Photo taken at Loboc River, the Philippines
Metanoia
Ever since I could remember, I stumbled on this idea that kept showing up everywhere I went. It was almost as if it were following me all the time, refusing to let me see past its gaze.
It’s not unlike the sun with its warm rays of light beaming down on you, no matter how much a part of you might resist. This reminds me of the experience I always had as a kid, when in the back of any moving vehicle, I would watch its gleam across the horizon, whatever the speed of our gliding pace.
Its presence remains, full of vibrance and energy. Even if you don’t get to see it all the time, you know it’s there.
I share all this because I think it relates to a saying I’m alluding to, the common expression one might encounter more often than they would care to admit. Across a wide range of media—in films, books, poetry, music, and more—I hear it referenced over and over again.
One might say it’s a pointer hinting at something important; another might argue it’s completely useless, bearing nothing at all. Who knows for sure? But here it goes, the so-called maxim of which I speak: Open your heart.
At first glance, it might seem fairly obvious what this is about. Upon seeing it, it’s easy to think—so what? It’s not exactly difficult to land on the basic notion of allowing yourself to connect with others and be fully seen, warts and all.
But is that really all it means? Is it really that simple?
Growing up, I cannot recall questioning this initial assumption any further than what conventional wisdom would imply. Now, however, I wonder if there’s actually more behind such words that others might automatically deem as common sense.
Personally, I can only guess that in light of all sorts of material I’ve read over the years, its constant reappearance unveils the weight of its significance. But to be honest with you, I have an even bigger reason.
The truth is, I had zero curiosity about any of this until I found myself surrounded by a special group of people who would change my life forever. To this day, I strive to appreciate a nugget of wisdom they taught me when they first introduced me to the word “metanonia,” a term they defined as a change of heart.
Never could I have predicted its connection to an ancient Greek expression representing a “turning around” or shift in direction; the kind of transformation that, thanks to them, I would experience for the very first time.
The Key
Do we ever know for certain when we enter the beginning of a pivotal chapter of our lives? I could hardly say so, especially considering this exact one I’m about to describe.
There I was at the start of my early high school years, sitting in a circle with people of all ages. From adolescents to teens to adults in their twenties, thirties, forties, and beyond, this band of individuals met once a week for a couple of hours to participate in regular discussions.
If memory serves me well, I can’t recall if we ever exceeded more than forty people on average in a room. Still, the numbers never mattered because these meetings were different from any I had ever attended before.
But it wasn’t the agenda points or structure that stuck out to me. No, beyond the superficial interactions that one can always expect in gatherings of any size, something else was happening beneath the surface; something much more important that perhaps carries the potential to take place when we willingly allow ourselves to be.
Maybe for some communities, these moments last ten minutes at best. But for this particular one I had the fortune to be a part of, it could go on for a while and long enough to last the entire time.
A casual observer might not identify anything profound in witnessing a set of random people engaging in simple conversation. Perhaps such an individual might brashly question: Am I missing something? I mean, they’re just talking. What’s so special about that?
I can empathize because this is exactly how I felt. There I sat, a listless, disinterested teenager, in the middle of everyone, completely unaware of what I had just walked into.
Little did I know it then, but I was in desperate need of help, of deep introspection. But I was oblivious to the amount of pain I was keeping inside, walking like a blind man, unknowingly projecting the weight of what I was carrying into every encounter as if doing so would make it all go away.
It’s almost like my mind was trying to make sense of what I was feeling, using logic and reason, deluding itself into thinking that my intellect held the key to protecting me from what was already happening in my body. In my naivete, I had no clue where to begin.
So I did what I thought anyone else would do: I ignored it. I pretended everything was fine, clutching rigidly to this lie in my stubborn and closed-up state, firmly believing that none of it could be fixed.
That is, until, before I knew it, everything changed. That is, until someone came along to show me otherwise; someone who was able to expand my understanding of all the ways that, in my ignorance, I was unknowingly unconscious of just how wrong I truly was.
Unlocked
If I had to pick the point of no return for me in accepting these people whom I initially felt annoyed around, it would be skit night. It was a typical Saturday evening.
The plan was to come up with funny stories we would each act out in little clusters throughout the show, following the program in a light-hearted way.
It was clear that the aim was to simply relax and have a good time, which I couldn’t be further from personally. The truth is, internally, I was in pure panic mode.
I was freaking out just thinking about getting playful and silly with a bunch of strangers I did not yet know on an intimate level. Was this about boundaries, or was this fear in disguise?
As I understood little about the topic at the time, I could hardly think it had to do with the former. This only gets clearer once I describe to you what happened next.
Following different groups of both youth and adults, making the whole room laugh in sporadic bursts, it was my turn to take the stage with my own troop of comrades. In retrospect, each person played their part well except for me.
But to be honest, my mind goes blank when I attempt to recollect what it was I was actually meant to do. All I remember is that once the moment arrived in which it was my turn to speak, I couldn’t.
In a scene of two, between myself and another, I stayed where I was, completely mute; completely frozen. It was as if everything I was attempting to hide and keep in the shadows had finally found the break of day, bright and visible for everyone to see.
