Closing Cycles

By Paolo Coelho

One always has to know when a stage comes to an end. If we insist on staying longer than the necessary time, we lose the happiness and the meaning of the other stages we have to go through.
Closing cycles, shutting doors, ending chapters whatever name we give it, what matters is to leave in the past the moments of life that have finished. Did you lose your job? Has a loving relationship come to an end? Did you leave your parents' house? Gone to live abroad? Has a long-lasting friendship ended all of a sudden? You can spend a long time wondering why this has happened. You can tell yourself you won't take another step until you find out why certain things that were so important and so solid in your life have turned into dust, just like that.
But such an attitude will be awfully stressing for everyone involved: your parents, your husband or wife, your friends, your children, your sister, everyone will be finishing chapters, turning over new leaves, getting on with life, and they will all feel bad seeing you at a standstill.
None of us can be in the present and the past at the same time, not even when we try to understand the things that happen to us. What has passed will not return: we cannot for ever be children, late adolescents, sons that feel guilt or rancor towards our parents, lovers who day and night relive an affair with someone who has gone away and has not the least intention of coming back.
Things pass, and the best we can do is to let them really go away. That is why it is so important (however painful it maybe!) to destroy souvenirs, move, give lots of things away to orphanages, sell or donate the books you have at home. Everything in this visible world is a manifestation of the invisible world, of what is going on in our hearts and getting rid of certain memories also means making some room for other memories to take their place.
Let things go. Release them. Detach yourself from them. Nobody plays this life with marked cards, so sometimes we win and sometimes we lose. Do not expect anything in return, do not expect your efforts to be appreciated, your genius to be discovered, your love to be understood. Stop turning on your emotional television to watch the same program over and over again, the one that shows how much you suffered from a certain loss: that is only poisoning you, nothing else.
Nothing is more dangerous than not accepting love relationships that are broken off, work that is promised but there is no starting date, decisions that are always put off waiting for the ideal moment. Before a new chapter is begun, the old one has to be finished: tell yourself that what has passed will never come back. Remember that there was a time when you could live without that thing or that person. Nothing is irreplaceable. A habit is not a need. This may sound so obvious, it may even be difficult, but it is very important.
Closing cycles. Not because of pride, incapacity or arrogance, but simply because that no longer fits your life. Shut the door, change the record, clean the house, shake off the dust. Stop being who you were, and change into who you are.

Smile

performed by Tamia; written by Babyface and Shanice Wilson

Sometimes I sit at home and wonder how it'd be
If he had loved me
Truly loved me yes
I learned a while ago that kind of thing
Never happens for me
And so I go around
And just pretend
Love is not for me
I play the circus clown around my friends
Make them laugh and they won't see
That you never let them see you sweat
Don’t want them to think the pain runs deep
Lord knows it's killing me
So I put on my make-up
Put a smile on my face
And if anyone asks me
Everything is okay
I’m laughing cause no one
Knows the joke is on me
Cause I’m dying inside
With my pride and a smile
On my face
On my face
Singing lalala...
Sometimes I sit at home
By the phone hoping he might call me
But he don't call me
But then I realize
Dreams come true aren't for girls like me
Not like me
And so I go around with my head up
Like it ain't no thing
And when the boys are out with all my friends
I’m into other things
Cause you never let them see you sweat
Don’t want them to think the pain runs deep
Lord knows it's killing me
And so I put my make up (Put it on, put it on)
Put a smile on my face (A smile on my face
And if anyone asks me (Oh, yeah
Everything is okay (Oh, I'm laughing)
I’m laughing cause no one (No one, no one)
Knows the joke is on me
But I’m dying inside
With my pride and a smile
On my face
On my face
It’s not an easy (Thing to do)
Sometimes it’s hard to (Face the truth)
It’s not the life that I would choose (That I would choose)
But what else can I do?
If he don’t love me
If he don’t want me
I’m not about to sit around
Let myself go
So I put on my make-up
Put a smile on my face (I put a smile on my face)
And if anyone asks me (everything is ok)
Everything is okay (Oh, I'm laughing)
I’m laughing cause no one (No one, no one)
Knows the joke is on me (But I'm dying inside)
Cause I’m dying inside
With my pride and a smile
On my face
On my face
Singing lalala...

