life . . . as i know it

the crying game

                                                 

Got tired of lamenting

 

But then time and again

My weakness gets the better of me

If only to renew my strength

… and so I continue to weep

Not for myself but…

For the love that was lost

For the trust that was shattered

For the vow that was broken

… and then my heart cracks all over again

Not for me but …

For the child born out indecency

For the woman who chose to ruin her life

For the man who tried to break me

… and then I bleed

Not for the wounds I endured but …

For the street kids’ lost innocence

For the elusiveness of happiness

For the lies that were told

… and now I cry

Yes, for myself…

For the grandeur of failure

For the staleness of some days

For the loudness of the nights

… and yet I still wait

I put my life on hold a little longer

For darkness to be over

For the hurt to be swayed away

For a compassion to finally arrive

… and then I hope

Even if it’s against all hopes

For the forgiveness I have waited

For a soul who could ease my pains

For my God to grant me Peace

… and still I sob

Some Other Woman

What is it about her that makes the man forget his promises of fidelity to the supposedly one woman he vowed to be with for the rest of his life?

It makes my heart bleed a little every time I pause to ask that question.

At one point in time, I was the woman who was promised eternal devotion, or perhaps I just misconstrued the act of marriage as such. But the again, I’m not about to lambaste the other woman. Perhaps it wasn’t her fault at all that she was put into such a situation, perhaps it is, but there is nothing I can do about that now. I’m quite certain that there is a purpose that it happened and for whatever it’s worth, there is also such a thing as karma. It’s not for me to seek vengeance and retribution; it will come, although I can never promise her that, the same way my man promised me or her faithfulness.

But this is not about her. This is about me.

Today I made a promise to myself that I will become some other woman: someone who’s going to stand up for the things she believes in. A woman empowered enough to filter the nifty truths from the well versed lies.  A woman who draws strength from the pitfalls of her life whether it was a mistake she made or someone else’s. A woman who will stop listening to how his man blames her for the things that happened between the two of them. A woman who will not be dictated what society would consider wrong or right but by measures that she will make for herself. I guess at this point, I will have to be selfish even only for some time just to propel me to move on, even just a little. Not for him but for myself.  I will have to forget that I was once his wife.  I will just have to renew my faith in myself and that I am able to stand up amidst the storm that ravaged me and reduced me into nothing more than shattered heart and a broken soul.

Today I’m done grieving, or did I ever grieve?

But just for today, I’m going take one step forward and perhaps by the end of this week or month or maybe this year, I’m already able to claim my life back!

Unfaithful

My heart has gone astray again for the nth time this time.  This isn’t the first time or the second time that I have been unfaithful to Him.  Overtime, He has forgiven me for my lapses and for the times I have forgotten what He and I have talked about.  Mostly what I have promised Him.  My promises of trying to be good and doing what will not in anyway hurt Him. 

Years ago, I made a vow with him and I promised to be faithful.  Yes I had been fickle and oftentimes I do things I know would hurt Him without any remorse.  I guess perhaps I was just being human when I do these things. But this is not enough reason for me to falter.  I frequently put out my responsibilities aside in lieu of other things less important.  I seldom serve Him in ways which would please Him.  Even just the little things He wants out of me, like telling truths, holding back my temperaments, controlling my mood swings, putting Him on top of my priorities, I deprive Him of these still.  And then I continually complain about Him not giving me enough or giving me pains I don’t deserve.  I incessantly whine about how things are happening and how they shouldn’t be.  I cry often at night for the things I did and the things I failed to fulfill.  I cry out to Him in my solitude, I cry out to Him for comfort, for solace, for serenity.  And He would just be there every single time.  And for this I get all flushed with shame for not doing my share of the bargain but He is still there, willing to lend me a hand; primed to excuse my imperfections; ready to fill-in the gaps of my utter shortcomings.

So today I would humble myself once again to His will.  The things that are happening to me now are things that He allowed to transpire for several reasons.  Motives I may not yet fathom, but in time I know that He will make me understand.  At this point I am in so much pain.  My heart is weary and battered.  My eyes are tired of crying.  And my head has run out of considerable reasons.  My supplications seemed unheard.  And my pleas are inadequate.  Well, I guess I’ll just have to let things be and I will just have to trust in a resolution greater and much better than my own: His Power; His Mercy and His Love for me; His willingness to forgive is enduring, even for my unfaithfulness. 

Love Letters

I barely remembered having kept paper bags after paper bags since my high school days.  A recent change in address made all the remembering possible.  In one of the many things that had to be unpacked were the old paper bags I had back when I was younger (younger, because right now I would like to think that I am still young).  I remembered these were mine, but I couldn’t recall what it contained.  Curiosity got the better of me so I had to dislodge what was inside.  As I pulled out each of the things inside, I had to smile amidst the dust and the paper bugs.  I felt I was back in time.  a time when my life was so much simpler.  When laughter was so easy and the pains and hurts of childhood were effortlessly swayed by well meaning friends who are always there to help out.  And again, I can’t help but just smile.

