I cringed, and for the next hour or so my hands, my arms, my legs could
not stop shaking. I don't think anyone noticed. The uncontrollable shaking, the sick in my stomach, the flashbacks in my head pulling me deeper and deeper into the dark, dark hole I thought I had escaped from long ago.
I just wanted to leave, to hide under a blanket and
cry... Because I was surrounded by a hall full of people, I could not
cry. Because I was next to my ex, I dared not cry. There were tears, but they could not be let out, and that felt even more painful. But deep down inside
was such painful memories and emotions welling up, and threatening to
burst out.
My friend meant well and invited me to see a movie as part of the gay film
festival. I had seen a preview of the opening short film, and knew what it was about. So I was prepared, or so I thought I was...
Within minutes the short film began, my heart began to fill with dread
and fear. I sank in my seat, held my head with a hand. There the main character was, sitting alone in the washroom,
gripped by fear. He is crying, shaking, and desperately seeking help.
The door bangs, and his partner is on the other side beckoning him to
open. He is filled with more fear as the banging becomes louder, and
as the swearing begins.
Through flashbacks we realise the character is in an abusive
relationship, and cannot get out. Or at least, he dares not get out of it because of societal pressure, because of the fear of being seen as weak-- a common trait among victims of abuse. There are bruises all over his body.
Many scenes are just him sitting in the bath tub, with close up shots of
his clenched fists and feet, his body gripped in deep, deep fear and
exasperation. The fear is real, crippling and so very intense.
At one point he calls his mother, who yaps on about something very
trivial and does not even hear his cry for help. Partners fight all the
time, she says, just bear with it and ride it out. Little does she know
her son is traumatised and utterly paralysed by fear and hurt...
I cringed. Here and there, I could hear the audience even laughing, chuckling. But
what was so funny about being in an abusive relationship? What hurts
more than a cry for help to your own mother only to have the abuse be
dismissed as boys "playing"?
"Normal people would see something like that and just think 'how horrible'..." I said to my ex as he escorted me to the metro home. But I'm not "normal". I'm too sensitive to the pains of others, too sensitive to the pain of abuse and being abused. And there is reason why. I know. Of the many things I do not know about this world, I know what it feels like to be abused...
There was nothing wrong with the short film. I wish there were more pieces of art to document and highlight the pains of abuse and feelings of victims. But there was something wrong with me, because it is just too raw a reminder of what I went through. The fear. The banging on the door. The raised voice. The feeling of being so utterly alone with no one to turn to. The touch of your own body, an ugly and wounded body that is so dirty, so tainted by guilt, hurt and shame... It was all too raw. Much too raw. I wish I did not have to cringe, did not have to feel like the tears are welling up and my breath get so short. I wish I could control the uncontrollable shaking of my arms and legs. But I could not help it. It was all too raw.
The main feature began, and I sat there for half an hour or so, getting more and more uncomfortable. A movie about rent boys, with graphic sex scenes and the perverse kind of kink that some clients get turned on by... Bad enough the short film was, various scenes of violence verging on abuse were just too much to handle. I grabbed m things and left.
My ex followed, felt terrible and kept on apologising, but I told him it was not his
fault. He simply did not know, could not have known that such a movie
would have such an impact on me. I wish I did not have to ruin the
evening like that, but I had to go home, I needed to get away from it
all and collect myself. I wish I could be carefree, happy and unaffected
by mundane things like a simple dramatisation. 'Normal' people would probably just shrug and then go return to their "normal" selves. But I have an emotional seizure and my body shakes like I have just been hit by something traumatic, when all it was was a few actors and props.
How weak I am! How tiresome it
is to be around me when I could so easily break down and hurt... I felt miserable even just being that way, feeling that way, let alone other people who probably cannot understand why I would react the way I do/did to such 'sensitive' topics. My ex followed me a distance, and asked if I needed company home. "It's not necessary", I said, and turned to leave.
