As much as I wanted to keep it down the drain, there are moments when I cannot but regret being in a place I know I don’t and perhaps won’t belong any given time. I have scored some goals over this despair…
When you think you are all right, what you believe is true and your life would be better soon, you might stop and slap your self back to reality. That’s what happened and that’s what I used to believed in. Yet, that belief I held on to was broken not just once but more than twice. I used to sit in the corner trying to contemplate on the broken pieces, trying to solve the puzzle. However, it turned out I was alone. Alone within arm’s reach, staring at a broad back that once was my comfort.
Love, we should never be cynical about it because amid aridity and disenchantment, it is perennial as the grass. Quite true. Yet the consequences for choosing love over the sane self and the teary-eyed mother who is left behind are a life sentence—endured even when the soul is so ready to give up and run back home.
Have I ever felt like a baby-maker? Twice. Love did not suffice for the pain I felt when my baby was snatched even when his nappy was still hanging from his legs, not done yet. Love did not secure me for the awful feeling of trying to impress people with my babysitting skills as if I had to qualify first before I can take care of my son. Love was not there when I had to cry because I can not blurt the anger out of my boiling blood. Every woman who has been given the gift to conceive should see it as a blessing, should give love. You might have lost your chance to show your love then but it does not mean you can take my chance away to patch your broken window. You had your chance and you blew it.
Money drives, but not with me. Not now, as far I am concerned. I work, I love, and I give time. The need to earn is secondary for a woman when she has a partner. Her main responsibility is to take care, manage the home and keep everyone full, comfortable and loved. My children are my priority. Whether the room is unkempt or the laundry undone is none of anybody’s business. Do not judge as if you own the world because you earn. Do not whine about your created rot.
It may seem I am contented. But mind you, I am in the theater. I can walk away from the boring stage play. Yet, I am staying because I am a woman—mindless and mindful at the same time.
No, I am not good. Not to your definition of good. What is being good then? To comply blindly, nod hastily? To obey, say nothing, sacrifice, and accept every insult with a smile? Somehow, your dictionary is out of date. The environment and the people who raised me may not be the best ones. But they made sure I know what is right and what is wrong. They made sure I would know how to use my brain to survive without stepping on someone’s toes.
These days, your misery and your insult do not sting me much. Your charade are quite entertaining nowadays. You can’t loop me in your mean cycle. I’m not going because I don’t belong there.
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