April 18, 2015 § Leave a comment
It’s been a while since I’ve written to you. In fact, it’s been a while since I’ve written anything of worth. I miss you a lot. I was imagining addressing you in poetry, but I’m afraid my thoughts are all in prose. Rhymeless prose. The only song in my head when I think of you is the last song you ever heard.
I finally asked Ama that question that I’ve always wanted an answer to. It was a selfish question that I could not bring myself to ask for quite some time until after you passed away. But I wanted an answer, and I wanted it in words. I asked him if you missed me when I was away.
You see, I know there’s an obvious answer to that, but there’s a difference in answering my own questions to someone else answering them for me. Especially when the question is independent of me, but whose answer I am dependent on. He told me you were always crying and you thought that you’d never see me again. To say that I felt a pang of guilt is an understatement. Yet it was a stark contrast to the neutral, brave front you always showed me whenever you called me in Skype. Sometimes I recall you with silent longing – a memory that performs a brief waltz in my head. Sometimes it’s in the middle of the night when I wake up in tears – succumbing to the treachery of my dreams. Sometimes, it is exactly as now – when tears still well up from my eyes and all that can comfort me is writing. Truly, there is nothing like going home to a mother, to a mom, to a nayoti, to a naychi, to a baby buddha – to half of everything that stood for all the past and present and future strength I had, have and will ever have. When the going gets tough, it’s easier to be tough and get going if you know your parents have your back. I miss knowing I have someone to tell my fears to, without being embarrassed about it. Ironically though, I rarely did that with you. In truth, we operated with a constant buffer to maintain emotional normality. If I count the number of times we both broke down in tears at the same time, I can only even remember two. The times I broke down, you always consoled me with your firm trust and resolve. The times you broke down, I always encouraged you to have faith and stand right back up. But I always believed that you felt my thoughts and knew my feelings. You probably just denied me of the superficial comfort derived from wallowing in self-pity; and wisely at that. It’s how I learned to follow suit. But now when I find myself breaking down, it’s hard for me to look for the same solid ground that you always made sure I stood on. I’m stuck in this limbo looking for you. Floating among old memories and flashbacks. Immobile and overwhelmed with an inconsolable loneliness. It is a brief paralysis, but it is a stroke of reality.
March 1, 2015 § Leave a comment
I was sorting through my laundry awhile ago when I suddenly had the epiphany that most of my clothes are either black, dark blue, or white. I literally walked to my dresser and opened the doors to check and was flabbergasted that indeed most of everything I had here are in those colors. I used to like wearing prints. Deadly flower prints. They were so deadly I cannot forget my brother’s remark one day that my clothes look like curtains because of the flowery prints. To my defense, they absolutely did not look like curtains (how narrowminded can boys’ descriptions sometimes be) – but yes, I did love flower prints. And I used to love yellow. It was the color I received the most compliments for. I even wore pink, and baby blue always caught my eye when I go to stores. My favorite swimsuit was orange and green. Now my existing wardrobe’s majority is the embodiment of the absence of color – black. I wondered when my wardrobe started changing, and I think it was the moment I started living here in Singapore. I swear I wore lively colors up until when I was teaching. If it was because of the fact of living away from home, doing a PhD, my mourning for the loss of my mother, the practicality of having such a straightforward and timeless fashion, not to mention dark colors does wonders in slimming down (hmm this might actually be a huge factor) – I can only guess. No wonder when I went home last December, I couldn’t find anything I was comfortable wearing. All the clothes I left behind were lively and seemed too loud. It made me queasy wearing them, and so I even bought a few more black tops when I was there. Looking back, it just seems queer. I didn’t plan a conscious transmogrification of my wardrobe to black, but somehow it seems like I gravitate towards that color as of late.