The One That Got Away

Source: The Manila TimesBy: Mark J. Macapagal

In your life, you'll make note of a lot of people. Ones with whom you shared something special, ones who will always mean something. There's the one you first kissed, the one you first loved, the one you lost your virginity to, the one you put on a pedestal, the one you're with...and the one that got away.
Who is the one that got away? I guess it's that person with who everything was great, everything was perfect, but the timing was just wrong. There was no fault in the person, there was no flaw in the chemistry, but the cards just didn't fall the right way, I suppose. I believe in the fact that ending up with someone, finding a longtime partner that is, does not lie merely in the other person. I can actually argue that an equal part, or maybe even the greater part, has to do with the matter of timing. It has to do with you being ready to settle down and commit to someone in a way that goes beyond the little niceties of giddy romance. How often have you gone through it without even realizing it? When you're not ready to commit in that mature manner, it doesn't matter who you're with, it just doesn't work. Small problems become big; inconsequentials become dealbreakers simply because you're not ready and it shows. It's not that you and the person you're with are no good; it’s just that it's not yet right, and little things become the flashpoint of that fact.....
Then one day you're ready. You really are. And when this happens you'll be ready to settle down with someone. He or she may not be the most perfect, they might not be the brightest star of romance to ever have burned in your life, but it'll work because you're ready. It'll work because it's the right time and you'll make it work. And it'll make sense, it really will.
So that day comes when you're finally making sense of things, and you find yourself to be a different person. Things are different, your approach is different, you finally understand who you are and what you want and you've become ready because the time has truly arrived. And mind you, there's no telling when this day will come. Hopefully you're single but you couldbe in a long-term relationship, you could be married with three kids, it doesn't matter. All you know is that you've changed, and for some reason, the one that got away, is the first person you think about.
You'll think about them because you'll wonder, "What if they were here today?" You'll wonder, "What if we were together now, with me as I am and not as I was?" That's what the one that got away is the biggest "What if?" you'll have in your life. If you're married, you'll just have to accept the fact that the one that got away, got away. Believe me, no matter how fairy tale you think your marriage is, this can happen to the best of us.
But hopefully you're mature enough to realize that you're already with the one you're with and this is just another test of your commitment, one which will just strengthen your marriage when you get past it.Sure, you'll think about him/her every so often, but it's alright. It's never nice to live with a "might have been," but it happens... Maybe the one that got away is the one who's already married. In which case it's the same thing. You just have to accept and know that your memories of that person will probably bring a nice little smile to your lips in the future when you're old and gray and reminiscing. But if neither of that is the case, then it's different. What do you do if it’s not yet too late? Simple...find him, find her. Because the very existence of a "one that got away" means that you'll always wonder, what if you got that one? Ask him out to coffee, ask her out to a movie, it doesn’t matter if you've dropped in from out of nowhere. You'd be surprised, you just might be "the one that got away" as well for the person who is your "the one that got away." You might drop in from out of nowhere and it won't make a difference. If the timing is finally right, it'll all just fall into place somehow and you know, I'm thinking, it would be a great feeling, in the end, to be able to say to someone, "Hey you, you're the one that almost got away."

