WHEN LOVE HURTS, BOYS DO CRY

Whoever says crying is unmanly is a self-proclaimed hypocrite. His belief about shedding of tears is a disguised compliment to the masculinity afforded to men, yet a disgrace to the sanctity of our race.

Loving indeed hurts. It’s like learning to crave for something elusive in its deepest sense. It’s like planting a so naive-looking tulip beneath a shade, knowing it would just die and degrade in God’s time. It’s like holding a flower so tight despite the thorns surrounding its stem, and despite your hand bleeding profusely, grasping the precious flower that imprisoned your heart.

Love makes everybody blossom, yet when it speaks, everybody covers their ears. It shouts in mountains, in intersections, in synagogues, in parks where children run their imaginations free, or in any place where men lurk or walk endlessly.

Angels are silent witnesses, that when deities in heavens above created a very candid element named “Love”, they made sure something is in it that would test man’s faith, that which would cause man to harm his fellow man, and nation to rise and take arms against other nations.

Love gives color to the darkness of our fallen world, alms for the pitiful beggars, and lover for old spinsters. It even gives life to those inanimate yet deathless things in our hearts.

But in the bottom line, love begets nothing but pain, and jeopardy to man’s emotional stature. Why love when mayhem and tragedy are far lenient than engaging in a romantic affair. Your partner would surely demand glamour and figure.

Then it’s too late. When upon looking straight in the mirror, you just find yourself dumbfounded, when tears start to roll down your cheeks. Thus, for the common law of masculinity, crying is a scornful manifestation and should not be condoned even in the next realm.

But why won’t it stop? I simply want this volley of tears to halt falling before ‘Pa’ carrying his .45 caliber pistol notices me doing this unmanly feat. But would you condemn a poor man’s heart so vulnerable to the ups and downs of break ups…and breakups alone?

Love is indeed painful; it makes me cry now thinking of her who once condones my life tormented by solitude and melancholy. Why is loving painful? Why can’t men accept that crying is inevitable, and maybe the best remedy for a poisoned heart? And when will roses get rid of their thorns, so my hand would not bleed anymore?

Forevermore, love will surely dwell on what it was made for: “make all men happy, and make some men cry.”