Hi. You know, I miss You.
I remember the times I used to play inside your 'house'. My mother said I used to run around the long seats, the aisles, and toward the front, up the steps.
When I was younger and whenever my mother and I visit You, I would always want to be the first to dip my fingers in Your water. Your steadfast guards always held them inside a bowl of cold stone, I thought that was why Your water was always cold. I got sad if all the bowls were empty, though. If that happens, my mother would tell me it's fine, just do the sign without the water. It felt weird. I felt that I was playing a game of pretending and I thought You might know this and You might not like it.
The next bit of memory was during those times I always asked my mother to let me see Your Son lying on His deathbed. Oftentimes, my mother would allow me, in fact, I can't remember a time she wouldn't let me. There I remember gazing at His bare feet, at His sad face. I would spend the entire time just contently looking at Him. At times, I get annoyed whenever other people come to see Him while I was still there. Because, when that happens, I sort of get shooed away so they can get a better view. Don't they realize that being adults, they were a lot taller than me? Then my mother would get me, and we would finally go home.
Then, during my birthdays, my mother would accompany me to Your house. She said, and until now she says it, that I should thank You for another year that passed. If my birthday fell on a Sunday, I didn't mind. But if it fell on a day other than a Sunday, it felt awkward. Because I thought, Sunday was the only day one should visit You.
Then I went to high school. Every morning, I learned to visit You. Not in Your same house, though. You have a lot of houses, right. :) This one was smaller. And that was how I learned and got used to visiting You even though it was not a Sunday. I also learned to talk to You more often - reflections after lunch time, morning praises, feast days, adorations, confessions, retreats. I also talk to You every time there will be a test. I read to You the text from a small plastic card, with Your Son's picture on it. I always keep it inside my skirt pocket whenever there were tests, reports, presentations. Later on, my friends would ask me to talk to You for them. I also learned to do the same. But I also learned not to visit You anymore during Sundays.
When I went to college, however, I missed You more often.
Your house there was too far away. During my first days, I tried my best to visit You everyday. Walking every morning to Your house before my first class started. My effort and determination didn't last, unfortunately.
It came to a point when I just visit You because something went wrong and I did not know where else I can go. I'm sure you witnessed several episodes of me suddenly breaking in into one of Your houses while I tried my best to keep my tears from falling down.
I also started to lose that white plastic card and found myself reciting my own piece whenever there were exams. During those times, I felt and I thought You were starting to punish me because the distance between You and I were getting bigger each passing day. I experienced failures I never once did back in high school. I was never able to have any organizations, back in high school I was president of a club. I never got the stage for my own, back in high school I made announcements that the whole high school department wanted to hear. I got failing marks on exams, I never got them in high school. I skipped classes, I came late for a class. And I did not graduate on time.
But never mind, there were other people experiencing worse things.
The point is, I am missing You. I wonder if You miss me too.
