Happy Hurt

And on my last week here in Manila, I find myself booked solid. The trip is winding down, and most of my goodbyes have been said or will be said in the days to come. I can't really say goodbye to everyone I want, but it is what it is. I console myself with the belief that I'll return soon enough.

Yesterday, my friend brought me to a museum, nay, to an experience. It was one of the best, if not the best, museum experiences I've ever had. Words, music, these have always been part of my life, and I've always been involved in them in one way or another. But this sort of art -- sculptures, paintings, installation pieces -- these are the kinds of art that dwarf me.

I was like a kid in a candy store, oohing and aahing at every chance. Here were some of the amazing things we saw.

I regret not having been able to get the names of the artists. I was just so mesmerized by the pieces themselves, and I felt like I had to consume everything in one go. It had been ages since the last time I went to an art museum, and my head was spinning. I was just so overjoyed at everything -- from the pieces to the architecture to the weather (beeeeeyoootiful), to the smiles from complete strangers who were also walking around in awe.

Most thrilling of all was seeing my friend's pieces as part of the gallery in the museum. It was almost surreal. I mean, I've known her since we were 13 years old, so it's an unimaginable kind of joy to see her pursue her passion and have such a rewarding experience. I mean, just look. They're incredible.

The artist and my friend, Steph Lopez. She's extremely
camera shy. Good grief.

And then today, I received a private message from a former co-teacher. She told me how she hoped that I would return someday. I had the heartbreaking task of telling her that that simply will not happen anymore. That beautiful (and painful) era had finally come to a close.

...and when I wrote those words, I realized...I meant them.

Without my knowing it, I had finally made genuine peace with my departure. Naively or not, I believe that it ended just when it should have; in less than favorable circumstances, but it happened.

And you know what? I'm okay. In fact, I'm better than okay. I'm in a really good place now.

It still hurts when I think about how much of myself I gave to that school and how it all came to a grinding halt, but I own that pain now. I own it so much, I get to dictate how that pain will fuel me. The pain tells me that those years were good to me. That pain tells me that I am leaving behind friends, not just colleagues. That pain tells me that my students shall always be with me, wherever I go. That pain tells me, that I still have a heart that beats, that inasmuch as it can feel pain, it is also capable (and ready) to feel joy again. And I have no resentment, no ill-will. Just gratitude.

I am alive, am I not? And so gratitude abounds.

Funny how happiness also hurts. Funny thing, pain. Someone told me that pain was just a pulse, and he was right. It is a pulse that is indiscriminate and infinite. And I gladly accede to the enormity of its silent, steady, meaning-changing, minuscule beating.

But oh, how it hurts. And oh, how it heals.

Before leaving Iligan, I told my doctor how scared I was because I was finally feeling happy. "I almost feel guilty for being this happy. I'm so scared of happiness. I think I've forgotten how to do happy."

And she said, "You don't do happy. You are happy. Never feel guilty for being happy.  Look at the year you just went through. You earned that happiness. You deserve that happiness."

In a week, I shall be gone again, and Manila will once more leave me in tears. But oh, how tears cleanse. And dare I say? It shall be happy tears this time.