letting go at three

this is one of my dad’s favorite stories. he said i must be barely three then. we were aboard a jeepney to grandma’s house. wait, now i am confused if we were on our way to or from grandma’s. anyway, i was holding a lanzones fruit during the ride. the jeep came to an abrupt stop and the little hand dropped the equally small fruit, which then rolled under the seat across ours. tried as he might, my dad could not locate the fruit. so, the three-year-old that i was cried and hollered and bawled over this lost. that, despite the fact that we were carrying with us a kaing full of lanzones. the little girl would not accept a replacement for her dear piece. right, what a brat!

but hearing about it again, i’d say it shows much about me – beyond the spoiled brat side. there lies the early traces of my take on letting go. so long as i can hold on to something, i will. even if in the process – between wanting to hold on and slowly letting go – i have to shed a bucket full of tears.

maybe while i was crying over that lanzones fruit, i am also starting to accept that the time i owned that fruit was gone. it is mine minutes ago, but now, it just was. and even my dad can’t help me get it back. i could have been thinking, ohgod, this is just so sad i can cry a river. maybe it even hurt. i was a child after all.

my dad had forgotten how he made me stop crying. i am guessing i ceased upon finally deciding that it was time to completely let it go.

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