Nobody wants to be lonely

Last week, I had lunch at Joy and Lou’s house. After eating, Joy and I sat by the dining table and we talked as she was having her post-prandial cigarette. It was shaping up to be a quiet afternoon, for the two of us at least. The other guests had moved to the bedroom, watching a DVD from the Philippines, brought by someone who’d had just returned from a holiday in Manila.

Joy and I are both in a transitory stage of our lives. She is about to leave Cambodia in 2 weeks; by June she will be in Mongolia. I am also about to leave my current place of abode, but my move is much closer: I am simply moving to another flat, which is about 3 blocks away from my current residence. This state of mind perhaps steered our conversation to the topic of saying good-bye.

In particular, Joy pointed out one post in this blog, called The Power of Goodbye. She said that she couldn’t help but notice the lack of emotions in the tone of the whole article, especially on the part that described the (yet another) ending of my relationship with Kimrun. I told her that it was my exact intention: exposition devoid of emotion. I tried to recall past lessons on news writing while I was writing this post. Joy said that yes, reading it felt like reading a newspaper. So atypical of you, she concluded, to write that way.

I admitted that I had earlier written a post about my break-up but I did not publish it because it seemed fraught with emotions that I did not really feel. I mean, I am sad that the relationship did not work out (again) but this break-up is so different from our first breakup, especially in terms of my reaction. I am sad, like I said, but my heart was not crushed. Not like the first time.

When I decided to get back together with Kimrun in 2006, after a year of not speaking to each other, I had prepared myself for the inevitability that the relationship will end. I based this on the way I knew Kimrun–his character and behavior. I was actually pleased and surprised that we lasted this long, knowing the way he is and the way I am. To be fair, he was an affectionate, caring, and steadfast lover and partner. Perhaps our relationship had just run its course. Perhaps he had given me all that he is able to give and cannot give anything anymore. I did not expect it to end under almost the same circumstances but this was the card that was dealt to me. Maybe I will never know for sure. And not knowing does not upset me very much.

Kimrun was, is, a significant part of my life, but my life never revolved around him, even when we were a couple. I made sure of this when I made the decision of getting back together with him.

That proved to be a wise and useful decision. One that was validated earlier this evening when I heard the sermon during mass. Father Bob spoke of how loneliness is a universal feeling and state of mind. He also elaborated on the inherent limitations of human relationships: between parents and children, between friends, between spouses, lovers, and partners. When he said that the notion of somebody being everything to someone is something that works only on moonlit nights and not during the light of day, I smiled a little. Even priests feel the need to speak on the death of romance. Seriously speaking, I smiled because it was true. Even during my happiest and most content moments with Kimrun, I still felt lonely from time to time.

Of course, I did not completely agree to the last part of the sermon that said that the presence of God in one’s life is the answer to loneliness. Because to me the presence of God in one’s life is very difficult to prove and measure, at least in human terms. I am more inclined to think that the perception, rather than the reality, of God’s presence in one’s life relieves some, not all, of the loneliness that we humans feel. Sometimes, this perception is also called faith. But let me stop here, because to continue on this train of thought is to veer from my main point.

We all tread our own paths to happiness. This is what I believe. Some of us will get there, some will not. But in the end, what matters more is the journey itself, and how our experiences have enriched or fortified our human-ness, regardless if we end up happy or not.