There are moments when you need to be alone. Just you, your thoughts, trying to battle the seemingly tamed demons of the past threatening to reappear. And I did just that. I battled the tears, and rode the long metro ride home, and hopped onto my bike.
I cycled into the night, braving the cold and dark, empty streets to come to a park at the river's edge. There I sat and closed my eyes.
Closed my eyes, listened to the silence of the night and the sucking sounds of the water. And soon I was no longer afraid...
Everything is in the past now. Everything, everything, everything is in the past now.
05 November 2011
Remember...? 記得
A song a friend posted... beautiful and now I understand the words even more.
(translation mine)
We are both tired, but are unable to walk backwards.
Two hearts are both confused, whatever is said, whatever is said, is of no help.
Darling, why? Maybe you too do not understand
Why two people in love would wait for the other to first say the reason to separate…
(translation mine)
“I tell myself,
If she turns around,
I will hold her,
End the breakup.
But…
She did not turn her head.
I could only watch her,
Painfully leave…”
If she turns around,
I will hold her,
End the breakup.
But…
She did not turn her head.
I could only watch her,
Painfully leave…”
Who still remembers who first said “Forever love me”?
That one sentence in the past is our wound in the future.
After too long time, nobody remembers that gentleness back then,
You and I, hand in hand, saying “We’ll walk till the end together”.
That one sentence in the past is our wound in the future.
After too long time, nobody remembers that gentleness back then,
You and I, hand in hand, saying “We’ll walk till the end together”.
We have both forgotten how far we have walked on this path,
It was clear in the heart, one day, one day all will end.
Let time speak the truth, even though I was also scared.
After the sky becomes dark, we both do not know if there will be a hereafter.
It was clear in the heart, one day, one day all will end.
Let time speak the truth, even though I was also scared.
After the sky becomes dark, we both do not know if there will be a hereafter.
We are both tired, but are unable to walk backwards.
Two hearts are both confused, whatever is said, whatever is said, is of no help.
Darling, why? Maybe you too do not understand
Why two people in love would wait for the other to first say the reason to separate…
Who still remembers the time when love started to change?
Your eyes and mine started seeing a different sky.
Walked too far and finally till the split in the road,
Should you and I have two opposite dreams?
Your eyes and mine started seeing a different sky.
Walked too far and finally till the split in the road,
Should you and I have two opposite dreams?
Who still remembers who first said “Forever love me”?
That one sentence in the past is our wound in the future.
After too long time, nobody remembers that gentleness back then,
You and I, hand in hand, saying “We’ll walk till the end together”.
That one sentence in the past is our wound in the future.
After too long time, nobody remembers that gentleness back then,
You and I, hand in hand, saying “We’ll walk till the end together”.
Pictures
Yes, despite everything that I am facing, I somehow have not forgotten (how) to smile. Smile at least in front of the camera, smile at least in front of the world. Smile, so that when someone sees me, whether a stranger or a friend, that person can hopefully also smile too. The power of a smile is so strong, so infectious, and I remember thinking one day when I was very little if I can't change the world, I can at least put a smile in it. And I often tell people to smile, to laugh, to smile some more, and laugh even louder than ever before, because it is such a precious little gift.
Sometimes I fear if I'll lose the capability to smile, fear that perhaps one day, all that strength and courage and love I still have within me will just drain and become exhausted that I can smile no more. I so much fear that I will lose myself under the weight of life, under the weight of the burdens I place on my own shoulders. Especially when I'm home alone at night, when nobody is looking, when nobody notices, the smile fades and disappears...
She asked me about my profile picture, the one pictured in the top right corner. "It says a lot," she said, and told me how touched she was by the message. A very simple yet powerful message from a child who wants his/her dear mother to get better. A very simple yet personal message showing the love of a child for the mother, but also the concern of the child for the wellbeing of the cancer, as nefarious and deadly as it can be. I saw it on a billboard on top of a building while I was wandering the streets of New York City one cold winter day. Seeing the message made me smile, but also made me hurt deep down inside, I remember. It said what I wanted to say in a way I could not have put better.
