I feel guilty for not writing for quite sometimes. The most that I did was to contribute two articles in the community where I belong and I knew that wasn’t enough. I guess the inaction is hampering my own healing journey and withholding something someone might use.
This morning I woke up with the voice shouting within most writers recognize “Write! Write something!” It was so uncomfortable not to grab the pen and the paper then the keyboard and really do write.
It was always hard to start again, always. If not for that voice or maybe a friend yesterday who drops by asking me to do her a letter of intent for the mezzanine she would like to rent for her food business, I would not write. Then I remember that’s how I started it all, writing letters for others, writing letters to God when I was very young until now and writing letters to my son when I lost him.
I was barely 13 years old when my Mom asked me to do an anonymous letter to threaten the townsfolk. Her sister, who happens to be my godmother was having a hard time because of her husband’s gambling activity within the area. Mom asked me to write to the Barangay Captain indicating that if the gambling would not stop the insurgents would do something. Allegedly they were roaming around the farm and they knew what’s going on. And so I did. I know it accomplishes something because my godmother told Mom that the Captain informs them of the insurgents warning and the gambling stops right away. hehehe!!!
Then I remember an old friend who was struggling with her overseas only daughter. Their conflict started long before her child went abroad. My friend’s marriage was broken and like in other cases, the child I think suffered the most. What she requested me to do then was to write letters to her daughter to find out how she was. This friend of mine was a stroke survivor and her hands couldn’t grasp a thing. She also speaks slurred, like that of a toddler and if you were not living with her you could barely understands what she was talking about.
She wanted me to write to her daughter of the things she would like to say that I myself could hardly interpret. What I did was to write to her like I was her Mom, read it to my friend who approves of what I write so much then sent it via email. Probably I was putting into the paper what was on her heart and those letters I sent receive a response that I guess delight both of them. Until conversing with each other becomes a natural thing for them though difficult at first. Eventually, her child builds her own family and once in a while, this friend of mine got to visit her abroad to take care of her granddaughters. I knew in my heart the letters pave the way for building a better relationship with the two of them, modesty aside.
If not for the letters I wrote to JC eleven days after I lost him, I would probably still be lost today. When he left me that’s when I realized there were so many I love you ’s, so many sorry, affirmations and so on left unsaid. How can I write in a paragraph or two those things these letters did for me in one of life’s unbearable moments. The most beautiful of all is that these letters made JC alive again with me and he will never be gone anymore. What a magic!
Writing to God had been my recourse since I was in grade school. Every time the going gets tough, I would grab a paper and write to Him. A practice I bring with me until today. I never felt old enough to write letters to God and I got to build a deeper relationship with Him in the process. Those letters made me see how He answers all of my prayers, sometimes with a yes, sometimes with a no and sometimes with a wait. But He always does.