Mar 12, 2010

Saying Goodbye Is Still Loving?

I was watching Rent earlier and there's this scene after Angel's funeral when this group of "bohemians" part because they have to pursue what they think they need. And in that scene, I saw what my philosophy teacher was trying to point out yesterday, you break up because you still love each other.

Breaking up is a sign of love, not of hatred.

Roger left Mimi because he had to travel. Joanne had to leave Maureen because she wants to be a better lawyer. In that scene, you see that each one is pained deep, but they both know that it's for their own good. And this "goodness" is not a result of hatred.

People do NOT break up because they do NOT love, care or is concerned about the other. Love for that matter is eternal, it never goes away. You break up because you know the limits of the other and it's usually for the best of both parties.

I was consoling a friend before because her boyfriend broke up with her. She's a ballet dancer in a professional ballet company and she would write the (six-lettered) name of her boyfriend in her upper legs using a cutter. Bloody mess. She was complaining that he didn't love her anymore, and i wish I could have reasoned out what I knew today.

Of course I would not want to limit this notion to just the romantic side of love. Oprah said that she loved her show so much that she knows when to say goodbye to it. You do not keep your dead loved one in your basement because you love them and you know your limits so you bury them.

And in roughly one year from now, I'll be saying goodbye to something i have loved for all it's beauty and flaws - the Ateneo. I love it too much that I won't be staying for 5 years! Haha.

The most tragic thing in the world
is falling in love
with the past. Or believing
the past is writing you letters –
handwriting in an old
English script, letters
smudged, readable
enough to hold
you hostage — because you know
how close you are. Just a curve
away from knowing. Outside,
a cricket is kissing
the land, which must be like
falling in love with a pile
of borrowed books, exhaling
into it, dust floating
before leaving. It must be like finding
yourself groping the space
where the covers of returned novels
used to end, like sighing
into a harmonica — lightly
enough to keep the silence,
only crickets, and the invisible
notes of sadness.

by Gian Lao

(My philo orals are near so I'm trying to beef up my examples on the thesis statements so expect my other blogs till next week to be related to our philo class. Don't worry, i'll try not to make it boring. Haha!)

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