Cry like you've never cried before...
I am a walking sentimental timebomb.
Writing has been a very good release for me. For a person who’d rather keep things to herself, well above her brim, blogging makes for effective therapy. If I feel like sharing to the world, or at least to the few who read this blog with tolerance, my version of the world for the last twenty four hours or so, I could do so with one click publishing. Sensitive matters, not for world wide web viewing, can be kept well hidden in cryptic messages that only people on my speed dial can decipher. If all else fails and what I feel involves words yet to be invented by civilization, there’s always the next best thing… crying.
Crying has always been one of the most used weapons in my coping-with-life arsenal. Labeled as the family’s iyakin, I have been known to throw a fit or two when I don’t get what I want. I am a middle-child, and that’s my game-plan in getting some attention towards my general direction. Of course, remnants of those days, tantrum-throwing days, pop up once in a while, but I could honestly say I have mellowed out through the years. Of course the tears occasionally fall once in a while, but I’ve learned how to put most of them to better use. I cry to feel better, if there’s such an irony in the world.
The power of a good cry is something I’ve picked up along the way. I’ve tried it once, and I’m hooked for life. There’s nothing like crying once a week when you’re alone with no apparent reason. You just sit in one corner and cry. Cry, wail, sob, it doesn’t really matter. Drown whatever the heck the world’s throwing your way with tears. Block the world out, wash the haters and the hated away. Do it alone if possible. It freaks people out. As for me, I don’t give a rat’s ass who’s gonna see or hear me. During one of my previous lives, I lived in a one bedroom condo with two girls who are very missed and hold special spots in my heart. Because of spatial constraints, and non-hogging of the bathroom unspoken rule, I decided to just let it out in front of my workstation, music filling my ears. At first it bothered them, suddenly they thought they were living with a psycho who’s going to slash their throats while in slumber. But after my episode, I explained what the waterworks was about. Since then, every other time they caught me in my moments, they just give me an occasional tap on the shoulder, make sure everything was relatively bearable and then left me to be. Bless those girls.
Lately, however, I started to miss it. I don’t know if I cried one too many times over warm and fuzzy commercials aimed more towards your wallet than your heart. I don’t know if I wasted buckets full of tears over movie trailers, triumphant sports moments and/or brilliant and moving written word. For some time now, I feel like the dam gonna break loose and I’m just more than willing to give in. But it doesn’t. I feel like I’m always in the verge of tears --- on the ride to work, while taking inventory, while bathing, in the can --- always. I feel like poking myself in the eye, induce it and see if it comes, because it sure stings and I just want to get it over and done with. It won’t. It hasn’t. I don’t think I lost it, though. Perhaps, it’s just picking its right moment, saving me right before I’ve gone over the edge. Maybe, I’ve gotten more, dare I say, stronger, and sparing a few tears over nothing I couldn’t deal with laughing, would be a waste. I’m just missing it. I am just banking that it comes when I need it most. Never failed me then, hope it doesn’t start now.