Different Ways of Loving

There is no definition of love, except for the description provided in the Bible (1 Corinthians 13:4-8)

But songs and experience tell us there are different ways of loving a person, and they can be classified into three:

1. It means holding on. It’s obvious, especially if the other person feels the same way. But holding on when you’re unsure about his/her feelings means martyrdom.
2. It means letting go. And you have no choice if he/she doesn’t want you anymore. Forcing yourself would only hurt you more. So better let go and claim you’ve given up on him/her before he/she gave up on you.
3. Let it be. In gay lingo, it means kebs. If he/she loves you, then good for you. If he/she doesn’t, then good for you, too. You’d better not waste your time with the wrong person. And thank him/her you can finally move on to a better someone.

I do like Adele’s Someone Like You. But I don’t agree in finding someone like that person. Don’t you think you need someone better?

I know, this sounds bitter all together. But maybe, taking all these three ways within the context of love in the Bible means something really good. Holding on means forgiveness, that you’d still be a good Samaritan despite what the other person did. Letting go means patience, believing that someone you deserve will come — that “someone” may mean a better “you” or a better “one” for you. And letting it be means acceptance… And faith that Someone much greater than we are is in charge.

Or maybe all these is wrong analysis. Remember, that bible verse concluded that “Love never fails.”
So if it fails, it’s not love?

I don’t know but it does make sense. Why allow yourself to be so hurt about love when there’s no love to speak of? You were hurt for something else not love. And it does happen. We get hurt because we stumble, we get knocked off, we fail. We get hurt for so many possible reasons… For investing time and ambitions to the wrong person. But rejoice! Love will come your way. And perhaps, then, you can call it “first love”.

Depress-o

I have made a few presses the past few months which never made it to a post. And here’s another attempt at it.

It’s been difficult. I’ve been high and low. And now I feel so alone, which explains why I am trying my luck at blogging, again. I was happy and sad, and now depressed. Haha. Now crazy, too.

My stomach is rumbling for the love of food. But most of all, my heart is yearning for peace. Happiness, how can you be so hard to get?

It’s finals week and I feel like I’m losing my game. I lost my fighting spirit. I don’t know where this limbo is taking me.

Arte lang. I’ll start moving na today.

I Know Stress So Well

That I don’t have eye bags doesn’t mean I am not stressed. In fact, I have never felt so tired ever since I entered law school until last week that I broke down. And it’s not yet over, although the semester is officially over since yesterday. Too much stress from the past few week’s busy schedule, non-stop review for the finals, the piling work load, pending reports, and the list goes on. And there’s also forward-looking stress. I know hell week so well.

I know stress from sleepless nights, from heavy concentration and memorization, and from utilizing one’s brain power beyond capacity. Thank God the brain is not a machine that crashes anytime. I could have been dead today. But I am so alive stressing over what is to come, over missing Paula and the thought of not being able to see her for two weeks, and over making plans on how I can spend time with her before I go out of town and away from home.

Stress #1: SO MISSING PAULA. Good thing I have convinced my brother to bring her later today so we can at least be together as I work while she plays beside me. I’m worried about her long trip to come see me, and at the same time excited to finally feel her. As a consequence, I will endure additional stress by taking the long trip back and from Laguna to get her home and make it on time for our getaway.

Stress #2: WORK LOAD AND PENDING REPORTS. I must do it although the probability is high that I won’t be able to finish it. I am positive though. The thought of it is not the most stressful idea but the more-stressed-sleep-deprived-me as a result.

Stress #3: THE AXE EFFECT. You call a grade “palakol” when it is in a line of 7, meaning 70-79. I am not afraid of it, even as a first-timer. What I am concerned is getting a failing mark which is somewhere between. Please, Lord, give me no less than 78.

Stress #4: PACKING GALORE. I never enjoyed packing and now I have to pack three for different venues and activities. And there’s time constraint making it worse. So assuming Paula and I leave at 10PM tonight, arrive home at 12MN, sleep by 1AM, wake up by 3, leave home by 4, pack a little more by 5:20 to make it at 6. Is it possible?

Stress, I hate you. Leave me alone.

General Cleaning

I am so exhausted today. After a long day work, I’ve had to clean up our messy room and organize my stuffs. At least that’s what I have decided before going to bed. I’m almost done but I feel there is still much to do.

