Crying - Poetry Written By: Minh Tu Le
People usually see crying as a sign of weakness, delving too much into a wound. On the other side of the equation, some see it is a strength. The cliche goes like this: when you are strong enough mentally, you are afraid to show what the majority deems as your “weak” side, and that you are very brave for showing your true emotions.
I myself see it, instead, as a form of emotional exercise, one that is necessary, a primitive form of expression that every single human being needs in their lives.
Especially, when you’re weary, and you feel like nobody is by your side except for yourself - then your only companion is a good cry. You can cry for hours on end, about a trauma you’ve had in your past, about the future. Or, you can cry, just for the sake of crying, about how treasureful you are of the present, and how much you have been through to get to where you are right now.
I see crying, just as much as sadness itself, a beautiful means to an end of whatever traumas, abundant emotions (positive or negative) one has been holding in for a certain period of time.
There is a ritual aspect to crying in certain contexts, also. One weeps for a loved one’s death. One weeps of joy during a wedding day. One weeps, going through ceremonies of traditions (See: Ritual Crying in Folk Tradition).
“Crying was a common trait of the seasonal ceremonies in the ancient civilizations. The Egyptians, says DIODORUS, used to shed tears and cry upon Isis at the first cutting of the corn.”
I cry when I’m cutting onions. I cry when I get to watch a sad scene from a movie. Read a sad story, hear a beautiful record. There are times I am moved even by a dog, sitting alone by itself next to a tree with his eyes that make you feel he’s been through some stuff when you stare very closely. And I cry.
I cry when I look at pictures of old people and think about the fact that they used to be young, full of energy and innocence.
I cry when I see yet another tree is being cut down by the government. I cry when I see little kids without any shelter and they are fighting for their lives just to get another piece of bread, or to not have to endure extreme pain mentally and physically anymore from such a young age.
I cry when I am reminded, albeit very occasionally, that one day, my friends and family are not gonna be here around anymore, and everything about me, or whatever I’m building up, all the sparks that I’ve given to the world and being given back, the marks I’ve left and will leave on this world will be gone eventually in time,
like tears in rain.
I myself see it, instead, as a form of emotional exercise, one that is necessary, a primitive form of expression that every single human being needs in their lives.
Especially, when you’re weary, and you feel like nobody is by your side except for yourself - then your only companion is a good cry. You can cry for hours on end, about a trauma you’ve had in your past, about the future. Or, you can cry, just for the sake of crying, about how treasureful you are of the present, and how much you have been through to get to where you are right now.
I see crying, just as much as sadness itself, a beautiful means to an end of whatever traumas, abundant emotions (positive or negative) one has been holding in for a certain period of time.
There is a ritual aspect to crying in certain contexts, also. One weeps for a loved one’s death. One weeps of joy during a wedding day. One weeps, going through ceremonies of traditions (See: Ritual Crying in Folk Tradition).
“Crying was a common trait of the seasonal ceremonies in the ancient civilizations. The Egyptians, says DIODORUS, used to shed tears and cry upon Isis at the first cutting of the corn.”
I cry when I’m cutting onions. I cry when I get to watch a sad scene from a movie. Read a sad story, hear a beautiful record. There are times I am moved even by a dog, sitting alone by itself next to a tree with his eyes that make you feel he’s been through some stuff when you stare very closely. And I cry.
I cry when I look at pictures of old people and think about the fact that they used to be young, full of energy and innocence.
I cry when I see yet another tree is being cut down by the government. I cry when I see little kids without any shelter and they are fighting for their lives just to get another piece of bread, or to not have to endure extreme pain mentally and physically anymore from such a young age.
I cry when I am reminded, albeit very occasionally, that one day, my friends and family are not gonna be here around anymore, and everything about me, or whatever I’m building up, all the sparks that I’ve given to the world and being given back, the marks I’ve left and will leave on this world will be gone eventually in time,
like tears in rain.
Find more in the first print issue of Fresh Magazine