Big Boys Don't Cry

I can count the number of times I cried in one hand, at least those times that I was old enough to actually remember. Sure, I've grown teary eyed on several occasions--- during those times when I'm overcome with despair, and as much as I'd hate to admit it... I've grown teary eyed while watching some sappy movies that I could somehow relate to. But when you ask me how many times actual tears fell from my eyes?

1) When I watched some cartoon when I was like 9 or 10 years old. It was about talking dinousaurs, their journey through a land before time. I cried when the mommy dinosaur died.

2) When I was in college, when my mom was diagnosed with an early form of cancer. It was a rapidly progressing type, and when she initially told us the news, I was initially stone faced. The following week was mother's day, and I thought of buying her a greeting card. As I was choosing the perfect card at a bookstore near my college, I thought of how much I loved her, and I thought of how I rarely spent time with her. I lived in my grandmother's house, and I only get to see her once a week. I could've been buying the last greeting card I could give her, and with that thought I couldn't help but cry in public. Good thing she was diagnosed on time, and proper treatment was given.

3) During a retreat in college, when I told a very close friend the truth, why I behaved that way, why I never thought of sharing my pain with anyone. Why I chose to carry the burden alone. As we embraced each other, I tried so hard to keep the tears from falling.

4) Late 2004. When some girl told me we were not meant to be. That we would be better off as friends. As much as I hate to admit it, I cried myself to sleep that night. There was a lot of waterworks. It makes me sick just thinking about how much tears I cried for such a horrible person. I could've shed tears for so many other girls, but I only shed tears for her.

5) Around May last year, when my grandmother had another heart attack. I was on duty at the hospital, and I couldn't just leave. My dad called me on my cellular phone and told me how bad the prognosis was. I grew up with my grandmother and she's a big part of my life. I realized how badly I was treating her, how I never showed her how much I appreciate everything she has done. I was such a selfish, arrogant brat. I dismissed her caring hands, even loathed her a times. Overcome with regret, with the fear that it might have been too late... feeling trapped within the walls of the hospital, when all I wanted to do was leave--- I just sat down on one of the chairs on that dark corridor behind the wards, as I silently cried.

And during those few times, I tried very hard to suppress my tears. Boys don't cry, crying is for wussies... shedding tears is a sign of weakness. Crying is synonymous to giving up. That's what I've been told. Better to channel those frustrations into anger. In this dog-eat-dog world, it is better to hide those emotions, than to show others that you are vulnerable.

This attitude creates a stoic whose only emotional expression is anger, says William Pollack, PhD, a renowned Harvard psychologist. A man who didn't cry as a boy will be disconnected and may try to numb his depression with alcohol, fast driving, and women. Great for a country song, not so great for living.

I'm not sure how accurate his findings are. But if there's some degree of truth in it, no wonder I turn to things that only serve to f*ck up my life even more, in this seemingly futile search for what continuously evades me.