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True Love

, by Brigid

Saw this on Thought Catalog. It really is the sad truth isn't it?

A Letter To My Heartbroken Friend: You Will Love Again

by Rachel Sharer

You are sad and you are lost, and I will do anything for you. I will stay up until 3 AM with you while you get drunk on whiskey and contemplate life. I will sit for an hour in the library basement with you in silence, scratching words into the wooden table and listening to someone cough three floors up. I will buy you all your favorite junk food and send you funny videos, although I know none of it will help. You are so innocent, and so heavy-hearted; you cannot even begin to comprehend what love is or what it will ever be, and I wished I could have told you that it would feel like this.

I will talk with you for hours; I will hold you while you cry.

Because dear God I remember how much it hurt, the first time getting your heart broken. I was fourteen and a boy who spoke Spanish and tasted like limes kissed me on New Years Eve and for some reason I thought that was love. And I remember being drunk and losing my virginity at seventeen in a dark hotel room and not knowing how to feel, but knowing for sure that it was not love. And I remember most of all crying while I listened to his voicemails from Afghanistan, a world away, but God I loved him and he broke my heart. I will hold you in my arms while you cry, the way you did when I cried over my dad, and I will tell you it will be okay. And it will be, because we will grow up and grow old together and wither away with time.

I will tell you everything will work out. Ten years from now, I won’t remember the way the lime boy whispered to me in Spanish, or the way I felt when that Indiana boy and I drove down the coast together and he told me he loved me on the open road. I won’t remember hiking in a lightning storm with him or Bob Dylan songs on the radio or biscuits at the late night diner or even that last boy’s cold hands on my back every night in my dorm room. And you will not remember the way she looked past you, or late night piggybacks in the cold, or macaroni and cheese dinner dates. We will not remember that any of this ever happened.

Only the thing is, I am lying, because we will. I will remember all those boys, and you will remember this girl, and it will probably hurt forever, because I don’t think you ever stop caring about the people you once cared about. At least not completely. So I will sit here and I will tell you all this, and try to mend your crippled heart, but I am lying and you will know I am lying and you will still feel broken. But please know that I am here for you, and I will always be here for you, and that it will be alright in the end. You will wake up at midnight one night and remember the way someone held your hand five years ago, or hear a certain song on the radio and think of how your first love played it for you in his car. It will never truly go away. But it will be okay. You have the capacity to look past it and not let it taint your view of how important love can be. You and only you have the capacity to love again. If you can love again (and I know that you will, because you are one of the kindest and most loving people I know), then you will have truly won this battle within, and you will be okay. TC mark

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, by Brigid

In The Official Bitch Club,

End Of Exams

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, by Brigid

In R.I.P.,

Rest In Peace, Papa Harold

I wasn't very close to my grandfather while he was still alive. He was my mum's dad. I rarely spoke to him and didn't make an effort to visit him despite him staying in the home just opposite my house. I mostly saw him during Christmas or special occasions. When I walk past the home and see him sitting in the garden, I'd just pretend I didn't see him.

I don't really know why I acted this way. Mostly because I'm awkward at interacting with people and also because I always saw my grandfather as a short-tempered and grumpy man. He was always grumbling about everything, and he did a lot of things that made the whole family angry. While my grandmother was still alive, they'd be fighting all the time.

But after he died, and we had the funeral mass and my uncle said the eulogy, I somehow understood what made him so miserable.

He was just a small boy when his mum passed away. The most important woman in his life was gone. It was a few days after his birthday, if I'm not wrong. One of the presents she had given him before passing away was a crossword puzzle book and this explains why he was always doing crossword puzzles.

Anyway, he eventually met my grandmother and they had 9 children altogether (6 boys, 3 girls). They actually had 10 children but the eldest son passed away when he was just 1 year old.

They lived a difficult life, I heard from my mum. They were poor and hence, my mum, being the eldest, had to stop going to school after obtaining her o'levels. She was actually smart (she was in the Science stream) and could have gone on to even university but they just couldn't afford it and she had to start work.

Times were hard but they made it through. All 9 children got married and had children of their own.

When my grandparents were in their 70s, my grandmother had a stroke. She recovered but soon she suffered from another stroke that was so much worst. And soon, my grandfather lost another important woman in his life. . .

Anyway, my grandparents didn't have their own house because they sold their house and went travelling the world, but that's a whole other story.

Anyway, my grandfather stayed at a different child's house every week. Then as some problems arised and he got a few medical conditions, they decided to put him in the home opposite my house.

Last year is when I started noticing how skinny he had become and how miserable he looked, but I didn't think too much of it.

Apparently on New Year's Eve, this year, he stayed over at my uncle's house. When it was time for him to leave to go back to the home, he kept crying about being in pain and he even pissed in his pants. Sigh.

When I heard that, I felt so bad for him. I never realised his condition was so bad.

Few days ago (on a Sunday), he was experiencing shortness of breath and had a heartattack so he was rushed to the hospital, the nearest being KTP. His heart had actually stopped for a few minutes and he was actually considered dead but they resuscitated him without telling the family. Prior to this, my family had already made an agreement that if his heart should stop, they should not resuscitate him, but oh well, maybe God wanted him around a bit longer.

When I went to the hospital that night, he was unconscious. I saw all the tubes and seeing him lie there unmotionless was too much for me to handle and I broke down.

The next morning though (Monday morning), he regained consciousness and everything somehow seemed find. He was asking when he could go home and all. But my aunty did say he kept drifting in and out of sleep and talking to random invisible people.

On Thursday morning, around 7:30am, I woke up to get ready for school and was surprised that my mum was awake too. She was rushing to the hospital because my grandfather's condition was so bad. At 7:35am, I was notified in the whatsapp group I have with my cousins that he had passed away. Some of their parents were also rushing to the hospital, just like my mum, when they received the news.

I really feel so horrible that I never took the chance to properly spend time with Papa Harold. I was too busy with my own life and just now bothered at all. I also think one of the main reasons I didn't want to have much to do with him is because I kept hearing constant complaints and problems regarding him from my mum and all her siblings. This gave me such a bad impression of him while I was growing up. But I regret all that now. Life is short after all.

The last proper memory I had with him is off us playing bagar-bagar at NYE's. He was grumpy because he kept losing and the cards kept falling from his hands.

~~~~~~~~~~

Papa Harold, I hope you have found eternal life and happiness in heaven. I'm glad you're reunited with Mama Fin, your wife and true love, and your mum and all your other family. Try to be a bit less grumpy up there okay. And please reserve a seat for me at the bagar table up there. I'll join all of you when my time comes. I know I've never said this to you before but I love you, Papa.

R.I.P. Harold Aloysius Conceicao, Papa Harold.

See you in Paradise.

Btw, here's my crazily insane huge family. Took these photos on the day of the funeral cause it was the one time we were all at the same place at the same time.

The only 2 missing are Simeon (my brother) and Timmy, our 2 angels.

Btw, these are just my cousins.