Mum said she spent some time looking at my pictures on my profile. Pictures of trips here and there, pictures of wonderful and memorable moments in my daily life captured on camera. And at one point she commented: "You look so happy with your friend. And I hope you stay like that..." Hearing that, and imagining what pictures she saw of me and my friend, imagining the smile and happiness forever plastered on my face at those particular moments in time , I smiled. But deep down inside I hurt a little too.
04 November 2011
Letter from the past
I met him about four years ago. We had a couple of email exchanges after
he responded to an ad I placed online. And one night we decided to
finally meet.
It was exciting, as all dates are, and a bit scary too, as all dates can be. I remember spending hours writing to him and checking my inbox every so often over the next days hoping he had written back, wondering what clever or funny response he would have to my emails. And when he did, I'd read with zeal the email and look for meaning behind the words, look for some kind of connection or understanding that was perhaps unsaid, but revealed there were mutual good feelings. I enjoyed our political discussions, and enjoyed getting to know one another, or at least getting to know one another through the words we chose to write.
We finally met, for a dinner and a documentary. One about genocide, admittedly not the most cheerful or romantic. But even so, I was first and foremost, as I am now, looking for a friend, someone to connect with, someone to do things with. If something should come out of the meeting, a deeper connection of some sort, then great. In fact, i longed for a deeper connection, I longed for a relationship, as much back then as now. If not, then at least for a couple of hours I was not by my self.
I enjoyed his company, but we parted soon after the movie ended. I forget how we said goodbye, was it with a kiss on the cheeks or a handshake? Was it with a hug, or did i just turn around and leave? I remember cycling home at night feeling light, feeling like there was something there, and wondering whether I'd hear from him again...
Was i waiting for him to write, perhaps fearing I would come on too strong and perhaps fearing rejection if I made the first move. And perhaps he felt and feared the sane. A month or so went by without any news, and then he finally broke the silence in writing to me. I think (and he confirmed recently) we met a second time, but the memories of that second meeting escapes me.
How much did I really know about him from the emails we exchanged, and how much did he know about me from the brief hours we spent together over two evenings? I didn't even know his full name, nor did I know how old he was. What would become of us? What would have happened or developed? With time, we faded from one another's lives and memories.
Or at least he from mine. It was a tumultuous period. Life took over, and the death of my dad consumed my mind for some time after we reconnected in early 2008. I remember he was very supportive and wrote me a comforting email to express his condolences. But between mourning, finishing off my job, rounding up my (then) masters thesis, and finalising my my big move to Canada, we lost contact...
To my surprise, he wrote to me again a month or so ago. I may have forgotten his name, but he certainly did not forget me, he said. And for the last few years I entered his thoughts from time to time, for somehow, for better or worse, I left a deep impression on him.
He wrote wanting some closure, asking what it was we were doing at the doing, if anything. Perhaps we were both so young and naive we didn't know what we wanted, or, if we did, we didn't know what to do to get what we wanted. And realistically, with me leaving the country so often at the time, and ultimately moving to Canada, little would have happened...
Why did I contact him in the first place? Did I do that, back in November 2007, even though I had plans to move away? I don't quite remember the chronological of it all, and what I wanted from meeting someone... Was it a temporary something to fill the void that was inside of me, or was it searching for something, someone to make me stay ?
Point is, I met someone, and I left an impression on his life I never intended to, I never imagined possible. Not that he is completely love stricken and forever relplaying the brief moments we had together (I don't think...). But it does make me question whether there is something wrong with me that I seem to be oblivious to the deep impact I seem to have on people. Where does this effect come from? How does a person, even after four years, still remember someone he barely even knows and barely had the chance to get to know better? And not just him, but also my ex, who has told me again and again how he cannot imagine a life without me (in whatever capacity) in it.