I’m still wearing my office attire. I will have to exercise first before I take a quick shower and finally surrender to S and S (study and sleep). And before I sweat myself off, I’ve had to endure a few hours brushing my sandals, folding and hanging my clothes, arranging my books and other stuffs, and finally sweeping the dust off the floor as I listen to my Dashboard Confessional playlist. All the time I was doing those tasks I’ve been contemplating on a few things that I wanted to accomplish. And aside from that, I’ve been reflecting on a lot of things and decided to clean my spirit too.

So I made a list of some short- to medium-term material goals, and another of daily objectives. And as I look forward to what I want to do, I realize that I have to start forgiving myself for the wrong decisions I have made. Truly, my life is difficult, so as others. But I cannot make it more difficult and make them appear insurmountable. I have to put things into perspective and really start moving on.

Although I feel bad about having to start all over again, I must know that it’s the only way I can make life better for me and Paula. It’s hard to forgive but I can start forgetting and hope someday I would not have to look back and feel sorry. I must choose to be happy and fight off the nightmares of the past.

So there, the cleaning does not end here. It’s a continuous process that I must diligently undertake, a routine I must gladly make.

I must do my crunches now so I can hit the sack anytime now before the dawn begins to crack.

 

Sweet Thoughts From a Little Boy

I was chatting a while ago with an old friend whom I used to be with in a school play during grade school. I was Mamma Mary and he was my son, Jesus. So you can imagine the age gap. Nonetheless, he’s like three years my junior.

He was asking when am I going back to Cebu and he told me how he frequents Manila to do errands for his dad. So it was a brief hi and hello and some agreement on a potential meet-up.

It was just great that he remembers me all this time. Way back in elementary and high school, we didn’t really hang out that much. He was the type that most girls would have a crush on but hate at the same time, as he was good-looking and often described as ‘mayabang’. I was the proactive school girl who was always  trying to balance acads and extra-curricular activities. I may be a little visible in the school community, but this kid was effortlessly popular. I sometimes wished he was my little brother.

I haven’t seen him since I left highschool except for one encounter in a computer shop. It was brief as well. But he was totally different then. He has matured and has clearly developed some “kapreskuhan” (sorry I don’t know the english translation). Maybe girls were easy for him. But I didn’t pay much attention to his ‘hirit’ then.

So earlier I saw a more matured person in him, and a better one. He is clearly not the boy I met in grade school, nor the boy I stumbled upon during my teens. He made a strong argument which has never crossed my old mind.

Little Boy: So I have a lawyer na when times get rough? Lol.

Me: Definitely, if I make it through the bar.

Little Boy: You will. I know you will.

Me: Hahaha

Little Boy: Yeah. I guess.

Me: Let’s hope.

Little Boy: Hope is for the weak. You don’t need that.

Me: So pray? Hahaha.

Little Boy: You got balls. (and a smiley)

HOPE IS FOR THE WEAK. Interesting… Coming from a young mind.

Now I will remember that all my life. And he believes in me.

——————

Little Boy, in case you come across this page, I don’t intend to make a judgment by calling you such. It’s just that I’m always reminded of you being my child in that play. =)

Can Chamomile Be

… the CURE?

I remember a promise I have made before I entered law school: I would study harder than I ever did in my entire life. And I did just that. Even though I do not always get to read everything of what is required, still I have surpassed the study time I have spent from nursery to college.

And now school is getting more difficult; and most difficult in this stress-prone times. Ah yes, my insomnia is making things worse for me. I have been cutting some of my classes because I couldn’t fight the urge to continue sleeping.

I cannot depend on sleep supplements because they force me to complete a full cycle of sleep when I can only spend half of that to make time for study. I did buy a few more Sleepasils but they are reserved for the weekend. So I googled and found out that chamomile helps one relax and sleep well. So I’m trying out chamomile tea tonight.

So, could it really put me to sleep and relieve me from stress? I hope so.

Too much stress can really interfere with one’s emotions. In fact, it’s like I’m giving in to someone’s attempt to revive our failed relationship; just because of such impaired sense of reality. Yeah, sometimes a persistent person can squeeze mercy out of you. But no, not today. Maybe chamomile can help too and cleaar my head for tomorrow.

Ah… There is the ringing. Again.

Big-Time Crammer

It’s not my usual litany of complaints about school. This is about how a crammer who hopes to cope with the demands of law school and eventually faces failure.

