 PM

Get up. Fix the bed.
Watch Grey's. Too much.
Write a letter to yourself.
Clean the closet.
Throw old stuff out.
Old letters.
Lie down.
Neurology. Boards. Fellowship.
Revise paper.
Adams.
Patients.
Right, the future.
Call a friend? Which friend?
Keep looking straight ahead.
Don't look back.
Migrate?
Protect your family.
Do something.
Anything.
Scared.
Stay alive.

Space

01 August 2020
11:55 AM


In neurology, there's a suffix we use to denote the massive or total loss of motor power. We call it plegia -- such that, the weakness of one limb is aptly called monoplegia, that of one side of the body is hemiplegia. Patients with neck lesions, for example, experience quadriplegia or the motor paralysis of all muscles from the neck down including all limbs, often making it hard for them to breathe on their own, all the while leaving their cognitive and mental functions intact. Today, I woke up as if I was in that state. Paralyzed.

---

I had a dream. And since dreams have this tendency to be temporary, fleeting, and eventually forgotten, I think it's better to write it down. In my dream, I was looking at my phone, and then I see this notification in my app, under your name, that says, "Typing..."

A beep. Then a simple message. "Hey"

My heart floated with that message. I was happy. I wanted to hold on to that feeling for as long as I could, but as I opened my eyes and felt the warm, humid air pull me into wakefulness, reality hit me. I checked my phone. Nothing.

Did you know that when I see that blue dot beside your photo, it makes me excited? That when I see you typing or recording a voice message, I get this warm feeling in my gut because seeing and listening to what you have to say gives me joy. Did you know that during this time of uncertainties, looking at your face and hearing your voice gives me hope? It makes me feel that in the midst of chaos, we still deserve to be happy. Talking to you, even when we have nothing to talk about, always gives me happiness.

You deserve to be happy, and not be hurt over and over again, after and in spite of all the things we went through. You deserve to be happy, to be given a true second shot at it, to be trusted again; because what happened before -- it's just that. Maybe it was wrong and maybe it hurt people, and maybe it was a mistake, but that's everything to it. It doesn't define you. Not me. Not us. I hope we can both forgive ourselves for it.

---

I am still fighting. I don't know if this is the right thing to do -- I'm hoping it is. I am willing to try anything and everything for us to have a shot at happiness, at us being together. I want both of us to be ready when that happens. You said you'll know when that day comes, and I'm hopeful that I, too, will know when it's the right time. Please don't ever think that I'm giving up. I am fighting and I hope you won't go anywhere. I know you are worth it. We are worth it.

---

"It's you."

I am holding on to this.

Unloading

Something feels heavy. Five minutes after 11 in the evening and I'm still climbing my way out of the cavernous grave that is my mind. Ironically, the only time when I felt light was this afternoon, when it wasn't my mind carrying the weight but my arms. Now, the silence has resurfaced, and I feel like the only way I'd be able to catch some sleep is if I unload some of the heaviness through words.

Three things running in my head, playing on loop like a broken record -- two questions and one reality:

One -- Am I staying and waiting for the right reasons?

Two -- What if I'm not and will never be enough?

Lastly -- The loneliest and most dangerous place in this world is the mind.

I opened my eyes today with the sight of my favorite person beside me. A few kisses here and there, and that feeling of being at home. Of truly belonging.

A plain goodbye as he wore his jacket.

Now, there's just silence. And pain.

Am I to blame for all of this? Did I inflict all of this pain on both of us? Am I bound to be alone -- and everything was merely a matter of when?

I don't seem to know where home is anymore.

Reflections, Decussations

"You wanna watch Grey's?"

"You have chips?"

---

What, then, separates the ability to not think and the desire to not care -- or do the two inexorably overlap and cross over?

Oh, my dear, the water was freezing and the moon held its chin up high, its reflection glistening over the undulating mirror below. Our bare feet on the ledge trembling, shivering --

I dove.

But you stayed on the wooden plank, your two hands clutched on your shoulders as you watched me try to stay afloat, hungry for air.

Lockdown

Neuropathologic examination reveals a rather normal looking brain,

I wonder -- if you experience the same crushing pain I feel with not having you around; if you long for the same touch, that feeling of being at home. I wonder if you hear a similar voice in your head, one that you wish you could stop but also wish would keep going: a voice that screams your name amidst the chaos of our present world.

I wonder if you would have the courage to tell me if you don't.

The correct treatment, aside from lowering blood pressure, is uncertain.

I can't fathom why this silly brain is always flooded with questions and repugnant scenarios. Have I always been an overthinker? Am I really that insecure, that terrible? If so, why?

The lack of certainty in today and the days to come brings forth fear. The long hours of nothingness don't seem to help either. This monster, this fear -- it subtly creeps in and pushes me to a preternatural state of mind, one where I tend to lose my rational thinking. It makes the flood rise and the only seemingly safe spot is slumber, which hardly comes by. I long for the day when all the second-guessing would stop. Deep down, I know I want to do better, be better. Having that choice to change gives me hope.

In the past, when effective treatment was not available, the outcome was often fatal.

Two sides of the coin, they say. I don't know which of the two I am ready for. I don't even know if there are people who are truly ready. If there are, I surely envy them.

All I am sure of is what I feel. It's real; I didn't just make it up. I am beyond fortunate to feel this for what it is, and it is just immensely pure and humbling. If there ever comes a time that fate won't be on my side, I am fairly certain that I won't regret anything that has led me to feel it.

The mechanism is unclear.

I wonder -- that picture, that future -- does that still exist? With everything that has happened, is it clearer or is it just getting more obscure?

I wonder.

It's how you press your lips on my forehead when we're both half-asleep as if assuring me that you're not going anywhere. Not until you have to. It's how I feel immensely safe when my head is pressed on your chest, close enough for me to hear the gentle drumming of your heartbeat.

It's the sound of clinking beer bottles when we're each telling the story of how our day went -- the moments we wished the other was there to witness, the things that made us ponder deeply, the rants, the joys, the tiny victories, the nuances; our shared thoughts; our flaws and imperfections; our minds coursing swiftly through a vast road without us noticing the change in gears. It's how we take each other's breath away when we laugh, so hard that we feel the little bursts of air spaces in our lungs.

It's when we see each other and realize that the image in my head -- one that I constantly think about during the day -- is nothing compared to what I'm seeing before my very eyes. It's the ordinary. And the extraordinary. It's how our hands find their way to meeting, interlocking, as if they have minds of their own.

It's how we make love. Oh, how we make love! It's the way you would hold me tight, telling me that everything will be alright. It's when I feel I'm about to lose my senses when I see your face filled with pleasure; with excitement; with comfort; with hunger; with contentment. It's how we lie on our backs after; frantically catching the breaths we thought we'd lose. It's that moment right after when we're lying beside each other, like two childhood friends lying on the grass after a day's worth of play.

It's when I look at you, and that silent prayer I say right before I close my eyes. And it's happiness, and all the good things filling every part of my being, every cell in my body; every fear I have knowing how my heart could shatter at any given time, every glimpse of a possible future, every truth -- and then I whisper those words just before you fall asleep.

In the darkest of hours,
when even the faintest light
glows
with the magnitude of a thousand suns;

In stillness, in silence,
when each movement
flows
with the velocity of a raging tempest,
And each thought--a deafening roar of thunder;

I wonder
if our souls
ever find
Solace.