I Hate Crying

There are times when I feel so mellow… Like now, when it’s raining so hard, and there are troubles that keep piling up and I don’t know how to solve them, and who to confide to. Most of the time I don’t confide to anyone.  I just keep all the thoughts cooped up in my head.

But I hate crying.

Aside from the fact that it makes my eyes puffy and nose red, crying is a symbol of my vulnerability. All the emotions I tried to hide and keep secret inside of me are suddenly exposed to the world. I hate the fact that anyone has to see me in such a condition. I take pride in my independence and strength, especially as a female (who are considered weaker than males, in the conventional sense). Crying just ruins everything.

But I do cry. As hard as I try not to, I do, sometimes. Lately, I do it more often.

I thought that the older one gets, the stronger one should be. I have experienced things that aren’t easy to go through. I have faced pressure and obstacles. So, now, when I’m more experienced, why cry more?

Sometimes I get teary over little things: a call from my parents, my youngest brother’s voice, nasyid (Islamic songs), Al-Qur’an being recited beautifully, mellow songs, sad novels, drama films, birthday surprises, and nostalgic memories. But the thing that affect’s me the most is the last: memories. There are some memories that aren’t so great, that I regret so much it is painful to think of them.

Yes, I did some things I shouldn’t have done. I feel sinful and dirty. I try to repent, but fail pathetically. Sometimes I feel like I’m in Limbo. I don’t feel alive. The events in life are just a blur.

But someone always wakes me up.

My family. My best friends. And me.

A loving word from my parents can always put a smile on my face, and the happy tears clear the fog that had been obscuring my sight from the blessings I should be thankful for.

A friendly hug or pat on my back from my best friends can bring back the hope that I needed to face the day and continue trying.

And me. Sometimes the small voice inside is heard when everything is quiet, and loneliness gives its hint of despair. It’s rebelling against the strength that wants to crumble down, yelling at me: “Go get a grip of yourself!”

So in the end I will stand up. The tears will stop. Anyway, I do hate crying. If I do, I punish myself by trying to focus on my tasks with intensity higher than before. So at least I become productive^^

It takes more strength to stand up after a fall. And I’m so clumsy, I have fallen quite a lot of times. But I find content in believing that I become stronger every time I get back on my feet.

Maybe, crying isn’t so bad…

But I still hate it!!! No more mellow me please!!!