Woof Woof Woof: What it means to let go


Woof Woof Woof: What it means to let go

Rean Christine T. Estimo

July 15, 2022


    This is somewhat a story about the first time I fell in love and the first time I also had to let go. To all those who experienced such brokenheartedness, so this is how it feels, huh. *wipes tears*

    Fresh from my cried-myself-to-sleep moment last night, I am writing this as a form of a keepsake of what real love felt like and the not-so-good things that had to go with it. I’m in my twenties now and admittedly, I never had a romantic partner. Well, there were people whom I liked and one that had that kind of connection with, but it never went to the next level. The rest were just flimsy crushes. Hence, I never got to feel that exciting and unexplainable feeling of falling in love. And now, this is my considered first heartbreak ever. It hurts so deep that the only thing that I could do is to whimper my heart out. All because of my little angel.

    “Little angel?” Yes!

    It was the first of July 2022 when this two-month-old paw angel, whom I named Gucci, came to our home. He was given to us by my mom’s friend. I looked at him and realized what people meant when they told stories of love at first sight. I immediately petted him and held him in my arms. It was his first time seeing his new home and “hoomans,” and there’s me—as it was also my first time to actually take care of a dog after years of being afraid to even be near one.

    As a family, we are all afraid of dogs. Personally, I had a childhood experience that made me develop a certain form of phobia with them. But the moment I learned and knew about Gucci, I felt like I was not that afraid anymore. I also made sure to provide for his needs and well, kind of spoil him. I was definitely happy to take care of him. I was happy to clean after him, to feed, to take him to the vet, and teach him even how to sit on command. Gucci became my sort of escape from all my inner chaos and mundane life. Although it was undeniably stressful to do things especially as a newbie, I would always tell myself that it’s okay; that I am happy to be physically tired. With fear of being bitten and the extra clutters that were born upon Gucci’s arrival, there were many times when my mom (who was really the reluctant one from the very beginning) would tell me to return him to his original owners, but I would beg them not to. I held onto believing that it will be okay one day.

    However, there came the day we dread. Gucci accidentally bit my sister. As a mother, my mom felt frantic. Gucci was not yet given any anti-rabies shots as he is still too young to be given one. And that incident became her final straw. And I knew what shall happen after that. We have to let go of him—I have to let go of Gucci. I have to let go of my escape; of my beloved.

    I tried to take it all secretly, but I cannot. The faucet in my eyes just opened and I let it all pour out. I wish I could explain more how excruciating it feels, but I think there is no exact word that I could use. It’s just painful. It is hard as I know that I have to go by what my mother decides; as I am also afraid that I will not be able to handle him well.

    With swollen eyes and tight chest, I could only reminisce about my little escape; my little angel. I could only pray that I could do more or better. But keeping him in our family might only cause more fear, especially in my mom. And while I do not want to give him back, I also want him to have the best care and environment. And right where my understanding and obvious choice lie is where the most hurtful part is. I had to decide.

    There are many times in life when we have to let go—to let it flow (out of our own control). These things may be of whatever aspect, but we cannot deny that it is extra difficult when it’s rooted in love. If we could only hold a firm grasp on all of those we love without having the possibility of hurting them, I know we would. However, it does not always go that way. There are times when we have to hurt and release our grip. And then we hope that one day, we’ll meet with a pat on the head saying that we did the right thing.

    You, what’s your story of letting go?


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