True Merit

True Merit

By Sherald Mae E. Sanchez

Demanding may be rude

But not when demand, one should

If one proves to be fit,

That's what we call true merit.

You don't succeed through influence

Success is a gift from the heavens

If you can have one angel's torch lit,

That's what we call true merit.

Must you deserve it, it's yours

It's never right to take it by force

If you're able to overcome the heat,

That's what call true merit.

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My mom related this story to me. It's all about a classic case of inequality and inequitability. It's very disturbing to discover that no matter how much you persevere, nothing's ever going to happen. No one's ever going to notice your hardwork. No one's ever going to see how knowledgeable you are. No one's ever going to admit that you're better than the other person. Why? Because the other person has better connections, more influence, and has been there longer that you've been. All I'm saying is, so what? Who cares about all those things? Those things do not make that person better than anyone else is. It's just sad to know that those people who are supposed to know this, to know the right thing to do are not doing anything. Instead, they choose to just ignore the abuse, be blind to the partiality, give an undeserving person all the credits, and leave the deserving one to wallow in the depths of this hell we call injustice.

I know I'm young and I'm ignorant of a lot of things. But I do know this: I would never tolerate this kind of maltreatment. I will fight it with everything I have; with everything I am.

There's always an exception.

"To every rule, there's always an exception."

You lie. You’re a liar. That’s not really a problem because hey, everybody lies. The only variable in this lying equation is the reason behind one’s lie. The problem is that you lie about the big things all the time. And you know what’s worse? Every single time, you fail to explain and make me understand. That’s probably a good thing because I’m not sure I want to know. 

You say your ways are convenient. They allow you to get away with your dishonesty. They allow me to refrain from listening to things that will most likely hurt me. So yes, your ways are indeed convenient. And life goes on.

The problem with your ways is that they’re also deceiving. Their main purpose is to make it seem as though nothing ever happened... And we talk like usual, laugh when something’s funny, fight about the petty things, live our lives the way we always did. The thing is the deceptions don’t make the lies go away, all lost and forgotten. Lies were said, mistakes were made, tears were shed, and people were hurt. We can’t pretend nothing happened because something happened. It’ll always be there. It will haunt us everywhere we go, find us no matter where we hide. There’s no escaping it. So let’s stop this game of pretence already. I’m tired of playing.

Start talking. I’m done asking. No, talking won’t undo your lies. That doesn’t matter because I don’t really care that you lied. I only care why you lied. It’s all that matters. By clarifying things, I still won’t be able to trust you the way I did before. But by doing so, you’re giving me a reason to try. Isn’t that enough motivation? That maybe, just maybe, you’ll say the things you always say and I won’t think twice and doubt the sincerity behind them. Who knows, things might just go back to how they were. But until you say something, nothing’s going to change; nothing’s going to happen. So please, do us both a favor and just bloody talk.

You lie. You don’t explain afterwards. You pretend nothing happened. I hate people who do these things. I hate people who lie. I hate people who lie about the big things even more. I hate people who don’t explain. I hate people who pretend things didn’t happen.

Most of all, I hate you... Because you’re always the exception. 

Why do you always have to be the exception?

Vulnerable

Vulnerable

By Sherald Mae E. Sanchez

Everyday feels like torture. Not the physical kind; the one that inflicts pain on the outside. It’s the other kind; the one far more painful, agonizing, excruciating – the pain inside. Before you trespassed your way into my life, I would never have imagined being in this fragile state. I’ve always been the strong one; sturdy and assertive. I’ve never been one to exhibit such passionate emotions, especially in front of other people. I’ve always been a cheerful person, with all the smiles and waving. But damn it, no one, not even I, can say all these things about myself at this moment. Not when I’m in this pitiful, pathetic condition. I can’t believe I let you do this to me. I can’t believe I let anyone, for that matter, do this to me. 

You’re hurting me like no one has ever done so before. You’ve damaged me in a way that gives me the feeling that I’m beyond repair; that the damage you’ve caused is irreversible. I’m torn, tattered, and very much distressed. What’s even worse, if something more severe than this is humanly possible, is that my feelings haven’t changed. If this level of devastation can’t change them, heaven only knows what else can. Yes, it’s going to take some time for me to forgive and forget but I’m certain that after the healing and recovery stage, I’d take you back. Whatever happens, I’d take you back. And yes, I can’t be with you right now. I shouldn’t talk to you, or even see you. But God only knows how I want to. I’d give anything to turn things back to how they were – easy, simple, the happiest I’ve ever had. I know I shouldn’t feel this way. For Pete’s sake, I should be lashing out at you as if there’d be no tomorrow. And believe me, I want to. But I don’t want to, at the same time. 

Nothing is certain; everything is categorized under “maybe” and “what-if”. This is probably what’s hurting me most: the confusion. I’ve always prided myself with the ability to analyze situations and make wise decisions but now, I have neither. This is taking a toll on my self-esteem. If I can’t be happy with myself, how can I be with you? How can I be with anybody else? I think I’m more disappointed at myself than at you. Only I’m so proud I can’t possibly admit that out loud; this kind of pain is too much for me to handle that I need someone to put the blame on and the closest thing I get is you. It’s easier this way. In fact, I think I’ve forgiven you. From the very first time you said you were sorry, I already have. The one I haven’t forgiven yet is myself. For being so weak, so vulnerable and mostly, for feeling for someone the level of how I feel for you – unconditional, selfless, and in my opinion, much too much idiotic.

How can I be with you when I can’t even stand myself right now? How can I love you in the way I want to when I can’t even like myself? How can I face you when I can’t even look in the mirror? Tell me and I’ll do it. Because, hell, I miss you. More than you can possibly imagine; more than one person should; more than all of humanity put together could. I miss you so much it hurts.