Remember Me

(Warning: this is a long, emotional, and very personal post. If you’re not mature enough and emotionally ready to take in too many rants or woes, you don’t need to read further. I had a few tearing up moments while writing this. It may have a different effect on you. Please bear with me. No judgment please.

I would also ask that if you decide to read further, and you have the itch to judge, please keep it to yourself. Unless of course you decide to not continue reading, I wouldn’t mind at all. This is merely a personal post. I only meant to vent, and this is the only healthy medium available, that I can probably go back to, aside from opening and conversing with God.

I do not intend to offend anyone, or make anyone feel guilty about anything that resonates or reminds them of something closer to home. What I would relate here is of my own, and maybe mine alone.)



Everytime I go into wakes or funerals, I would always ask myself so many questions, rounded up in one: how would people remember me by?

I’ve attended wakes where people really say nice things about the departed. Where visitors come in and stay a while, and new ones come in before the others get to leave. Stories are shared, memorable ones. Even the funny and embarassing ones! The viewing chapel only gets peace and quiet during the wee hours or in the middle of the day, when almost everyone is still sleeping or at work. Some got floods of visitors paying their respects, and a few pairs of eyes in tears, and you would know that the departed was and still is truly loved.

And it also always got me thinking: who would go to my wake/funeral? And, what would they say or talk about me? Would there be anecdotes? Jokes? Memories? Both good and bad?

I admit I am not the kindest person you’ll meet. I don’t have a best friend (apart from my husband and my mom, and perhaps my daughter when she grows up). I have neglected, rejected, and offended so many people in my lifetime, most of them perhaps I’m pretty much unaware of. Some unintentional, perhaps a few deliberate (and apologetic of it.) I often wonder if people would remember me for any good thing. I don’t even have an inaanak (godchild) of my own. Only those I got by marriage to my husband, if those even really count. Like the only people trusting me with their kid, is my husband.

Perhaps I haven’t been a really good friend. Or maybe I have been unappreciative of whoever is within my small tight circle. Perhaps I didn’t remember people much. I didn’t honor them enough. I didn’t listen to them enough. I didn’t care enough. I didn’t love enough. I sometimes even envy my husband, as a lot of ladies, those who are younger than us, who’d open up to him about their woes in life (and I just find those out from him). I would’ve loved to hear their stories. Would love to hear them speak their minds, and know more about them.

Perhaps, because of my introversion, people think I ALWAYS like to keep to myself. Maybe I am too intimidating. Like they are not comfortable around me. Maybe they don’t think I can keep secrets. Or maybe they believe I’m too opinionated about things that they felt I would judge them. Or, perhaps, they don’t see me worthy of their stories and their time. Heck, I may have even indirectly made them feel that they are not worthy of my time.

I admit that even if I don’t directly and openly ask for it, I would love some attention and affirmation, which I don’t usually get much of, even if it’s my birthday. I don’t even know if anyone remembers my birthday, if not for Facebook. I really am grateful to those who get to greet me, they are truly God’s blessings and nice bonuses. Well, I admit, I sometimes don’t remember birthdays, but I don’t forget. I don’t forget.

Perhaps, I am forgettable.

The mature side of me wouldn’t really mind that I don’t get those during special occasions. Like I honestly am happy just having those people who matter to me around me. But then, there’s this little voice inside me that says, “it’s not enough… You are not doing enough. You are not enough…” And sometimes, I believe this voice.

I know I am deserving of love. I know and believe that God loves me, and that He gave me the best persons in life to love, to be friends with, to simply be with. People have gone in and out of my life, leaving a purpose. But, I don’t know… There are people who actually make me feel like I don’t deserve it. And perhaps there’s just a handful of those who openly manifest God’s love for me through them, without them even knowing it.

Perhaps I hope that, other than my daughter, some people would care to get my opinion. I do appreciate a certain group of friends who were always too open around me, because perhaps they trusted that they would never be judged. One of them even questioned why I was their friend, because of the difference of personalities. But the thing is, different doesn’t necessarily mean clashing. And I’m glad we worked with and respected those differences. Growing together even when physically apart.

There were people who betrayed me. By appearing that I mattered to them, but then they would completely shut me out. Perhaps I have betrayed other people, too, in one way or another. There were times when Honesty wasn’t always the best policy for me. Perhaps honesty offended them. I was too frank that I wasn’t able to filter what I should’ve told them. And knowing that I could say certain things stuck with them, and they never want to hear any of it. Or hear anything from me.

I have sincerely wanted to keep tabs with people, but remembering my stints as a Financial Advisor, and a Real Estate consultant, some would be dismissive as if I’ll just offer them insurance or a house. Some even were dismissive even if I would just squeeze into the conversation, an invitation to the Feast.

So ultimately, when I die, I would like to know if I actually mattered to anyone outside of my immediate and extended family. Will people be sad when I die, thinking that the world has lost someone dear? Or will they celebrate that I’m finally dead?

I guess it really depends on how I lived my life. I may have tried my best in following God’s commandments and living how Jesus lived. But how many people have actually seen and felt God’s love through me? How many people could actually say that they are witnesses of how I effectively delivered His message. Through my worship leading… Through my blogs… Through my time in listening to the handful of people who trusted me.

Maybe I am just being too emotional right now. I bet not a lot of people would even get to this part. I may be explaining myself now. But I bet, a lot of people would already unknowingly invalidate my feelings. By saying that God loves me. That I am worthy. That I am blessed. That I am loved. Believe me, I know that. But I guess I am always not so sure how to make people understand that there are times when even I am surrounded by so much light and color, I would see dark spots. (Try looking directly at the sun, and in a few moments you’ll see dark spots).

And when you see those dark spots, you just have to close your eyes. You rest from seeing everything as they are. You begin to imagine how they should be. And sometimes, what you imagine, may not be nice. May not be what you want in life. They may even be the stuff that you fear, you least like, or are least enthusiastic about.

I am in that time in my life. Triggered by death. Triggered by wakes. By my recent birthday and wedding anniversary. That is what I think about. I’m not sure about you, but this matters to me. A lot. Maybe you have opened yourself to judging me when I wrote about Not judging me in the early part. And I would hope and pray you keep that to yourself.

If in one way or one time, or another, you have felt this. The sort of rejection, feeling of resentment, feeling of invalidation from other people. Believe that it’s temporary. I’ve gone in and out of it, but I’m writing only about it now. Yes, because I’m feeling emotional.

I never did say that God abandoned me. I have always believed He’s just beside me and letting me be. And I believe He understands. I need this. To grow. To realize that there is so much about life. About my life. And God is always investing in it. Because I am worthy.

I am worthy to be remembered. When my time has passed, this blog would live. I think.

If you have read through this entire thing, and you felt it, you don’t need to react or say anything to let me know that you have. You can just squeeze my hand. And I will know. I love hugs, both giving and receiving, but a squeeze of the hand will do.


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