I am praying as I type this. Can you hear me? Can you hear it? Can you hear the sound of my tongue unfurling and my voice rising up and down? I am praying for myself primarily but I am also praying for you. In praying for myself, I pray for you. Why is that? Because I have realized that one of the many ways God reaches out to me is through my friends and you are one of those. For example, I was feeling a bit down this night and I did not want to do anything stupid or drift further down the abyss so I decided to call a friend instead. And we talked for more than one hour about love, peace, joy, mental health, and other random things that make the heart melt. It is one of the ways I find comfort, the fact that there are people around me who can lift me up when I am falling, when I am drifting away, when my mind is going to the wrong place and my heart is dancing to the wrong beats. Do you understand?
It is also strange in a way that the same way friends take us out of our pain and discomfort when we need them, sometimes, friends are also the ones who put us in this pain. At least, we think these people are our friends until we know otherwise.
Do you remember that story? Of the man who had a garden right in front of his own house but went out to the market in search of daffodils and roses. He spent months in the market, looking for what was not lost. He finally picked up a few of them but they all withered before he got home. They were all beautiful and attractive and the man thought he had finally found what he was looking for. Until he began to make his journey home and they started withering, started falling apart like a constellation of stars losing their glue. Eventually, the man got home with an empty basket, nothing but withered plants and dry leaves. And then he realizes that he has a garden after all. Why go this far? Do you remember this story?
There are many stories and I wish I could tell them all but then, what would I tell you tomorrow if I do that now? The magician does not perform all his tricks in one night. Bit by bit, he dishes them out. That is how these things ought to be, no?
You should remember Purple Drank. How the boy started taking drugs and from little syrups in Styrofoam cups, he goes on to lose his mind. Up to the point where his mother had to come take him away from school and put him in a rehab center where he almost lost his mind before he found it again. If you remember Purple Drank, then you remember the bumpy road, no? You remember the bumpy ride from there to here?
Correct me if I am wrong but the bumpy ride is very symbolic, very significant, no? It is funny how when you begin a ride with someone, it starts slow and steady. And then after a while, say months, the ride gets intense and serious and before you know it, it is all bumpy and confusing. And you are not even sure you want to continue with the ride anymore. You talk to your friends and your support system. You talk to your village people and everyone and they can’t help. They even go about asking questions. How is the ride going? Where exactly are you guys going? You know you want to tell them that you are going to Andorra. You are going to Paris. You are going to this, or that. But then, you say you do not know. Because, actually, you do not know. You wish you did. Maybe when the ride started you could say without an iota of doubt that you knew where you were going, that you knew for sure that you were going to Andorra. But then after a while, you just don’t know anymore. You just don’t know.
But then, you know what you want. You actually want to ride to Andorra. A part of you know that no matter how bumpy this ride is, it will still get you to Andorra with no lives lost. It is not looking like it but you are kind of certain. And what is life without some bit of certainty and assurance to keep us going?
It is the same way that when a puppeteer starts pulling the strings of a puppet, she knows what she is doing. She knows what she is making the puppet do. Whether it is to make the puppet dance or to make the puppet fall to its knees. The puppeteer knows what she is doing. But then, life happens and then the puppet develops a life of its own. Which is scary because that is not what the puppeteer planned. But then, the puppeteer is still always confident that whatever happens, she is holding the strings. She can pull anyhow. You know, talk about Pinocchio…
I have many things to say but there is only so much that can be said in a blog post for a matter so personal and there is only so much that can be said in parables. So here goes,
I have written a thousand words of parables and witty sayings and I hope you can pick the meaning in all this. If you cannot, then no one else can. Only a puppeteer can pull the strings of the puppet. And if no one can, that means we have invited the entire village to the market square for nothing. Imagine that. How would they feel? Would they be happy? Would they not want to murder us in our sleep while we snore away our sorrow?
I should stop here.
I should stop here.
I should stop here.