If crying is for the weak, then I guess I am one.

I haven't cried like this for all my days. I was trying to be as hard as a rock but the tears just won't hold back. For a minute, the tears gathering in my eyes still linger on the corners of it, and the next, before realization dawns on me, I was crying like a kid.

Don't ask why. I'd like to keep it to myself.

I always found myself as a rock with a tough interior. And all this time, I have believed that I stand as firm as a rock and that the inner me is as hard as one, too. But as I cried myself to sleep last night, I realized that I wasn't really a rock. I was more like a crystal glass, hard enough yet not strong enough. I was fragile.

I grew up with one thing in mind, crying is for the weak...

But as I cried in a darkened room with only the shade of the abaca lamp as my light, I realized that crying wasn't half as bad, after all. It's actually good for you. I felt better with each tear that dropped and each loud sound I made.

Though the sounds I made were somehow the devil's music to other people's ears, to my ears they weren't. They served as my lullaby...

The tears really didn't spill out of sadness. They were tears of frustration. I guess locking everything in(side) would somehow cause you to break down in an unexpected time and place.