When people ask me to define love, I say, "Love is like handing someone a gun, having them point it at your heart, and trusting them to never pull the trigger." (Sponge Bob)

When they ask me why I laugh at my mistakes and even write them with pride in my blogs, I say, "I'm not crazy. I just don't give a damn!" (Daffy Duck)

When one time I was conducting a group activity, a student asked what road sign I love the most, I said, "I like dead end signs. I think they're kind. They at least have the decency to let you know you're going nowhere…" (Bugs Bunny)

And when for the nth time a friend would ask me what do I get from writing, I'm not even sure if there are good old souls out there visiting my site, I just smile and say, "Kung gusto mong maging manunulat, eh di magsulat ka. Simple." (Bob Ong)

And last night when Eva said she wants to quit from her work because nobody believes in her, her boss got mad at her, she doesn't even have friends at her agency, and she's crying like hell, I said, "Either you stay to prove your worth or you quit and just show them you're a loser, you have to strive for your happiness." (MY original)

My CHOICES: I remained believing in love. I continued spicing up my mistakes and rewriting my life, accepting failure but keep on dreaming until words would fade into thin air.

Oct 22, 2007

The Perfect Heart

This is the opening story in one of our Departmental Meetings in school. I have only modified it to suit what I intend to convey.

There was once a young woman who walked along the streets boasting to every soul she meets how perfect her heart is.

Another lady approached her, somewhat feeling envious, “How did you maintain such a perfect looking heart?” she asked.

The young woman replied, even prouder because by now, a little crown is gathering around her, “I just watch over it everyday. Careful that nobody touches it. I make sure that others stay in a distance so they would not be able to leave imprints on my heart. The more that I don’t let anyone hold it. They might just drop my heart and break it into pieces. And lastly, I encase it in a metal casket that it may remain cold and preserved, not exposed to too much warmth.”

Just as the crowd is growing more excited of the site of the young woman’s perfect heart, an old woman interrupted them. She was claiming that her heart, no matter how imperfect is more beautiful than the young woman’s heart.

The young woman, hurt with the claim said harshly, “How come you say your heart is more beautiful than mine, when your heart is all jagged? The surface is all bumpy and coarse. There are even missing pieces of it. It seemed all worn out, broken and slashed a hundredfold. Your heart is bleeding. It has tears. Its angles are ragged.”

The old woman patiently replied with a smile painted all over her face, like some sense of fulfillment and contentment, “My dear, my heart is more beautiful with all its imperfections because the bumpy and coarse surface is the footprints of people who crossed my life and handprints of my handlers. The missing pieces are part of me which I have unconditionally shared to people I meet along my way. I share with them myself and the love that travails into me. My heart seem all worn out, broken and slashed a hundredfold because sometimes people I share my life with hurt me despite the love I give them. But in spite of, I still continue loving them I forgive them and love others still who will come my way. My heart is bleeding and is shedding tears because I pity others who seemed to have forgotten that the beauty of one’s existence lies in how much she has given and not how perfect her life is. Its angles are all ragged because some people who have shared with my life have returned favors and the love I have given them. But the pieces they have gotten out from their own heart to replace some holes in mine are not the same size, some smaller, some bigger… but it doesn’t matter, what matters to me is that at least these people have learned the meaning of co-existence and sharing.”

After her long explanation, the young woman tore a piece of her heart and covered a bleeding hole in the old woman’s heart. Both smiled and walked the road together.


grandi13 said...

What an inspiring post!!

PlanetMars said...

Your words are so inspiring. I believe your heart is like that of the old lady, imperfect but still beautiful. I love your creations dear, you make me crave for more. Keep on writing!