Let’s assume our protagonist-antagonist (in Tagalog, bida-contrabida; the likes of Ruby) is a “he”.

Two weeks before the mid-term exams, he searches for all review materials available online. He makes use of his free membership to Scribd, downloads all references uploaded by former students, and prints the covered topics. He goes to school, shares to his friends his materials and photocopies sample examinations that are circulating like porn videos on mobile phones. He selflessly offers to send his materials to his other blockmates via email and does exactly that after leaving school. He goes home and settles, “There are still two weeks to go, I’ll have enough time to study.”

One week before the exam, he feels guilty for not reading any of the materials he has on hand, then later on decides to research more to pay for the guilt. It helps him a little bit, makes him feel less useless. He heads home and feels happy for having gathered such a library of materials.

Two days to go, he suddenly feels sorry that he does not have enough time to read everything and blames himself for adding insult to the injury — more readings to his already-long list.

A day before day 1, he goes out with his siblings and pretends that exam day is not so near. “Besides,” he tells himself, “I’ve been studying ever since.” But he knows it’s never enough, but still he gives in to the urge of a gala.

—-

I can’t continue this anymore. This is so me, giving in to little temptations. I’m switching to Dashboard. Sorry.

Guilty Pleasures I Need, Enumerated

Gone are the usual days of feeling useless and idle. These times we are forced to act beyond our limits, squeeze our endless tasks to fit our busy schedule, and waive the simple pleasures of hello. From diminishing productivity we turn to optimization, but a strange and rare one because the curve should never go down, or else we fall down.

Time now clearly asserts its relativity, defining how time flies so quickly when you go through something that demands you to turn hours into minutes. In college, we read a chapter or two in a week. In law school, it’s not even just doubled in a DAY. Damn, I can’t count them.

We turn hours into minutes when we study. When sleeping, an hour feels like a minute. That is just how the brain is so much overused and abused. We make our brains our slaves as we push them to submit to us.

These are the days when we need to unwind the most because we are forced to the edge but time will not permit it. And the irony of it is that unwinding will only eat our precious time and we realize that the edge is not even here nor near, but still farther.

Let me unwind, I beg of you. But they say an hour or two is counterproductive, I say otherwise. Let me indulge in little guilty pleasures to bribe my retaliating overworked mind. It might commit suicide.

So let me into these:

a blog entry or two;

a sing-along with Beyonce and Mariah and Lady Gaga, too;

Fall Out Boy, too;

and Hailey and Alicia Keys (forget Carrie Underwood);

a romantic movie to inspire my lonely soul;

an hour of Italian language exercise;

a few counts of hip rolling and undulations;

a short dialogue with a far-away friend;

a few exchange of messages with friends and strangers alike;

a sumptuous meal and a happy stomach;

a few FLIPs (full laugh in pain);

some household chores and organizing my closet;

a few pages of a book non-school related;

a handful of cigarette egg rolls;

some googling and youtube-ing;

a hello to Poy and a sound of her voice;

a short prayer to uplift my spirit;

a fulfilling sleep;

and everything in between.

Call them sins and I sinful. Let me be guilty as charged, please.

The Request

Earlier today, he said he wouldn’t ask for anything but that we be in good terms for the sake of our child.

He made a statement before that, “sana hindi na ako mapahiya.” Well it’s not that I am subjecting him to any form of embarrassment (unless this is it), but that he’s hoping for my approval to such request.

I didn’t know what to say, but I did say something —  that it’s going to be hard since I am still in the process of wanting to be capable of forgiveness.

It’s sad to remember the past especially when it sometimes feels like it was just yesterday. But I did take liberty to ask him what gives him the confidence to ask me when he should also be avoiding me (because, in a way, I abandoned him after our last ‘battle’). It was a short answer, “Nami-miss kita, ‘yun lang ‘yun.”

I gave him not in a short statement but in a shorter spirit, “Makakalimutan mo rin ako.”

A Confession from a Balat-Sibuyas

For crying out loud, I cried over a case I was reading for my Consti class. And I’m not making this up to catch attention. I literally shed tears.

I was even almost cursing while I tried to enjoy my beef teriyaki meal which I truly missed due to my busy schedule. F*** it, a case on Estrada? Just the thought of it could even make me wail for such story has long been overexposed and overrated. The impeachment proceedings fast approaching the Christmas season were the center of all TV networks and they were hailed like telenovelas. I was younger then, and I didn’t appreciate why they all had to go through such lengthy and tedious process just to oust a corrupt official.

