Thursday, March 02, 2006

Waking Up

The Girl With The Weight of The World in Her Hands
The Indigo Girls

She won't recover from her losses
She's not chosen this path
But she watches who it crosses
Maybe move to the right
Maybe move to the left
So we can all see her pain she wears
Like a banner on her chest
And we all say it's sad
And we think it's a shame
And she’s called to our attention
But we do not call her name
The girl with the weight
Of the world in her hands

Cause we're busy with our happiness
And busy with our plans
I wonder if alone she wants it
Taken from her hands
But if things didn't keep getting harder
She might miss her sacred chance
To go a consecrated martyr
The girl with the weight
Of the world in her hands

I wonder which saint
That lives inside a bead
Will grant her consolation
When she counts upon her need
It makes us all angry
Though we feign to care
But who will be the scale
To weigh the cross she has to bear
The girl with the weight
Of the world in her hands

Is the glass half-full or empty
I ask her as I fill it
She said it doesn't really matter
Pretty soon you're bound to spill it
With the half logic language
Of the sermon she delivers
And the way she smiles so knowingly
At me gives me the shivers
I pull the blanket higher
When I'm finally safe at home
And she'll take a hundred with her
But she always sleeps alone
The girl with the weight
Of the world in her hands

I wonder which saint
That lives inside a bead
Will grant her consolation
When she counts upon her need
It makes us all angry
Though we feign to care
But who will be the scale
To weigh the cross she has to bear
The girl with the weight
Of the world in her hands

-----

Tonight, I went to the wake of the father of a close friend of mine. All day long I was ready to cry - everything was too heavy already. First the fire, then work, and now this. Seems like there's really no way out, isn't it?

She seemed kind of blank when we got there. Of course, you could still see the traces of her smile, the way she could still joke around with us, or talk about the circumstances of his death with only a slight catch in her voice. I remember what she said: "At around 2 in the morning, people woke up to find him [her father] putting on clothes and acting strangely. He kept on insisting that he had to dress up, that there was a birthday party he had to attend. He refused to go to the hospital. And as if to prove his point about his health, he insisted on walking from the bedroom to the living room. Once he got there, out of breath, he collapsed in his favorite chair, convulsed once, and then slumped over." Cardiac arrest, the doctors said. I wanted to tell her, Don't worry, it's all right, he was about to go to a birthday party - his own, in another world that's most probably better than what we have here.

It's just sad that it had to take something like this for us to be complete, a rare occassion - twelve girls who had known each other our entire lives, and who can barely get out schedules straight, and it had to take a death to remind us that we had to live.

I'm even sadder that we couldn't stay with her long, on account of work, and that Hiyas and I couldn't even participate in the sleepover tonight, something we haven't done in such a long time, given that I haven't seen my friends, complete, since last year. And that right now, I'm staring at the computer screen and instead of writing what I'm supposed to write, I'm just blogging because my brain is just beginning to shut down with all of the things I have to do. It's funny, because I've been wanting to cry for the past three days and I just can't. Nobody cries over stress or work or things like that. It's plain stupid.

I just wish the pace would end soon. I don't know how much longer my body can take all these kinds of stresses. Already my gastroentoritis is reasserting itself because of the stress, and I can feel my stomach clenching more often. (The medicine tastes horrid, by the by.) No amount of regular food intake is helping anymore, so I may be required to restrict my diet just so that it won't upset my ulcers anymore. Oh, for a decent night's rest.

Still, the flipside is something I'd rather not think about - I'm still thankful for the things that count. But still, a vacation seems to be in order.

Okay, back to work.

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