The date I had four years ago wrote me he has rarely met as kind-hearted a person as me, and that, in a way, I helped shape what it is he is looking for in a partner, in a relationship. I am flattered, and in a way have confidence again that however alone I may be, especially after my last relationship so abruptly ad cruelly broke down, there may be hope yet...
It is hard to meet people in this world, but somehow i must keep on reminding myself there are people out there who, even with the briefest of encounters, even with the shortest period of interaction, will, for one reason or another, like me for who I am. I rarely think this way or tell myself this, however alone I maybe, however lonely I may be feeling, there is someone out there for me, waiting for me.
It was exciting, as all dates are, and a bit scary too, as all dates can be. I remember spending hours writing to him and checking my inbox every so often over the next days hoping he had written back, wondering what clever or funny response he would have to my emails. And when he did, I'd read with zeal the email and look for meaning behind the words, look for some kind of connection or understanding that was perhaps unsaid, but revealed there were mutual good feelings. I enjoyed our political discussions, and enjoyed getting to know one another, or at least getting to know one another through the words we chose to write.
We finally met, for a dinner and a documentary. One about genocide, admittedly not the most cheerful or romantic. But even so, I was first and foremost, as I am now, looking for a friend, someone to connect with, someone to do things with. If something should come out of the meeting, a deeper connection of some sort, then great. In fact, i longed for a deeper connection, I longed for a relationship, as much back then as now. If not, then at least for a couple of hours I was not by my self.
I enjoyed his company, but we parted soon after the movie ended. I forget how we said goodbye, was it with a kiss on the cheeks or a handshake? Was it with a hug, or did i just turn around and leave? I remember cycling home at night feeling light, feeling like there was something there, and wondering whether I'd hear from him again...
Was i waiting for him to write, perhaps fearing I would come on too strong and perhaps fearing rejection if I made the first move. And perhaps he felt and feared the sane. A month or so went by without any news, and then he finally broke the silence in writing to me. I think (and he confirmed recently) we met a second time, but the memories of that second meeting escapes me.
How much did I really know about him from the emails we exchanged, and how much did he know about me from the brief hours we spent together over two evenings? I didn't even know his full name, nor did I know how old he was. What would become of us? What would have happened or developed? With time, we faded from one another's lives and memories.
Or at least he from mine. It was a tumultuous period. Life took over, and the death of my dad consumed my mind for some time after we reconnected in early 2008. I remember he was very supportive and wrote me a comforting email to express his condolences. But between mourning, finishing off my job, rounding up my (then) masters thesis, and finalising my my big move to Canada, we lost contact...
To my surprise, he wrote to me again a month or so ago. I may have forgotten his name, but he certainly did not forget me, he said. And for the last few years I entered his thoughts from time to time, for somehow, for better or worse, I left a deep impression on him.
He wrote wanting some closure, asking what it was we were doing at the doing, if anything. Perhaps we were both so young and naive we didn't know what we wanted, or, if we did, we didn't know what to do to get what we wanted. And realistically, with me leaving the country so often at the time, and ultimately moving to Canada, little would have happened...
Why did I contact him in the first place? Did I do that, back in November 2007, even though I had plans to move away? I don't quite remember the chronological of it all, and what I wanted from meeting someone... Was it a temporary something to fill the void that was inside of me, or was it searching for something, someone to make me stay ?
Point is, I met someone, and I left an impression on his life I never intended to, I never imagined possible. Not that he is completely love stricken and forever relplaying the brief moments we had together (I don't think...). But it does make me question whether there is something wrong with me that I seem to be oblivious to the deep impact I seem to have on people. Where does this effect come from? How does a person, even after four years, still remember someone he barely even knows and barely had the chance to get to know better? And not just him, but also my ex, who has told me again and again how he cannot imagine a life without me (in whatever capacity) in it.
