Here, the light has a different cast, it is deep, a struggler through the buildings and the smog of the city, it is easily forgotten amidst electric lights, and while this world is not unfamiliar to me (your name), its rare natural light is a recent discovery, a silent but faithful companion in my little bedroom, a room less crowded now although still quite full of things that do not belong to me, not at all like the room I had when I was young, yet this room still imparts that familiar feeling of safety, comfort, peaceful solitude, a setting most conducive to introspection, especially now it is the final day of my pilgrimage, yes, the mental hell of (your pain) has finally broken me, of so many years where laughter was rare and tears as common as tropical rain, and for so long I kept everything together, I knew how to pick up the pieces, until finally, I am too tired (Timor mortis conturbat me) Now I smile and wonder why the light is so beautiful, I remember in my sadness I would always look out the window to catch a glimpse of the light, the sky, which calmed me, which brought my raging heart to stillness, then I would wonder if the scars around my neck would never disappear, or would they deepen and deepen, and I would pray for God to make me new again, yes, new! like on the day that I was born, unhurt and undefiled, oh how beautiful the light when one has been in darkness too long! … (Libera me, lumen) oh light, oh beautiful light, please touch every surface of the skin on my body, please wake me from this bottomless sleep, where my feet has never touched the ground and my limbs are numb of hanging, please, oh gentle light, follow me through the night I dread, and touch me, oh light, oh miraculous light, when I tremble in fear and madness, but be kind, please, for I am lonely, my friends (their names) have abandoned me in my sorrow, and they return only for the food served at the wake where I sleep, where I could hear the sound of their laughter, but the touch of you, oh heavenly light, dispels the anger and despair, see there is a string of gold that holds my head towards the sky, and as it tightens, I could feel the weight of my body rising, lifting, until I hover above the cloud that has cluttered my days with grief, and for a moment I could smell the stench of things, bad things, leaving my body, and I could hear the cry of my mother, and I will cry with her, for this is when I finally awake from my misery, when I gladly embrace the light amen.
Fatima Lasay, Quezon City
Sunday, September 14, 2014