My Place

by SC
TODAY, I will attend an execution: my own. I will watch it with both eyes open and I will not cry. I will not break down just because the man I have loved since forever will marry someone else. I will watch him promise himself to a woman who will never love him like I have. I will watch them bind themselves to a vow I should have taken.
I have loved Oliver almost all my life. I have known him since I saved his six-year-old hide from a bully named Ricardo who wanted to rid him of his two yellowed front teeth. I was five at the time, but having grown with five older brothers and a hellion of a sister, ``Totoy Cardo'' was a piece of cake.
Oliver was so overcome with embarrassment at having a girl to protect his scrawny neck that from that time on he made it a point to be the rescuer, not the rescued.
As time passed, muscles filled out this lanky frame and those two front teeth began to sparkle. He combs his hair, and he takes a bath daily now. In short, he has become a fine specimen of manhood.
The best part is, he lived up to his promise: he became my self-appointed guardian (well, I don't know if that's the best or the worst part). He was just always there, sticking to me like glue. It used to drive me nuts that he never let me out of his sight.
When I was 12, I ran from the infirmary on my way home. I had found out in the most humiliating way that I had become a woman: there was a big red stain on the back portion of my skirt. The jeers and the taunts followed me through the school corridors.
Oliver dashed after me and offered to accompany me home. I declined, of course. He seemed to understand my discomfiture and promised to drop later with the things left in school.
When I reached home I was told that I needed to jump three times on the stairs (which I did) and to wash my face with my blood (which I didn't do).
Oliver dropped by in the afternoon, sporting a black eye and a bruise on his arm. When I asked him what happened, he said he had walked into a closed door.I believed him. But a few days later, minus the dysmennorhea, I found out that Oliver got into fisticuffs because some guy made a disgusting remark about me.
Nobody had ever fought for me before that. And when you're 12 and discussing in class how King Arthur and fairest of them all, Lancelot, fought for Guinevere's love, you tend to get ideas. I loved Oliver then.
When we were in high school and I found out that the school's heartthrob and one of my most ardent suitors, Richard, was involved with a bustier girl, it was to Oliver that I ran. When I didn't graduate as valedictorian and I got so drunk, it was Oliver who took me home. He didn't even mind that I barfed all over his dad's car (which he borrowed without permission). When I decided to go to UP and he went to Ateneo, we celebrated by partying. When I lost my mom in a car accident, he took care of everything. When my dad followed my mom less than a year later after a heart attack, he was there again.
By this time he was an appendage of my life. He used to check out the guys I came to know. Nobody dared to get serious with me--not when Oliver had a black belt.
I didn't know how to define our relationship. I didn't know what we were. We definitely were more than friends, better even than best friends. It was like we were a couple, but formally not one. We did all the things that couples did like hang out and neck but always stopped when things got too hot. Since we never defined what we meant to each other, we never said ``I love you'' or whatever serious couple told each other. As a result, I remained a chaste princess while my prince caroused and sowed wild oats, but still had the energy to monitor my movements.
I didn't mind. After all, I was so sure we'd end up together. I always thought that in the end, it would be us. I loved him. I managed to convince myself that he loved me (what else could it be?). Little did I know that love doesn't conquer all, it only conquers the weak.
I didn't think he'd be so stupid as to get a girl pregnant on the same night they met at a party. I didn't think he'd be so stupid as to forget to use some form of contraception. After all, he had given me a lecture on safe sex. And I didn't think he'd be so stupid as to marry the girl.
But maybe I forgot that after all he was a man, and men have been known to be stupid about these things. Their brain is located in a region other than between the ears.
What could I do? Kicking him in the groin and punching him in the eye seemed like a good idea then. Don't blame me; he was the one who enrolled me in a self- defense course. But I did not feel better. Seeing him bent over in pain only made me angrier. I wasted my life for this lousy excuse of a man? I could not believe it!
I wanted nothing more than to run to him and beg him to wake me up from the stupid dream. I wanted him to take me some place where we didn't know anybody. No pain, no memory, no humiliation. I wanted to just forget it ever happened but since I flunked in the School for Martyrs, I couldn't, for the life of me pretend, it didn't happen. I couldn't pretend he didn't hurt me. I couldn't pretend everything was fine and dandy and exactly the way it was before.
We didn't talk for a month. For both of us who were practically inseparable, that was like an eternity. I ducked into corners whenever I would see him. I wouldn't take his calls. I wouldn't see him. And for some time hate was my reason for getting up in the morning, for breathing, for living. Hate and I became good friends. ``God brings men into deep waters, not to drown them but to cleanse them,'' somebody once wrote. I didn't want to be cleansed. I just wanted to drown in pain and misery and utter desolation. I wanted to wallow in the dark and deep pit of despair.
I know a thousand and one clichés that say this can be a blessing and that I should be thankful. But thankful is the last thing I'm feeling right now. I've always thought that there are three kinds of women: those who break, those who mend and those who are broken themselves. Before this hit me, I assumed that I belonged to the first or second category. Now I know I'm in the third--so hurt and broken up inside.
My grandmother used to say that there is nothing you can do about pain when it gives you a silly grin except grin right back. All I could manage was a wry smile, a killer headache and the worst hangover the day before his wedding.
Evidence of that is the disgusting sight of mashed potatoes and barbecue, thrown up not three meters away from where I was lying prostrate on the floor and the awful stench of cigarette on my hair.
Frankly I don't want to go. I want to wallow in misery in my messy room, crying, retching and stinking, surrounded with Michael Learns to Rock (whose songs are dedicated to the broken-hearted) CDs. But I have to go and attend the wedding. I have to bathe and prepare and put on that atrocious peach (it's not even my color!) gown. I'm not doing it for the groom, my one true friend and love, Oliver. Neither am I doing it for the bride, my younger sister, Sandra, who needs me. I'm doing it for my unborn niece who has the great fortune of having me as her aunt.
Call me stupid, but I've always known my place. If it isn't beside the man I was destined to marry, if it isn't behind my sister, who will take his name, wear his ring and bear him a child, then it must be with my niece, cradled close to my heart so that she will know both of our love.
------------------- SC, 22, teaches at a private school in Cagayan de Oro City while taking up postgraduate studies.