I know better now. But I was not really drawn by the technicalities, or what they call ‘constitutionality’, of the case. Rather, I was moved by how the ponente described the national situation then, and I felt I was one of those people who came to EDSA and called for Erap’s resignation. But no, the words of Justice Puno were like daggers to my soul. And for the nth time, I felt I am Filipino.

“January 18 saw the high velocity intensification of the call for petitioner’s resignation. A 10-kilometer line of people holding lighted candles formed a human chain from the Ninoy Aquino Monument on Ayala Avenue in Makati City to the EDSA Shrine to symbolize the people’s solidarity in demanding petitioner’s resignation. Students and teachers walked out of their classes in Metro Manila to show their concordance. Speakers in the continuing rallies at the EDSA Shrine, all masters of the physics of persuasion, attracted more and more people.

“On January 19, the fall from power of the petitioner appeared inevitable. At 1:20 p.m., the petitioner informed Executive Secretary Edgardo Angara that General Angelo Reyes, Chief of Staff of the Armed Forces of the Philippines, had defected. At 2:30 p.m., petitioner agreed to the holding of a snap election for President where he would not be a candidate. It did not diffuse the growing crisis. At 3:00 p.m., Secretary of National Defense Orlando Mercado and General Reyes, together with the chiefs of all the armed services went to the EDSA Shrine. In the presence of former Presidents Aquino and Ramos and hundreds of thousands of cheering demonstrators, General Reyes declared that ‘on behalf of Your Armed Forces, the 130,000 strong members of the Armed Forces, we wish to announce that we are withdrawing our support to this government.’ A little later, PNP Chief, Director General Panfilo Lacson and the major service commanders gave a similar stunning announcement. Some Cabinet secretaries, undersecretaries, assistant secretaries, and bureau chiefs quickly resigned from their posts. Rallies for the resignation of the petitioner exploded in various parts of the country. To stem the tide of rage, petitioner announced he was ordering his lawyers to agree to the opening of the highly controversial second envelope. There was no turning back the tide. The tide had become a tsunami.”

These are excerpts from the case. They may not appeal that much to everyone — which, signifies that I am one true blood balat-sibuyas.

No More Hell Week

Oh no, I’m not backing out from school.

It’s simply to reiterate that the concept of “hell week” now applies to every week. And that being repetitive and regular, the term is no longer applicable to special weeks — not special in the positive connotation, but meaning occasional.

I will no longer have the idea of hell week coming at certain intervals. It will be every week, so there will never be a week that can be distinguished from the others as being the worst of all.

Every day is a struggle, and I am saying this not in the sense that we use it as we try to overcome a depression. I am not delivering this line to express my bitterness but to pose this as a challenge. I am not disheartened nor discouraged by that fact. It makes me want to fight more, not fight the struggles that are presumed in my position, but the apprehensions and anxieties I have in the idea. And I have to fight this feeling of pressure and stress without even trying. And even if I try, I have to believe and push to myself that I can do it no matter what.

Take the other night as an example. I’ve had a reading assignment, just one amidst the others that are in a long list, waiting to be attended to. I was totally racking my brains off for hours, analyzing concepts and principles. And being the occasional reader, I have to go back and forth and back to put the ideas together. It’s like putting the broken pieces of a fragile vase together, which requires careful attention if you intend not to break it again. Reading for hours may cause one to engage in passive reading. You go through the lines and simply loose the idea and the spirit of the words. And that only meant a waste of time, because I have to go through them over again. And extending more hours only  results in diminishing marginal productivity. (I am an economist in principle because I know my math, econometrics and their application, but not at heart because I am devoid of its logic.) But I battled every minute of it to make it to the last page. The good news is, I was prepared for the recitation. But my misfortune is, my professor didn’t call me.

Anyways, the net effect is positive, I have accomplished the required readings. I just hope that I have fully absorbed it, so come examination, reviewing would be less daunting.

When the purpose of highlighting is defeated.

 

I may be a fool to waste my golden time on this self-indulging writing. But I have come to realize that letting my heart out is helping me in so many ways. For one, I get to keep my brains active while I literally feed my stomach, which for some reason makes everyone call for bed right after. Second, I am able to put things into perspective and encourage my own self to take things seriously as I try to look into the brighter side of things. And finally, inter alia, it keeps me sane in this mentally challenging world.