The date I had four years ago wrote me he has rarely met as kind-hearted a person as me, and that, in a way, I helped shape what it is he is looking for in a partner, in a relationship. I am flattered, and in a way have confidence again that however alone I may be, especially after my last relationship so abruptly ad cruelly broke down, there may be hope yet...
It is hard to meet people in this world, but somehow i must keep on reminding myself there are people out there who, even with the briefest of encounters, even with the shortest period of interaction, will, for one reason or another, like me for who I am. I rarely think this way or tell myself this, however alone I maybe, however lonely I may be feeling, there is someone out there for me, waiting for me.
Helping a friend
He thanked me again and again, and I thought the corner of his eyes
became a little damp. He had a relieved look on his face, relieved and
grateful, as if a weighty wish of his had just been answered. "Thank you
so much, thank you..."
He's a colleague of mine at my institute, and almost daily we sit down at the office and share whatever food either of us have brought together. The lunches are a joy, something I look forward to, as there is nothing like sharing food and pleasant company and conversation. Older than me, he is a good friend who often makes me laugh, and who gives me advice like a wise father figure. The work he does day in and day out is just enough to support himself here, so at times he has difficulty for other things. Often he talks about his family, who are spread out around the globe, and how much he misses them. And I can empathise, for growing up my family was also split between different countries, and I believe I can understand that desperate sense of separation and longing to be together.
So the other day, as he was talking about how much he'd like to go see his two daughters at Christmas, I offered to help. I have the means, fortunate as I am, and those couple of hundred dollars would be sitting there in my account, being fed on by the bank. So wouldn't it be wonderful if that couple of hundred dollars could realise the wish of a caring and loving father who wants to spend Christmas with his daughters?
"Go," I said, "There is nothing more special than spending Christmas with family and the people you love..."
And it's true. No price, no amount of money can buy those precious moments together, huddled around a warm dinner table, basking in the laughter and joy of loved ones.
Nothing is as precious, nothing can be more memorable. Nothing is more beautiful than a family reunited.
He's a colleague of mine at my institute, and almost daily we sit down at the office and share whatever food either of us have brought together. The lunches are a joy, something I look forward to, as there is nothing like sharing food and pleasant company and conversation. Older than me, he is a good friend who often makes me laugh, and who gives me advice like a wise father figure. The work he does day in and day out is just enough to support himself here, so at times he has difficulty for other things. Often he talks about his family, who are spread out around the globe, and how much he misses them. And I can empathise, for growing up my family was also split between different countries, and I believe I can understand that desperate sense of separation and longing to be together.
So the other day, as he was talking about how much he'd like to go see his two daughters at Christmas, I offered to help. I have the means, fortunate as I am, and those couple of hundred dollars would be sitting there in my account, being fed on by the bank. So wouldn't it be wonderful if that couple of hundred dollars could realise the wish of a caring and loving father who wants to spend Christmas with his daughters?
"Go," I said, "There is nothing more special than spending Christmas with family and the people you love..."
And it's true. No price, no amount of money can buy those precious moments together, huddled around a warm dinner table, basking in the laughter and joy of loved ones.
Nothing is as precious, nothing can be more memorable. Nothing is more beautiful than a family reunited.
Hang on there...
Mum sounded down and tired today. Perhaps I should just accept that she is in this state and not think too much of it. Besides, she always is tired and down a few days after the chemo, so it is perfectly 'normal'.
But what if it's not...?
That's always the fear, right? The fear and uncertainty that perhaps her body has taken one chemotherapy too many, and that she's being pushed over the edge... the way my dad was pushed over the edge... I try to block out those images, those too vivid and frightening images that cross my mind when I sleep at night...
I try to encourage her again, like I encourage her everyday when I call her.
"Be strong," I'd say at moments like this. "Hang on there..." And the tears would build, the hurt would well up and would be swallowed deep down. How can you expect someone to be strong when the person is physically and mentally eroded? How I wish I could touch her, hold her, take her by the hand and without words tell her that she is not alone. That she is loved...
