Vindication

Like the phoenix, I must rise from the ashes. Since my termination in UP, I find myself struggling with layers of emotions. I sometimes sleep with resentment, and wake up with anger. I drown myself wishing for bad things to happen to those who have been part of my disorientation and emotional stress. Once it rains, it pours, they say: yes, my brothers talked about why I still have the car a few days after the termination, then I have to surrender it in a few weeks; my best friend arrived from abroad and a week has passed and he never bothered to see me; my current job is stressful with the expectation that their hope to keep the company afloat lies on me and what I will produce, and to add insult to injury, my future seems hazy and bleak.

It is easy to wallow in sorrow or lick my wounds every day; I am afraid that I would soon enjoy the pain that it would turn me into a black hole. I fear that I would lose the joy that once characterize me. But what am I doing with these paragraphs: I am precisely wallowing in my pain.

I must rise from this. My faith should tell me — and convince me — that there is something bigger and better for me. That I was meant for greater things or a more challenging job. That what I had built will not be useless after all. That it would bear fruit even without me. That God would take care of it, as much as, He took care of my family when my dad passed away.

They said that there are things I could do. Yes, I have returned from my exercise regimen. Maybe try a little dancing. Or clean up my room and start anew. Whatever. Maybe in the future I would look back to this day, and return to this entry and smile. Or laugh about it.

I would be happy if I die with a smile — hah! Be vindicated in the end. How sweet would it be if that parish priest would soon ask me to dip my finger into water and placed it in his lips. Like the rich man in hell making his request to Lazarus.