Popo

Popo's still missing. We aren't close, but I've known her since second grade, even before we were classmates. We've been classmates since the third grade until she moved to a different high school. We had called each other on the phone where I discovered her nickname is Nikki and she discovered mine is Geno. We teased each other every time we interacted, and she would have that mocking look on her face. She borrowed my Wild Thornberries shirt and never returned it, but I've always been fond of her. I made her write in all my slam books, which I still keep to this day. I used to know by heart her birthday. I still remember her full name. Her younger sister used to be my cadet, and we had fun times in high school. I know they have a younger sister, and it has always amused me (and most people I know) that they all look so much alike. I've seen their parents, and I know they look a lot like their mother.

We stopped talking in high school. But she's just too real. It's natural to feel this concerned.
They say she is suffering from depression these past months. Reading her blog from the link a batchmate of ours posted on her timeline (and Popo had placed on her Fb profile) confirms this and other things. She's exactly the type of girl I've been hoping to be friends with: the reflective, rational intellectual with a lot of feelings. I've noticed before that we were interested in the same books. She's the type who reads long philosophy, science and theology books for the fun of learning. She once liked a GMO quote I posted in Goodreads from a Richard Dawkins book. She's the type who enjoys deconstructing the tropes and themes in movies (I suspect in novels and short stories, too). We also share the same work ethics, financial philosophy and the same self-improvement attitude. Only, she's much too hard on herself. And she speaks French.

She has written things I understand only too well-- things I've pondered over and felt for years, things I've discovered and experienced, things I'm still trying to accept, things I've also fantasized. It's all too similar! I hoped there was someone out there who understood, and finally here she is, close enough but beyond reach.

What concerns me the most is that she's Christian, and I'm sure the real deal. Not that Christians aren't allowed to be depressed. It's that even when you have seen the light and the beauty, and know by heart the certainty and faithfulness of His everlasting love, you can still get lodged in that bottomless pit of despair. This truth I've come to understand very well, after years of naive misconception.

Christianity doesn't magically shield from heartbreaks and disappointments and sadness. It may not even get you through the pain. But it's knowing, even without seeing or feeling, that beyond the suffering, there is comfort, there is hope, there is joy, and you are loved, and have never been left alone. It's understanding not, but knowing there's a purpose and that His sovereignty lets nothing come to waste. It's gratefulness that your imperfections and mistakes will not send you to hell, because you can never do anything right. It's assurance that your faith is sufficient to Him, for his yoke is easy and his burden light. And nothing, not even suicide, can snatch you from His hand.