Mum said she was going to shower and then sleep. Hopefully she'll feel better tomorrow. I reluctantly end the conversation, hoping there was something else I could think of to make her feel better, to put her mind at ease, to distract her from her pains.
And all I can and could say was: "Take care, take care..."
But behind my words is a gush of love, compassion and positive energy that I hope mum will receive every-time I whisper those two simple words.
"Take care..."
That's always the fear, right? The fear and uncertainty that perhaps her body has taken one chemotherapy too many, and that she's being pushed over the edge... the way my dad was pushed over the edge... I try to block out those images, those too vivid and frightening images that cross my mind when I sleep at night...
I try to encourage her again, like I encourage her everyday when I call her.
"Be strong," I'd say at moments like this. "Hang on there..." And the tears would build, the hurt would well up and would be swallowed deep down. How can you expect someone to be strong when the person is physically and mentally eroded? How I wish I could touch her, hold her, take her by the hand and without words tell her that she is not alone. That she is loved...
Mum said she was going to shower and then sleep. Hopefully she'll feel better tomorrow. I reluctantly end the conversation, hoping there was something else I could think of to make her feel better, to put her mind at ease, to distract her from her pains.
And all I can and could say was: "Take care, take care..."
But behind my words is a gush of love, compassion and positive energy that I hope mum will receive every-time I whisper those two simple words.
"Take care..."
03 November 2011
Fragile
I don't know what is wrong with me. I sit in the office, trying to work on my thesis. And in my chest is a feeling... a hollow echo? A pain? A sharp bite? A tearing emotion? I can't really describe it. I guess the best way is to compare it is to a black hole, one that is sucking everything, every other emotion, every bit of enthusiasm and motivation away. Is it because of mum's uncertain condition, and the 'burden' of calling her and trying to reassure her every morning that she will be alright, that she must be strong? Is it because of having to face the reality that my ex and I are no longer together? Is it because of my anxieties about what the next couple of months might bring? It's a combination of all those things, and more...
I can smile and laugh, but inside it feels like a little boy is crying, yearning for assurance, hoping for some kind of contact, some kind of human touch. When did I become so fragile, so needy? How did I become so weak and dependent? Was I not the boy who grew up alone with neither parents by his side? Was I not the boy who survived years of trauma and lived to smile and be strong, or at least pretend to be strong? And yet in the face of two traumas coming my way, I find myself losing my composure, losing my normally strong self of control and motivation.
Ironically, a friend of mine wrote to me today, and said how proud she was of me. Proud of being friends with me, proud of knowing someone who is so strong and so together in the face of death and loss...
But if only she knew how weak I am now, if only she knew how much emptiness there is right now inside of my chest...
Night together
How did we end up sleeping next to one another, again...? What a strange night it has been, filled with tears, laughter, heavy conversations and bonding in the ways we used to bond during those days when we first met. It felt like we were together again, without complications, just the two of us, lying with our heads together, sharing heart to heart talk and sharing our lives and pasts...
Eventually I did go to the movies with my ex. Was it wrong? Should I have resisted and, like a friend told me recently, just cut off all contact? But I felt I needed to do something 'light' with him. He wanted to do something 'light', because the past two days have been so intense and so filled with tears. And I felt, after some thinking and wrangling with myself, I needed to reassure him that I can be, or at least try to be, his friend despite the strange situation we are in. I felt I needed to prove to him that even if he wants to be with someone else, between us we can at the very minimum have a friendship-- which is what we started off as...
It was fine for a while sitting next to him. But as the movie progressed, I felt this urge to touch him. To stroke his body, to hold his hand, like we used to do... But I resisted myself, for I didn't want to impose myself, and wasn't sure if he would reject me outright and hurt me...
By the end of the movie, I just felt like going home as quickly as possible. Because that is what would happen right? Two friends who meet for a movie go their separate ways and say goodbye at the end of the evening. So I was cold, and said I wanted to walk home by myself. A long, long walk along the canal so I could clear my mind. My ex said he wanted to follow too.
