"Hello, Grief.."

"Hello, Grief.."

Since betrayal and dishonesty orchestrated a symphony of unfortunate events in my life, I no longer seem to experience any genuine emotion at all. Though I suppose if I did, I know I should consider myself grateful to be pulled away from the Grief that I never wanted to sit with, let alone acknowledge. But on the other hand, what if there was also a part of me that desired not to be pulled away from my new found enemy? Would one still label me a masochist if I embraced no intention to face the pain? Despite my best efforts to ignore my shadow, Grief remained a possessive, dark entity present in the room with me everywhere I went. As I stared blankly into the hollow eyes of Grief, I realized that I could not escape its miserable existence, and as if on cue, the thought occurred to me, "Why not acknowledge it?"

Perhaps my lunatic's lament was finally awakened in solitude, and I embraced the fact that I actually did want to feel it. My Grief and evidence of loss was now the only place where my memories will forever lie dormant.. non-active, but still alive. This became the very reason why I began to sit alone in the room with Grief. I would deliberately lock the door in order to keep away any unwelcome distractions. Whenever I would hear the inconsiderate knock of yet another heart biding time for me to answer its plea, I would shake my head and whisper, "such evil intruders..". My private conversations with Grief, my new found acquaintance, became my only sure way to remember and yet still remain close to you.

As I sat alone in deep reflection, I realized that Grief was in fact the very thing I felt compelled to get to know better, and perhaps even make friends with during this season of healing and anguish. I stared Grief in its hollow face and whispered, "I no longer wish to ignore you", and I found myself overwhelmed with relief when it did not answer back. My heart secretly wept in the unbearable silence, and I found myself laughing hysterically.. manically.. at the irony. For who would have ever thought that a delicate and bitter soul would reach out and grip the hand of Grief? Who in their right mind would deliberately shake the hand of their enemy, with the intent of getting to know them better? 

As I fought hard to rebuild my faith and to regain my peace of mind, a steady voice from within shook me from my own thoughts, reminding me that "grief is love, but in a different form". Assuming that the conscious voice inside would never lie, I was faced with this thought-provoking truth. How can we embrace love and yet scrutinize Grief when they are both one and the same? Even though they both share the same face and the same identity, we tend to embrace love because it is familiar and easily recognizable by its gentle touch. Grief is both raw and aggressive. It is unappealing to the naked eye due to it's haunting appearance. Because we are no longer able to recognize its face, it becomes the new normal to dismiss it as an antagonizing monster, or something to be avoided at all costs. Though burnt and charred, it still shares the same face that we once admired and cherished. Yes.. Grief still holds love's face.