The spotlight was on me. In that moment, time paused to last a lifetime.
I was shaking, petrified in a silence that engulfed the atmosphere before someone literally rang a bell to break the tension and end the scene. I never felt more uncomfortable in my life.
It was almost as if I had become fear itself; like it had completely consumed me enough so I could finally see the parasite hold it had on me. At least, that’s what it felt like up to that very point, because shortly after that, I noticed a few things.
I noticed how gracious and kind people truly were, showing me compassion, lifting me to a higher frequency with their joy, wit, and enthusiasm. Somehow, I felt lighter, like I had finally released and shattered a good portion of what was weighing me down in one go.
Somehow, in the warmth of their presence, I no longer felt blocked. Whatever it was that seemed fastened within me had loosened its grip. Whatever it was, they helped me unlock.
Open
It didn’t take long after that for it to dawn on me that I wasn’t the only one bearing a burden inside. Soon, it felt easier to talk about things because everyone around me started sharing their stories as well.
We no longer had to pretend and hide from our feelings because there was no need to keep any of it a secret. Is there some bizarre misconception out there that if we speak our biggest fear out loud, it will only make it more real?
Do we only manifest it and give it more power when we do? Personally, I find that this couldn’t be further from the truth, especially when I think about this group.
In my experience, I find the opposite to be the case. In many ways, this weekly community gave us the chance to connect, engage, and relate with one another on a regular basis.
Regardless of our age, culture, or background, we were gathering, listening, and giving off the kind of vibes and energy we may not have even realized were fundamental to our existence. Looking back, I couldn’t be more grateful because I’ve come to understand just how much I needed it at the time.
Beyond the small talk, games, songs, and activities, we were collectively holding the kind of space in which true intimacy can only exist; the kind of space that allowed me to encounter what I had never borne witness to in my entire life.
I saw things I had never seen prior to that experience. I saw people lay down the knarled-up and twisted knot of their harrowing heartache and find the courage within themselves to untangle it right before their very eyes.
Across generations, I listened to what people were dealing with on a regular basis, the problems and stories that span multiple contexts and complexities, forming the nuanced shades of the human condition. I saw grown men crying out loud, fully and freely, for the first time.
I saw adolescents speak openly about the struggle of fitting in and finding their voice in a complicated chapter of their lives. Yes, we were merely talking, and we were also healing.
Together, we were allowing the deepest and most authentic parts of ourselves to be expressed, unwilling to remain closed no matter how much our minds like to think the wiser. Like a functioning, beating heart, we were encouraging a sense of wholeness to do its part, integrating with one another to match the rhythm of what was required.
Raw authenticity found true empathy in our efforts to rise to the occasion and match each other in unison to every beat of the righteous drum, to live from the core and embody what it means to act as one. This is the power of community.
Kindred Spirit
In light of all of this, I would be remiss not to mention the shining member at the very center of this group, the unique individual who showed me the intrinsic value of genuine service. So if you’re reading this, my intention is to give credit where credit is due.
In honor of this space, and of cherishing what matters, I reach out to a past connection—a true kindred spirit who, out of my deepest respect, shall remain nameless, though I address now all the same. To the person with the highest level of intuition I have ever come across, to the person I could communicate with across a room with a single look and zero confusion—I dedicate this to you.
Who would’ve thought that I would learn the importance of emotional intelligence from anyone but you? That I would come to understand the true meaning of vulnerability, of being in touch with your feelings, not from the obvious or expected, not from what some of us might first assume, but from a man—and a real one at that.
I feel compelled to say this because now, more than ever, you are the type of male role model the world needs more of today; the one that taught me to acknowledge what both the feminine and the masculine bring to the table, all from you just being you.
Through your choices, you helped me understand what it takes to embrace all parts of ourselves equally. Because how ludicrous is it to separate elements of who we are and reduce our entirety to a mere fraction of our fullest potential?
How much clearer must the consequences need to be for any of us to see what happens when we rely on the brilliance of the mind over the honesty of the heart? Without you, who knows if I ever would have explored the mysteries of a metanoia.
It’s why when you lost someone of precious significance, I found the courage to tell you that as much as I wanted to take the weight of your pain and throw it as far away as I could, I knew better. Because within that pain exists a reminder of something beautiful and undeniable: the price of meaningful, real connection.
Anyone would be lucky to experience that level of depth with someone dear to them—the kind that lasts a lifetime. Which brings me to why I’m writing all of this now, because even if we haven’t talked much over the years, that’s what you will always mean to me.
It’s why I’m sending this message out, my letter of gratitude that I now set down at the door of a beloved leader, mentor, and father figure. It’s why I reach out symbolically, acknowledging the possibility of how ridiculously I’m making a fool of myself.
But you showed me vulnerability better than anybody, so I stand in courage regardless of how easily you can slam the door and call the cops on the crazy, weirdo lingering at the corner of your street. I’m not actually, though; I really do mean this in the figurative sense, and that doesn’t make it any less real.
I guess, as I draw this to a close, all I really want to say is this: I’ve been thinking of you. Thank you for opening the eyes of my heart.