Why follow me, I asked him. At the end of the walk, he would turn around and go home again. What's the point? Why pretend like it's just like before, when at the end of an evening we would somehow end up comfortably at someone's house, without hesitation, without a doubt. It was just a "given" everytime we went out. I wanted him not to follow me, and I told him that things are different now ever since he told me he wants to be with (or at least try to be) the other guy. I told him how much I am hurting inside because we are now different, because I can no longer feel comfortable to just touch his hand, stroke his body like I love to do... I just cannot comprehend what he still wanted from me if he can get all that intimacy and companionship from the person he is so into. So why does he want to follow me home?
He cried when I rejected him and told him to go home. Cried because I misunderstand him? Cried because I was perhaps too harsh with my words, and ruined a perfectly wonderful evening to start with. All he wanted was to accompany me on a walk, so I would not be alone. Whatever we are, he still cares deeply about my wellbeing and my feelings, and I guess seeing me angry and hurt made him sad and hurt and cry. All he wanted was to clear his mind too, and to have some company.
Eventually I relented, and for a little while we walked in silence in the direction of our home. The brief silence soothed my temper and hurt, and soon we were talking calmly, talking like before, catching up on our lives without animosity or complicated feelings.
When we got to our street, he asked if he could sleep over. I was surprised at first, but of course I wanted him to sleep over. In fact, a part of me craved and needed company that night... every night.
Sleep over on one condition: no sex.
But it was not sex I wanted, not sex I was after. My fragile state of mind, my hurt and loneliness inside made me crave intimacy, crave human contact and human touch. Perhaps it was all wrong to receive it from my ex, and perhaps it was so wrong to want to hold him, hug him and lie next to me, but it felt so wonderfully warm, so wonderfully comforting. The intimacy was so intense, more overwhelming in ways than sexual contact. The touch of his body, the touch of his hands on my body, the soft caress of his fingers against mine, the way our hands played with one another, the way our warm breaths mingled and warmed our faces that were at times mere inches apart... all so beautiful, so familiar, so soothing. I hugged him tightly, so very tightly that when I close my eyes, I felt as if my body was merging with his in this beautiful, beautiful symbiosis. My anxieties, fears, hurt and pain inside all melted in his arms... We hugged one another, spooned one another, lie in each other's arms and chatted late into the night. It felt so right, and yet also so wrong.
He said he fell asleep quickly and had the most peaceful sleep he has had in a long time. Quality sleep he can only get lying next to me, he said. I fell asleep in his arms, and drowned in a state of bliss... yet I woke up a couple of times feeling anxious and confused to find myself lying next to my ex again. What was I doing to myself? What was I doing to him? As much as I wanted this intimacy, as much as I longed for human contact and another person's touch, was I hurting myself more and digging myself further into his influence when I had earlier resolved to release myself from the entangled situation between him and the boy he is into...?
I woke up several times and lay next to him, listening to the softness of his breathing and felt the warmth of his beautiful, soft skin next to mine. He is so enchanting, his smell is so dizzying, his presence can make me melt and break down even the firmest resolve and promise to myself not to get too deeply involved...
Because I know, deep down, as much as I enjoyed his company, as much as I longed for his touch and caress, as much as I love to touch him, stroke his face and arms, nothing can last long. Everything is so uncertain between us, we are no longer that couple who have each other. We have perhaps never really been a couple who were uncomplicated and uninfluenced by external factors. And though both of us, I think, want to rekindle and savour this level of intimacy, the level of intimacy that we have only been able to find in each other's arms, he is confused about what he wants. And as long as he is confused, I cannot rule out the idea that maybe I'm just a temporary fix... I cannot even be certain if he is really lying next to me because he wants to, or because he feels like he is doing me a favour, as he feels responsible for my happiness and for making me hurt so much. I do know, whatever the reason why he is next to me, as much as he enjoys it and says he longs for it, and as much as I need it and crave for it, soon he will leave me and I will again be all alone... And I must learn to cope on my own.