I found the letters from my past. Letters from friends on different occasions:  birthday greetings, valentine notes, Christmas wishes, apologies, daily doze of inspirations, and what have you.  I re-read each and every one of them: one by one.  I giggled and smiled.  I laughed and I cried. All these were love letters from my past.  From the high school buddies I had then who are now spread all over the world.  From my best friend, who until now remains dear to my heart.  From someone who vowed to give me the moon, the stars and a heart and he did all packed into one valentine card. From a childhood sweetheart who promised to be there forever, no matter what.  All these were childish fervor put into writing.  And I value them still, every single word, even though I have already grown up.  I guess perhaps I have grown up too soon that I have easily forgotten about them.  So now, I will have to stash ‘em again inside my treasure box so I can revisit them once more if I need to. I will put these in some safer place so i can carry them once more when i need to move on again and I'd need to recall the contents of my love letters from the past.

memoirs

Late last week, I was rummaging through some of my old belongings because I needed to let go of those that were only occupying space but nonetheless have lost their usefulness over time.  I found funny looking clothes that I haven’t seen in years, much more worn in years.  There were notebooks with crazy doodles.  Some detached papers with ink blots.  Half-torn recycled sheets with sketches galore. All these brought back both funny and heart-pouncing chronicles of my life.  But I have to let them go so I could make spaces for the memories that I will still have to make.  I know there are still a lot of stories ahead of me to cherish and to take into account of, and if I keep hanging on to these, I might just not be able to store more of these treasures.

After opening boxes and boxes of chattels and discarding pieces and wholes of the past, I came face to face with a package half filled with promises.  Promises from a not so distant past (well, ok maybe a little bit distant).  A tattered organizer I remembered quite well in college and early working days right off college.  The cover was effaced by time, and its usefulness obliterated due to the birth of PDAs.  I flipped through the yellowed sheets, the entries were old, some I can still vividly recall while there were those already lost in the memory lane.  As I went through each page, I smiled, and ached a bit.  How could have time fly by so fast, leaving me here and now? Wondering, wandering!  Should I already let this little thing go?  I had to put it aside, hoping that later on, I will already have to courage to let the the notes, the songs, the short letters, the names and numbers of people and some half-forgotten faces fade away in some distant memory.

a mother's prayer

A Mother’s Prayer HELP ME give my children the best – not of trappings or toys but of myself, cherishing them on good days and bad, theirs and mine. TEACH ME to accept them for who they are, not for what they do; to listen to what they say, if only so they will listen to me; to encourage their goals not mine, and please let me laugh with them and be silly. LET ME give them a home where respect is the cornerstone, integrity the foundation, and there is enough happiness to raise the roof. MAY I give them the courage to be true to themselves, the independence to take care of themselves, and the faith to believe in a power much greater than their own. LET ME feed them properly, clothe them adequately and have enough to give the small allowances – not for the work they do but the pleasure they bring and let me be moderate in these things so the joy of getting will help them discover the joy of giving. SEE THAT their responsibilities are real but not burdensome, that my expectations are high but not overwhelming, and that my thanks and praise are thoughtful and given when they are due HELP ME teach them that excellence is work’s real reward and not the glory it brings. But when it comes – and it will – let me send in each honor, however small, without once pretending that it’s mine; my children are glorious enough. Above all, let me ground these children so well that I can dare to let them go. And may they be so blessed.

the word

there are so many things i have forgot

that once were mu h to me, or that were not,

all lost, as a childless woman's child

and its child's children, in the undefiled

abyss if what will bever be again.

i have forgot, too, namees of the mighty men

that fought and lost or won in the old wars,

of kings and fiends and god, and most of the stars.

some things i have forgot that i forget.

but lesser things there are, remembered yet,

than all the others.  one name that have not ---

thiough 'tis an empty thingless name --- forgot

never can die because Spring after Spring

some thrushes learn to say it as they sing .

there is always one at the midday saying it clear

and tart --- the name, only the name i hear.

while perhaps i am thinking ot the elder scent

that is like food; or while i am content

with the wild rose scent that is like memory,

this name is suddenly cried out to me

from somewhere in the bushes by a bird

over and over again, a pure thrush word.

- edward thomas

there was a time

october 11

i was meaning to post this blog yesterday but ...

i just actually wanna extend the celebration of my mama's birthday here on the net.  october 11 marks her 56th birthday and i'm just so thankful that she is still in the prime of her health :)

although she won't be able to read what i have to say here (kay OA na pud if she will still be tinkering with friendster hehehehe), i would want to salute her all the same. 

mama, the things that you have done for us for the past 30 years of your life, no one could ever match that!  the sacrifices you have made for us to be able to BE what we are now, we can never repay that!  the times you have spent with us, nurturing us and loving us, was more than enough!  thank you mama!  nothing in this corporeal world could ever repay you for all the things that you have done for us.  no word could ever be enough to thank you and tell you the appreciation that i have for you for giving us the life we have now.  but in my little way, i would just want to say that I LOVE you not just with all of my heart, but with all of me.

