Anticipation

In life, there are many forms of facing adversity, one of which is a mechanism to cope with hardships by anticipating them before they happen. Like losing someone, or going through a tough challenge. It must be very boring, expecting things before they happen, but that is how I chose to live, finding peace by anticipating adversity.

In my senior year at college, I was very unsentimental towards anyone who showed signs of depression. I used to ask them: "Why so sad and miserable?" Whatever they answered, I thought "It's not that bad. Others have it worse. You should bear it and just keep on. Stop whining. Be stronger." Later, I became depressed for reasons that, if you had asked me then, I knew a lot of people who had it worse, who bore worse days and cicumstances than mine, and who weren't depressed by it. After that, I understood that being depressed was not related to tough circumstances, but how much we as humans can bear during that time in our lives. If I were to go through, say, the same circumstances now, I would probably fare with them better. If I went through other people's circumstances, I would probably fare better, too. But as I delved into my diary of years ago - yes, we are going to delve into my diary - for the 'me' back then, it was too hard to fare. It was necessary that I get depressed, curse everyday and live by fighting for each breath and each step to get to here.

"I know now what it is to be depressed," I once wrote, "and I am no longer apathetic. I understand it. And yet, I don't want to. I don't want to hear that someone is going through tough times, that they are depressed. I don't need to remember it. Listening to someone going through that all over again, I want to tell them how it will be and ask them to get over it quickly. I don't want to listen, and I often don't, in order to protect myself. I believe it's a different state of apathy.

It's like when my Father passed away, three weeks ago. Before he passed, I was scared, and my heart broke each time I looked at him. I cried heart-wrenching tears. I prayed to God not to test me this way, because I couldn't imagine a world with my Dad not with me in it. I cried the day I saw him in a comma in the hospital, and I found myself looking around, wanting to remember the small details of the things he often saw while he was there. His window view - which I bet he never saw - was beautiful. You could see the sky from his window. On the same night, he passed away, and I received the jolt of news pretty much the same way I always imagined it in my head. This wasn't the first time I imagined receiving the news of Father's passing. In my head, there were more tragic, more melodramatic scenarios, people screaming, women fainting, but they always included my reserve and patience.

Someone once told me, when you imagine or predict the future, you see it without God's kindness to you, planting goodness in your heart to steady you and make the impossible miraculously possible. I once told Dad about a dream I had of him dying, and he said that it meant that he will live a long life. Whether he really believed it at the time or not, I love him for saying that. I love him for living this long.

When we arrived at the hospital to say our goodbyes, my Mother - oh, how alone she must have felt, too - hugged me, and it almost brought me to my knees. So I told her very quietly and gently to let me go, that I did not wish to cry right then and there. She looked at me and asked my why. She told me crying is for lenient hearts. Don't be hard on yourself, and cry. I don't remember what I said back to her, but I remember that her words set me free. It was like I needed the permission to show my vulnerability. I did cry that night, unlike what I anticipated. My tears were prove that I loved my Dad, that he mattered so much to me, that this is not easy for me. The tears sent warm waves down to the rest of my body, a warmth that lingers with me to this day.

It was sad for me, but it was not hard. God's kindness, I kept chanting in my head, and now that it's been over for a few days, I no longer feel the deep ache or sadness. My father has moved on to a better place. He's happier and probably would never choose to come back. His friends and family all pray for him and don't forget him easily. He's probably having a great time receiving all our prayers. Hopefully. I pray for that."

Looking back at what I wrote 3 weeks after my father's funeral, I was not wistful. I had already moved on. True, I was sad, because I was afraid at the time. But when I was no longer afraid, I was able to move on without him. When I talked with some friends who had recently lost their parents, too, they told me how hard it was. But why did I not feel the same way? Why didn't I feel the need to keep myself busy, or stuck in weird throughts? Is it because I was independent from my father? Because I was old enough? Because I anticipated it? Or maybe I don't know how to be sad. There must be something wrong with me. I should have been sad longer to fit in with the mourning mood surrounding me at the time.

But that is how I chose to live, finding peace within my apathy.

Excerpt from Feb 13th, 2022.