But I don’t want to die in black. Not that I am a firm believer that fashion is deeply connected to personality (because really, black does wonders in slimming down…and it’s always classy to be in black), but because I simply miss being able to pick green, or yellow, or pink, or daisies, or ducks, or or or watermelons, or whatever. It might be symbolic, that I will now make a conscious effort to buy colors the next time I go shopping. And the fact that of all the trite things I can write about, I chose this as deserving of a public entry. But whatever it is, let me just say that black is utterly boring. I hypothesize that the moment I get back my colors, doing the laundry will be much much more therapeutic. As for now, I will have to make do with the yellow on the center of that white flower print I have on a sheer black tank top.
January 31, 2015 § 1 Comment
January 25, 2015 § 7 Comments
I keep remembering this sentence I saw once in Humans of New York. It was from a story about a widow who lost her husband of so many years. When her husband was dying, she asked him How am I supposed to live without you?. And her husband answered, Take the love that you have for me, and spread it all around.
To this day, those words reverberate inside my shell, filling my core with both sadness and wisdom. Of course, that is absolutely the right thing to do. But for some reason, the idea leaves me with a heavy sense of heartache. It was an order to give away to whoever else something you have allotted to someone special. It was the gentle pushing away of hands that yearn to hug someone. It was the last forehead kiss of a lover, who refuses you to kiss him back for the last time. It was when I took down my mom’s clothes from their hangers, laid them out on the bed, sorted them out through wafts of familiar memories that dusted out of them, folded them and decided to whom they should go instead. It was painful, it was generous, it was the right thing.
Perhaps this is why people who have lost someone can sometimes show the most amazing compassion. Look at them, look at those who suffer silently for people who have long gone. Perhaps they too want to say, no, I’m not kind. It isn’t me. It’s just that, I don’t know what to do with all the love I’m left with.
This post is dedicated in loving memory of my mom, and to my dad who continues to serve others. Happy 32nd Wedding Anniversary. This is also dedicated to every beautiful person I have been lucky to know.
January 2, 2015 § Leave a comment
2014’s pages has come to a close. If I try to encapsulate its entirety to a single concept, it would be “coping”. Every day was just trying to cope up with everything that if I could suspend, I would, but I couldn’t so nevertheless had to do. And in that coping, although I was able to still make “ends meet” in a psychological, spiritual, mental, social and practical aspect, it all seemed half-done. I felt that my mind, heart and soul was neither here nor there. In fact, it would have been easy to fall apart and surrender to the evils of sloth, despair, depression and hopelessness if not for the strong loving support of my family and friends. And so, as 2015 begins, I would like to sincerely thank all of the people who in one way or more sent me a wave of encouragement, comfort and joy the past year. I would like to live 2015 as an act of gratitude to God and everyone He sent – to remember that there is joy and hope in every single day I am blessed with. To know that I am capable of more than I think, because of God’s grace and not merely of my own self. To not forget that other people are going through their own battles and I will never be adequate enough to judge them. To not lose sight of my dreams and aspirations, no matter the difficulties. To trust that in every moment, my mom is with me in everything I do. To dare far, but always know how to come back to my shore – family, friends…home. To choose to love and become love.
Thank you for the lessons, 2014. Here’s to a fresh start!
November 23, 2014 § Leave a comment
He asked me a question. I knew the answer. But I had buried it in deeply. Consciously. Intentionally. It was stuck in a place where it had no room to grow. Though it ached for the dew drops and the sunshine, I could not bear to let it go. For the moment I part with it, I have no doubt that an ocean will spring into life, and a mountain will rise from the ground, and a forest will cover the land. And on that same world of growing magnitude, there will be that single delicate rose. Unadulterated, it will bloom. It will bloom as easily as a falcon can cut it in a single stroke.
I was not prepared to bear the death of that rose.
November 16, 2014 § Leave a comment
Does it matter if you take a small step or a big step? Because either way, it will be a step. Do you dip in with your toe, or plunge in without a moment of reluctance? Do you offer your hand or embrace with your soul? Do you taste a crumb or lavish in an entire portion? Do you play a single note or perform a concerto? Because in the end, love is given full, or nothing at all. And pain is compulsory, not just an option. Hesitation is a byproduct of collective sorrows, but it has nothing to do with your own emotions.
That doesn’t make it any less scary though.