Oh, btw, just a funny thought. I have observed that as I go further through my textbooks, I get to mark more and more lines with the highlighter. It’s like I’m leaving too little space for the less important lines. So why can’t I just highlight everything? LOL.

 

 

Oops. I remember, I have an ongoing battle.

Dearest B

B*, you are my dearest but you failed me.

I thought protecting you only entails effort and sacrifice — but a rare effort and a selfless sacrifice of losing, and self-losing at that. I’ve gone blind and wounded, but you were hard and too cold to recognize it. I’ve reached out for you only to cripple me more. And every time, I’ve simply stood upon my lonely will. Uncomplaining, still submissive.

I was strong, B. It took years before I succumbed to emptiness, right when I was drained of power, and finally, devoid of love. Then came the death of me.

I was in deep darkness, always reaching and losing. I waited for you to save my soul, but you never came. I guessed I have always been alone and never knew it. And suddenly, after what seemed like forever, I was reborn… And hopefully, entirely a new person.

But who can be a new person without the past being wiped off? I have memories of you in my system, B. And they sometimes spread and attack like viruses do. Then maybe you weren’t meant to be my hero, because I was the hero who bled dry for you.

B, I realized that my death was not for the perfect villain, but for the revived being who is sometimes haunted by repugnance  and regrets. I have woken up becoming aware of how protecting you has meant giving up my own security. But I condemn you not for that part of me choosing to protect you but for that part of you willing to expose me. Yes, B, all those times, protecting you meant hurting me as it killed me. It was my choice, yes, and yours too. Every step I made to defend you was your every opportunity to crush me. You never needed help, B, I was the one who’s dying and you were never at my rescue. And despite all my pain, I ensured your comfort at my own expense… And all those pain I took for you because you let me, you wanted me to, you asked me to.

It may sound bitter to accuse you of being the most selfish person, but it can never be any worse than admitting this honest mistake and signing to this tragic fate.

B, I have resigned to recognizing the fact that you are incapable of love, and yet I have loved you.

*a different B from previous post

The Old Me

In my very first 'dormitory' in LB.

My brother greeted me yesterday and expressed how an old movie reminded him of my youth. He acknowledged certain similarities between me and the female protagonist then and remarked how totally different we have eventually become. I felt some happiness for what he noticed but also felt bad about his recent observation. So I decided to pull out some old photos from my folders and be reminded of the good old days.

I am a cry baby and there is no denying in that. But I guess I was a lot more emotional during my younger days, particularly high school.  I could cry everywhere so long as I feel like it. I go to church everyday before heading home, crying and wishing I never had to go home at all cost. I did seem to appear like a total weakling but I was never an idiot. Yes, I cry, but I was responsible. In fact, overly responsible for a high school student to assume parenting roles. I have four little brothers to look after and not even a single parent in our midst. Our father have had to work, as he still does, to sustain the family. And my mother had her own business to attend to. Yes, I had a complicated life then. But we got through it, at least now we’re better.

I diverted my frustration from home to becoming a gem in a Catholic school. I was a diligent student and it paid. I had got all the recognition and attention that I deserved. And it made me all the more crying to have found out how this dear teacher of mine expressed her admiration for my determination.

I lovED the camera.

But college did not free me from my usual wailing. Or maybe I had grown too tired to appreciate the things that were around me. But still I was way better, a lot better than today. I could not dismiss the fact that life keeps changing and I was no longer the baby that gets to be redeemed if caught in tears.

I often appeared to be a happy being, which is entirely contradicting to the depressive person that I am. I made good friends and they saw the earthbound side of me. Good friends who stayed up late night with me when I couldn’t stand being lonely in my room. Thoughtful friends who delivered lunch and dinner when I was too unwilling to give in to the demands of my stomach. Faithful friends who made time to sit by me while I sulk over meal. True friends who stood by me no matter what, no matter how stubborn I was. Yes, I was really stubborn. But still I was a lot better.

Smile though your heart is breaking.

Flash before bedtime.

