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Posts Tagged ‘pain’

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Last week eight years ago, I whined to my mother-in-law about how stressful it was to arrange my own wedding and how I wished her son would do something to help. It was a help-me whine. However, I wasn’t answered with a reassuring statement. Her answer, to this day, brings the horrible truth about my marriage—“My son is not ready to get married.”

Who’s ready? I wasn’t ready, I didn’t even want to get married. I did because I was pregnant and my parents were pushing me to do it for dignity, reputation, and whatsoever cultural reasons they shoved into my face. So there I was, bulging and unsure about the rest of my life, trekking the way toward marriage. In fairness to us, the couple, we have decided to get married right after college. He promised to help me get my parents’ house in good shape. But that was that. No prenup agreements, no financial discussions, non whatsoever. It was a whirlwind of events in one year—we got married in a civil wedding that January, our eldest was born that April, and we got our church wedding that July. So much for Orange County and its lyrics.

Today marked the eighth year of our marriage, as said. He’s working today; I took the day off. I care about celebrating our anniversary. It could be the restart button. He might be thinking about it, but I can’t seem to penetrate his indifferent personality. Believe me,  I am trying that indifference for years now, but I still don’t get it. I shake that mode off whenever I go to work and am with the children.

There was a post about marital relationship that greatly shook me. I have a lot of mistakes in this marriage too. It’s just that I don’t feel whole anymore. I feel a hole in my heart is getting bigger everyday. Yes, my relationship to my husband could get better. But it takes two to tango. And the truth, I don’t want to tango anymore. I want to sit down and talk and make sense of what this life would be in the near future. I don’t want to be pushed around, shouted at, made small, emotionally bullied, and heartbroken. A house stands alone for two years without us inside it. Paying for it was an inspiration. I made a lot of plans for it, a happy family living in it, a home where my family would wade through deep water just to get there because it’s home, and  me a homemaker. Now, it’s just a hollow structure, hollowing my pocket.

Marriage is going into the bore level. I am sorry to say. Yeah, yeah… do this and that. Well, I’ve been there and that and did this and that, and I’m truly tired of this not-so-merry-go-ride. I am confused. 

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ay, for life

I didn’t mean

to be full of meaning

to an entry

in your dictionary

why do I bother you so?

 

my ways are not

yours 

my belief

is nothing to you

 

why want such a mirror

when you can just look 

at your self

flatter, narcissus

 

nothing is nothing

and nothing

means non

the un should never be

taken as nothing

but the mere lack

of enthusiasm

 

I may be blind

but you are

ignorant of such blindness

 

all there is you see

is your foolish self

so full of you.

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mono now…

we lost
to the confines
of the ruling minds
once and then again or so

ah, the battle line was drawn ages ago
we should have fought alongside
yet my armor was weaker than my spirit
broken and uncertain it let the wind carry away
what should have been

now the hours can be counted
until the battle is truly lost
no, I do not want to hang on to the cliff
while the ring bearer trods on my fingers

I shouldn’t have taken an oath
I shouldn’t have kept a lie
I shouldn’t have told you the secret

now I’m off to the abyss
all the time struggling to fit its narrow walls
shedding off my light, succumbing to nothing…

this is goodbye.

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The Lament.

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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the foolish artist opens the paint
from the start button
to express her deeps
on a fake canvas

all along
scratching lines of
anger
disappointment
brushing tears
on a fake canvas

that’s all she could
cry
lament
from the prison
she created
on a fake canvas

trapping all uncertainties
imprisoning negatives
shouting despair
throwing fears
on a fake canvas

hahh…
she is relieved
the tears dried up
wondering when
will the next downfall be
her fake brush now rests
on the fake canvas.

from me to you

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darlene dear, do not believe…

 

…that black is always evil

for behind that veil

a messed mascara can be seen

dripping from the swollen eyes

from tears and pain

black has been a friend

for decades, for ever

all these hidden miseries

noir so helpfully conceal

 

… that bright colors

always bring joy

for behind that happy smile

lurks a sorrowed heart

blinded by the bright colors

lost, pretending to be found

 

what color you wear

won’t tell much of what you are

will only tell of what you try to hide,

tried so hard to hide.

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the boarding house

i’m just here to pay the rent

you’re here for the dues

a point beyond is now impossible?

 

just let it be

a step further is tresspassing

adding to the million of your little crimes

 

don’t try to offer

i am not a broken doll

won’t get fixed

with someone else’s parts

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