what died didn’t stay dead.

i will write about grief the way i would write about love, for aren’t they two sides of the same coin? what is grief if not love persevering? what is love if not grief that has yet to come? so intertwined with one another that love breeds grief and grief will not exist without the existence of love. i will write about grief the way i would write about love, and i will write about you the way i have always written about love; eternal.

years have passed since the last time you ever blew birthday candles. even more years have passed since your advices and reminders had built the foundation where my feet stand steadily on now. grief is a funny feeling and i never quite learn how to deal with it. on the best of days, any thought of you rarely crosses my mind; your absence unnoticeable. during the worst of nights, i curl up on my bed; sobbing and wishing desperately for you to be around again. what died didn’t stay dead and every day you’re alive in my heart, even on the days where it holds too much that you are pushed to the very back of it. what died didn’t stay dead and you’re lingering on my every step.

i hear your praises in every achievement of mine and my own silent wish for you to witness every milestone. i hear the ringing of your laughter — the high-pitched sound you would make whenever you found something to be hilarious — filling the air inside the room after my brothers threw a joke that i know you would enjoy. i see you on the driver seat in every family outing we go, even when it’s actually one of your sons who sit there. the passenger seat that once belonged to mom is now always occupied by me, and i stare at my brother as he drives the way mom would stare at you. the ghostly touch of your hand fills the empty space between my fingers whenever i walk into a bookstore, for it was you that took me there every weekend. there is a whisper of your “well done”s in the little things i gift to myself as reward, for it was you who taught me that i deserve to get one. you are everywhere, you are around, you are alive.

your last words to me were “hati-hati.” it was not the answer to all the questions growing in my mind, but i promise, i promise that i will take care of myself and live well.