And now at this age, I am able to realize how ungrateful I was to not recognize how beautiful my life was despite all the family crisis. So here I am, looking back and trying to admit the possibility of being in the same spot I had been in high school. That is, not being able to see the bigger picture and appreciate some good things that are kept hidden by my own fears. And these pictures will always remind me of how I felt broken and unknowingly survived it.

My life is a big drama. Or maybe I’m just too ‘maarte’ as one terribly pinpoints. I am getting tired of all these complications.

No matter how my heart is breaking now, I am still fighting. Giving up is never an option. And with that I am quoting some nice lines from a song called “Shattered” by Trading Yesterday:

Witchy Witch

And I’ve lost who I am and I can’t understand.
Why my heart is so broken, rejecting your love, without love gone wrong, lifeless words carry on.

But I know, all I know, is that the end’s beginning.
Who I am from the start, take me home to my heart.

Let me go and I will run, I will not be silenced.
All this time spent in vain, wasted years, wasted gain.
All is lost, hope remains, and this war’s not over.
There’s a light, there’s the sun, taking all shattered ones.
To the place we belong, and His love will conquer all.

Yes, His love will conquer all. And I have to realize that the old me does not matter. What I have is today and I have to live with it. Will it be with the old or new me, I have to survive it. But maybe there’s no such thing as ‘old’ and ‘new’ me for I can only be myself. My changing self. Or is there?

The new Me.

Hurt Sings

I’ve heard this particular song on a reality song competition (don’t try to guess which one), which I instantly fell in love with. Well, that’s a milestone considering the fact that I’m going through rough stuff right now, whatever that means. I looked it up and found a live version at youtube. And dang, I was impressed, and still am.

Take your records, take your freedom;

Take your memories, I don’t need them;

Take your space and take your reasons;

But you’ll think of me.

Addictive. I’m almost should be out of office but feels like my day isn’t over yet. Keith Urban’s “You’ll Think of Me”, which brought him a Grammy award a few years ago, is on loop on my media player. Good thing, it isn’t making me cry. And it’s a huge progress. I am tempted to put myself to the real test by listening to Coldplay’s “The Scientist”, which almost always makes me teary-eyed. But I won’t try, not today. I can’t put Keith off.

Looking back on highschool when I can effortlessly write an impromptu poem or two, or even a song, on my journals, I pondered on how lucky Nicole Kidman is. I used to dream of ending up with a singer, a songwriter, or a music lover, at least. I always think music brings out the soul and I want a genuine SOULmate . But I’m not that kid anymore who’s still drowned to that specific dreaming. Yes, I still want that soulmate but he doesn’t necessarily have to be that music-oriented. And going back to Nicole, I mean, Keith, he’s the bad boy gone good — an ultimate turn on to me. Earlier I was on a terrible personal heartbreak, now I envy Nicole.

But setting that aside, I can’t count the ways I have changed… From the idealistic girl wanting to marry a singer to the I-don’t-know-who person who’s now aiming to be somehow practical, if not realistic. I know what I want but I don’t have my direction yet. And maybe that’s why I’m listening to Keith’s and not Coldplay’s. “The Scientist” is one of wishing, that time can be reverted back and enable one to redo everything that went wrong. Keith’s is bitter, but there’s that silent effort to make that one step forward. It’s not realistic to go backward and change something, although it’s the better solution — if only possible.

I may be unlucky these days. That one little step is actually a very long stride. Ohhh… Why is this taking me so long? I don’t have answers now. But I know someday I will.

Someday I’m gonna run across your mind;
Don’t worry, I’ll be fine, I’m gonna be alright.
While you’re sleeping with your pride;
Wishing I could hold you tight,
I’ll be over you
And on with my life.
– Keith Urban

Loneliness Kills

Because I refuse to be lonely, this blog is born to keep me company.  Yeah, how’s that for a purpose? At least I wouldn’t have to ask myself why in the future.

I’m putting up Ryan’s photo as a welcome.

Is it surprising to have your first blog entry be described as empty? That’s just how this is. Devoid of content. Just as I am.

And my very first category is emo. Is that too bad? Does anybody have such? I hope I’m not the only one because that could be too embarrassing. But it’s the only way I can describe it now that I’m at a loss for words.

Devoid is not fairly fair to describe what I am. Well, there is something in me. So much, I should say. But I am still struggling to let it out. Just say I’m on transition. Yes, that’s the perfect word. Warm welcome, my TRANSITION.

Inspire me, Ryan.

Please.