..My *Selah Moment..

I missed my patients so much. 

I miss greeting them "good morning" at the start of my shift.

I miss feeding them.

Or giving them a bath.

I miss whispering in their ear  how was my day. Even though I know they can't respond.

I miss squeezing their hand in prayer.

Lately, I've been seeing windows. Lots of them.

Probably someone read my article before that says, "where windows are not included in hospital plan".

So they made as many as my eyes can wander.

Since we are not receiving patients yet, it's part of our routine to clean the Unit every day.

I don't mind. Because gloves fit well on my hands. And my nose get used to alcohol even behind face mask.

But every day that passes by without all those I've mentioned above, it feels like my strength is waning fast. I feel more tired. I feel more exhausted I can't understand. I'm beginning to dislike the position I was given to handle and tempted to work instead as a regular staff. Where I can't missed a lot of  things I'm missing.

Oftentimes, when I lay on my tired body on my bed, I would say I'm tired because I served my patients. And that's ok. Because you've done something in a day not everyone was given a chance to do. Many were called, and I'm indeed one of the blessed chosen few.

As I'm wiping the dusty empty bed of the new Unit, I can't help but shed tears. Of the many things I'm capable to do, I always have that One Thing that fills my heart with so much song of gladness. "What's giving you joy?" my sister asked before we parted in conversation.

There was once a man who prayed  to God. "What would make you happy?" To see You face to face, the man replied. One day, God heard his prayer of perseverance. He instructed him to meet Him at the top of the hill. On a given day and particular hour. Along the way, he saw a man whose car broke down. He checked his watch. It's almost close to the set time God has instructed him. But he can't leave the man either. When he reached the top of the hill, he saw no one there. He was so heartbroken he prayed to God why He didn't wait when he can justify why he was late. God said, "I fulfill my promise and you were not late. You arrived in time when My car needed your help. I was there."

Writing makes me happy.

Reading makes me happy.

Coffee makes me happy.

Traveling makes me happy.

Shopping makes me happy.

Even sitting alone makes me happy.

But I'm happier when I serve.

Not on papers.

Not on empty beds.

Not in front of the computer.

Not in the In-Charge's chair.

Because when I serve, I"m meeting God.

I'm greeting Him "good morning".

I'm touching His frail hand.

I can whisper to His ear how was my day. Even when He doesn't responds.

God meets me at my level.

And He's always there.

Service is my Selah moment.

Happy Sunday! =)

"*Selah"-heard this word once and I was so intrigued that I researched it right away and concluded that one day, I'll name my son/daughter Selah, which means, God wanted you to pause and meditate.

..I write just as I love..

Ours don't have a commitment. But I know that through all these years, my heart belongs to only one.

I would akin writing to love in ways only a blogger could understand.

Lounging on the couch, I realized that I could not survive life without writing. Just as I can't survive my day without loving. One day, I sat down and encouraged myself to start an ink but damn, I can't even start a sentence. And to think that I've been doing this underground, non-profitable hobby for years! 

Upon opening my blogsite, I came to check for the first time in forever that I've written 190 articles. Surprisingly, it's not my hobby to count how many pages I wrote or the word count I used. Simply because this site is not for any sort of competition. Much more for someone to appraise its structures and subject-verb agreement. In truth, you can almost find as many errors if proof-reading is your issue. Because most of the time, I'm glued in the couch in the middle of the night, and what you read are the streams of thoughts that ran amok in my long standing irreversible brain damage, haha

I started so poor in words and grammar, but just like anything in life, if you want to get better, then put in the hard work to learn.

Writing demands Time.

Love, in real deal, demands time as well. You can't just say you love writing and abandon the thought of wanting to write. You have to invest time. You have to read to improve your grammar. You have to learn to go back to basics of is/are, he/she, go/went..etc. 

You can't just say the I love you's and leave everything to faith. Relationship deserves pampering. And time, no matter how you convince me, says it all. Because no one will ever waste a second to something/someone that has of no value. Please excuse the News Feed stalking.

Writing has to be felt. Even when you don't feel it.

Commitment.

I'm not the best person to tackle this word since self-mastery hasn't befriended me. Yet. There are times when I wanted to write but I can't. Writer's block. But it doesn't mean that I don't want to write. Probably, I just lack the drive. The stimuli is there. It's not just enough. There's a difference between wanting and saying you cannot. But I go on, until an article is formed out of those reverie. Until I reached  my 190th..and counting. Because I stick to what I wanted.

Lovers can testify to this moment of "lover's block". When you don't feel the "kilig", or those goosebumps whenever he stares at you. But it doesn't mean you don't love him. You just need to go back to the day why you even said your "yes". That's how choosing to love even if you don't feel it.

Write in Nudity.

And I mean it honesty.

I found writing easier than making my Nurse's Notes. Because when I write, I'm telling you my stories. From the heart. With lessons attached if you are a keen reader. As what my secret fan said, "reading your blogs is a heart-warming experience..subtle as a drop that brings ripples of reflections to a day gone by...resolved as a river's rush to inspire streams of hope for tomorrow's vague moments..". You don't have to be the best writer to write. You just have to be honest. And instincts helped me most of the time. 

Same goes with anything that has to do with loving. It has to start with honesty. So what if he knows the worst of your worsts? So what if he was not your first love? Should that matter when he is, anyway, your last? For anyone who accepts the bare you deserves the finest love this world has ever made. I'm telling you, loving becomes an effortless job.

It's dawn once again. My ears are stuck with earphones. His snores, my melody. My phalanges are working while the birds are chirping somewhere. I don't care how time goes by, or how my posture changed from the time I started this article to the time it will be culminated.

All I know is that I write, just as I love.

Goodnight!