Happy birthday!

unfair

October weather couldn't seem to make up it's mind! Most mornings start out with sun in the sky and suddenly it changes it mind.  The gray clouds would appear and out of nowhere rain begins to fall, not softly but harshly!  If that wouldn't be enough, the downcast would abruptly stop leaving the land all wet and muddy, leaving me all cozy and sleepy, leaving only and overcast up above.  And then the coolness of the day would be put to the test as the warm setting sun glares down the west.  It would almost feel like being in multiple time zones all at the same time.  BUT I have just realized, this is not enough reason for me to complain.

Most of my life I have been complaining that life was never fair to me. 

I complain about the weather!  When it's not raining, it would be so hot outside to wander about and do the errands.  And when it would finally rain, I still complain that my shoes will get all muddy and I will get wet.

But today I I met one of the many street kids around the city with just a scanty piece of clothing on his emaciated soiled of a body and he was not wearing any shoe or slippers for that matter either.  The piece of fabric was not even enough to cover his small stature.  I can see through him that the heat of the sun have taken its toll while the supposedly gentle caress of the rain didn’t do him any good anyhow.  In the recess of my mind, I had a feeling that this child will be sleeping tonight in one of the many abandoned sidewalks of this city with only pieces of paper as his bed: no roofs to shelter him, walls to protect him, no blanket to keep him warm, and maybe no mother’s arms to hold him close. While remembering all that, I feel tears building up in my eyes, and my heart seems to break for this little one. And now I felt really ashamed for my whining. I had no right to complain.  I have more than enough clothes to cover my body from any changes of the weather.  I have shoes and slippers to protect my feet from the cold and heat of the earth.  I have a home that shelters me.  I have a bed to sleep at night, a blanket to warm me when I get cold and the arms of my family to ease the pain or the angst that the day may bring.  So what was it that I was complaining about?

Life is indeed unfair: unfair because that little boy who has lost his innocence early even if the years he has on earth is still few; unfair because has already faced the ruthlessness of life more than what he should have, perhaps more than what I have experienced.  It is unfair because that little child should have been playing with the rest of the kids around enjoying the child in him instead of roaming the streets looking for food to eat and a heart that would give.

I should stop complaining and start counting my blessings! This is one of the many lessons I have learned not from the confines of a classroom, or from the textbook but from real beings who doesn’t even know that they have become teachers in a way or another to individuals like me who at some instance are calloused by meaningless worries in this life.

*photo is not the actual kid i met... i just got that from the net :)

my husband's room mate

to start with, yes i do i have a husband.  we have been officially on as  couple since 1994 (so for those of you who were in anyway involved with my husband within these iclusive years... well you know what i mean :p) and married for more than half a decade now.  but things between us is complex.

at the beginning of our marriage, he has has already been working with a company that gives him more time outside the house and even more time outside the city, so it would be safe to say that he and i seldom see each other.  most often than not, i am a single mother to our kids.  he comes home for only an average of 2 to 3 days and nights in a week.  with this, i am inclined to believe that my husband seeks and wants things more than what i could have offered him.

i just realized that a life together for more than 10 years is not a guarantee that i would know every twist and turns of my husband's mind, moreso that he is not with me most of the days and nights of the week.  and if he is ever at home, he is either too tired to listen to my rantings or just too indifferent to my needs.  but i guess perhaps it is just me.

then just recently, i have realized that there are so many things that he (my husband) and i never talked about and never bothered to tackle.  issues that i knew he have unloaded to some of his friends. and the wife that i am, i get jealous. jealous because i was supposed to be the person that he should have been talking to, or perhaps the person that would comfort him when his days are bad.  but i don't do that! i am just like this, hardened to the core. scared that if i would give away a little of myself, i will be percieved as weak.  but then again, the mask that i have been wearing for far too long as more often than not scarred me to the bone.

i should have been a little more docile, a little more meek, a lot more submissive, a little bit more of water than ice, and fire that would warm rather than burn.  perhaps, that is what my husband has been looking for in a room mate, that is why he would chose someone else over me anytime. in his silence and often in his conflagrations there are things that i refuse to see.  oftentimes i see him as my villain when he is more often the unseen hero who is just around at times i need someone to rescue me from my angst. 

i am who am.  but i won't be here where i am now if not for him.  yes we had our share of hell together.  but all the same our relationship is still growing, not that strong but a little better each day. and i guess, that's all it takes to hold on to this.  i think maybe one day, i will become the room mate that he wants me to be.