Today, for the first time in what might be more than a decade, I finished reading a novel. I haven’t picked up fiction since my lazy afternoons in Tacloban as a college transferee, lost and suspended in life.

It isn’t so much because I got tired of reading or I was busy but because stories made me more and more lonely. Nothing triggered my lonesomeness more than getting engrossed in a story that flowed so certainly, so unlike the life that I had in reality.

This might be an effective distraction for some people but for me, it was a confrontation. It made me anxious of the fact that I’m sitting for hours and letting life pass me by, when in fact, that’s precisely what I was looking for. How on earth would I find purpose for living if I stayed home poring through paperbacks instead of going out and exploring?

I couldn’t peacefully enjoy sumptuous prose, riveting scenes, and the precious profundity that only the written word could aptly and elegantly express.

I couldn’t because I wasn’t satisfied enough with my own life to appreciate those of others, especially in a story. And so I shelfed my books, ignored them, tried other escapes, until finally I’ve buried a big part of me– my love for literature and stories.

Fiction left me but loneliness didn’t. Several weeks ago, prompted by a heartbreaking experience, I finally faced the darkness within. And as anyone helpless would do, I whispered a prayer: Lord, please fill this emptiness in me.

It often starts with a little prayer, whispered out of desperation or confusion or hopelessness that dares to hope with its last breath.

And then, slowly, God made me see that there’s nothing wrong with me. I was lonely because I thought I should live the life He wanted for me and as long as I haven’t achieved that, nothing was worth-living. But in reality, life doesn’t begin when we’re settled and certain, when we have all the answers to our questions, when we stop being what we most dislike about ourselves and start being the perfect person we always wanted to be.

No, life is now. Life is the seeming detours, the confusion and surprises, the failing and rising again. And this life is beautiful and worth-living. It’s enough to settle into the journey step by step, not necessarily knowing where it leads but trusting that God is here now, taking each step with me. Not waiting for me at the finish line, demanding of me to get things right.

He is here in the seeming nothingness I have found myself in– no job, no lovelife, no achievements to speak of. This might sound like the perfect formula of a failure but if I just step back a bit and see the greater picture, this is pretty normal. When you’re in between jobs, you’re understandably jobless. And when you’re in between relationships, it’s natural to be single. However, being in the “in-between” isn’t comfortable and could even be scary because we don’t know what happens next or when the next would happen.

But the truth is, when God closes one door, it’s never because He wants us trapped in a room. On the contrary, it’s so we can continue to walk and enter through the door that is truly open.

So I continue the walk, the wait, and the search. Because this is life– some moments are endings and others are beginnings; and still others are the “in-betweens.”

And while I wait for the next beginning, I take time to enjoy this in-between, which led me to rediscover my long-forgotten passion for reading. I then grabbed a book and relished a story– certain, for the first time, that mine is also unfolding page by page.