The Meantime Girl

This composition isn't mine...but I wish I wrote it!

She’s the one you call when you’re bored because she makes you laugh.She’s the one you talk to when you’re feeling down because she’s willing to lend an ear and be a friend.
She’s not the one you call when you need a date to your company’s Christmas party, or to go dancing with on a Saturday night.She’s the one you spend time with between girlfriends, before you find “The One.” You know, the one who you keep around in the meantime.
She’s not one of the guys, not a tomboy, but you don’t look at her as a “real” woman either. She’s not bitchy enough, moody enough, or sexy enough to be seen in that light. She’s too laid-back, too easily amused by the same things your male buddies are amused by.
She’s too understanding, too comfortable— she doesn’t make you feel nervous or excited the way a “real” woman does. But she’s cool and nice and funny and attractive enough that when you’re lonely or horny and need intimate female companionship, she’ll do just fine. You don’t have to wine and dine her because she knows the real you already, and you don’t have any facades to keep up, no pretenses to preserve. You’re not trying to get anything of substance out of her. She’s not easy, but you know that she cares about you and is attracted to you, and that she’ll give you the intimacy you need. And you know you don’t have to explain yourself or the situation, that she’ll be able to cope with the fact that this isn’t the beginning of a relationship or that there’s any possibility that you have any real romantic feelings for her.
It won’t bother her that you’ll get up in the morning, put on your pants, say goodbye, and go on a date with the woman you’ve been mooning over for weeks who finally agreed to go out with you. She’ll settle for a goodbye hug and a promise to call her and tell her how the date went.She’s just so cool . . . why can’t all women be like that? But deep down, if you really think about it (which you probably don’t because to you, the situation between the two of you isn’t important enough to merit any real thought), you know that it’s really not fair. (Life isn’t fair)
You know that although she would never say it, it hurts her to know that despite all her good points and all the fun you two have, you don’t think she’s good enough to spend any real time with. Sure, it’s mostly her fault, because she doesn’t have to give in to your needs. She could play the hard-to-get bitch like the rest of them do, if she really wanted to. But you and she both know that she probably couldn’t pull it off. Maybe she’s too short, or a little overweight, or has a big birthmark on her forehead, or works at Taco Bell.
Whatever the reason, somehow life has given her a lot of really great qualities but has left out the ones that men want (or think they want) in a woman. So she remains forever the funny friend, the steadfast companion, the secret lover, and you go on searching for your goddess who will somehow be everything you ever wanted in a woman. You’ll joke to her that she should be the best man at your wedding, and she’ll laugh and make a joke about a smelly rental tux.
She doesn’t captivate you with her beauty, or open doors with her smile. Mainly she blends in with the crowd. She’s safe. She doesn’t want to be the center of attention and turn the heads of everyone in the room. But she wants to turn someone’s head. She wants to be special to someone, too. We all do. She has feelings. She has a heart. In fact, she probably has a bigger and better heart than any woman you’ve ever known because she’s had a front-row seat to The Mess That Is Your Life, and she likes you anyway. She obviously sees something worthwhile and redeeming in you because although you’ve given her nothing, absolutely no reason to still be around, she is.