Miss Aida
It is strange how paradoxical one's character can be; and even more so when I think of my own. How I am able to be so strong for others sometimes and yet, so weak when it comes to myself. How I believe that everyone needs to cry once in a while, and yet am reluctant to show my tears.

I cry at everything. Or perhaps, everything but when I am saddest, save for being in front of a certain person. I prefer to smile at sad situations, prefer to be the strong one, the quiet one, the one who comforts and nurtures. And yet, in front of him I cannot seem to hold back the tears, for he seems to break down that rigid control I once had over my tears, and I am not sure whether it is a good thing or a bad thing. I believe that sometimes rationality goes out of the window in a discussion where I am having more difficulty controlling my emotions than talking about the issues calmly. It has happened more times than I care to admit, and it is beyond my control.

What is this heightened sensitivity? As the years go by, I become more aware of issues, and my heart goes out to everyone and everything.

To the mother who had to single-handedly raise her children.
To the lover who made a mistake and cries out for his lost love.
To the children dying of AIDS in Africa.

I watch movies and cry because I am somehow able to connect with the characters and the situation in a case where most others don't.

I do not understand why.

Is it a curse of a woman who is able to feel; or am I attaching too much significance to situations that I have never ever had to endure? Is feeling a sign of strength or of weakness? Where does the line between rationality and empathy lie, and will I ever be able to find that happy medium where I will be able to hold my ground?

"Tears are the strength of women," Saint Evermond said.

I wish I could believe him, but I feel there is so much weakness In myself and my tears that I find it difficult to believe that I feel so much for a reason, and it is difficult to rationalize why I feel to deeply to the extent that I tear up at the slightest incident.

Therein lies the paradox, for I am able to show my tears towards the plight of others, but I am reluctant to share my sadness when it come to my own self.

Perhaps this is my task, so I may find the strength behind this tears I shed, the disconnection of what is personal and what is general. Perhaps.

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