Let It Hurt

“It is because she is my twin sister that I can’t stand her jealousy. Every day, I watch as she attempts to imitate my schedule, my activities, my social circles, my everything. If I win an award in writing, she forces herself to get a similar achievement in drawing— her perception of not being overshadowed by her ‘genius sister’. The finger points at me. I am the one at fault. I didn’t tone down. I should have given her more opportunities to be praised. By teachers or by you and Dad.”

Moisture glistened over Mom’s onyx eyes like silver linings. She inclined her upper torso until her back was almost parallel to the round table. The distance between us shortened another two meters.

I sniffled. She handed me a Kleenex. Her lips, pursed, neither scowling nor smiling.

“I want to believe that it’s not her but the Devil. Yet either way, it’s killing me.” My voice broke hideously. I looked up to her slightly creased eyes, every muscle curling in concentration, for support.

Brushing away angry tears, I stammered. “She is my sister, the one person who should never betray me. Therefore, I hate feeling constrained in my own house. Everyday is a hangman’s knot just resting upon my shoulders, and it’s only tightening. At one point, I will break, and it would be historical. You know me, Mom. I won’t self-destruct, but I will most certainly crush her to pieces.” My bursting volume cut me short.

She took my shaking hands quite by force and squeezed them hard. Mom’s reproof was disheartening in this sense. I hope she was mad as hell, but she was only disappointed.

Nevertheless, she pulled me into her soft arms. One thing I loved about Mom was that she wasn’t like a skinny model. Hugging her was thus comfortable. With her lips pressed against my ear, she hummed without a coherent tone, yet the melody ricocheted inside my brain. Echoes down my body.

“Mom.” I was between sobs now. “How can I ever escape?”

Her hands traced the back of my head in gentle motion. She spoke. “To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. C.S. Lewis.”

Sometimes, I wondered why my mom didn’t become a theology professor.

“Why would it hurt? Well, God desires to enlarge your heart’s capacity. He can’t do that without stretching it beyond its original limitations. The more it hurts, the more pressure he is applying, but after the process is complete, and you have been renewed, you’ll find that a more profound love flows out of you effortlessly.”

“How do you do it? How could you be so loving twenty four seven?” My voice has gotten a little steadier.

Again, the wistful smile emerged, rendering her into the humble figure enshrined by an unseen light. “No one knows how to love, my dear.”

“Then when does the hurting end?”

“When you can resolve everything by love. When you can imbue love into all that you see. When you can love another unconditionally, no matter how much she betrayed you or the damage she has inflicted on you.”

I shook my head. “That is too hard.”

“There is no love that is all sunshine and rainbows. Love always hurts.”

***

For the past year, COVID had broken many treasured relationships. Perhaps, as the Pandora Box opened, and sickness took over the world, it brought along its cohorts. Division pits family against family, friend against friend, sister against sister. Yet this is no mythology. Hope is left in the box, except we have access to it. However, to fish it out, we might need to endure some more pain than before.

One last note. Be grateful that you are hurting, for it only means that you’ll come out of it a fiercer warrior of love.