Why is the most difficult things in life to let go of often also the most intoxicating...?
Eventually I did go to the movies with my ex. Was it wrong? Should I have resisted and, like a friend told me recently, just cut off all contact? But I felt I needed to do something 'light' with him. He wanted to do something 'light', because the past two days have been so intense and so filled with tears. And I felt, after some thinking and wrangling with myself, I needed to reassure him that I can be, or at least try to be, his friend despite the strange situation we are in. I felt I needed to prove to him that even if he wants to be with someone else, between us we can at the very minimum have a friendship-- which is what we started off as...
It was fine for a while sitting next to him. But as the movie progressed, I felt this urge to touch him. To stroke his body, to hold his hand, like we used to do... But I resisted myself, for I didn't want to impose myself, and wasn't sure if he would reject me outright and hurt me...
By the end of the movie, I just felt like going home as quickly as possible. Because that is what would happen right? Two friends who meet for a movie go their separate ways and say goodbye at the end of the evening. So I was cold, and said I wanted to walk home by myself. A long, long walk along the canal so I could clear my mind. My ex said he wanted to follow too.
Why follow me, I asked him. At the end of the walk, he would turn around and go home again. What's the point? Why pretend like it's just like before, when at the end of an evening we would somehow end up comfortably at someone's house, without hesitation, without a doubt. It was just a "given" everytime we went out. I wanted him not to follow me, and I told him that things are different now ever since he told me he wants to be with (or at least try to be) the other guy. I told him how much I am hurting inside because we are now different, because I can no longer feel comfortable to just touch his hand, stroke his body like I love to do... I just cannot comprehend what he still wanted from me if he can get all that intimacy and companionship from the person he is so into. So why does he want to follow me home?
He cried when I rejected him and told him to go home. Cried because I misunderstand him? Cried because I was perhaps too harsh with my words, and ruined a perfectly wonderful evening to start with. All he wanted was to accompany me on a walk, so I would not be alone. Whatever we are, he still cares deeply about my wellbeing and my feelings, and I guess seeing me angry and hurt made him sad and hurt and cry. All he wanted was to clear his mind too, and to have some company.
Eventually I relented, and for a little while we walked in silence in the direction of our home. The brief silence soothed my temper and hurt, and soon we were talking calmly, talking like before, catching up on our lives without animosity or complicated feelings.
When we got to our street, he asked if he could sleep over. I was surprised at first, but of course I wanted him to sleep over. In fact, a part of me craved and needed company that night... every night.
Sleep over on one condition: no sex.
But it was not sex I wanted, not sex I was after. My fragile state of mind, my hurt and loneliness inside made me crave intimacy, crave human contact and human touch. Perhaps it was all wrong to receive it from my ex, and perhaps it was so wrong to want to hold him, hug him and lie next to me, but it felt so wonderfully warm, so wonderfully comforting. The intimacy was so intense, more overwhelming in ways than sexual contact. The touch of his body, the touch of his hands on my body, the soft caress of his fingers against mine, the way our hands played with one another, the way our warm breaths mingled and warmed our faces that were at times mere inches apart... all so beautiful, so familiar, so soothing. I hugged him tightly, so very tightly that when I close my eyes, I felt as if my body was merging with his in this beautiful, beautiful symbiosis. My anxieties, fears, hurt and pain inside all melted in his arms... We hugged one another, spooned one another, lie in each other's arms and chatted late into the night. It felt so right, and yet also so wrong.
He said he fell asleep quickly and had the most peaceful sleep he has had in a long time. Quality sleep he can only get lying next to me, he said. I fell asleep in his arms, and drowned in a state of bliss... yet I woke up a couple of times feeling anxious and confused to find myself lying next to my ex again. What was I doing to myself? What was I doing to him? As much as I wanted this intimacy, as much as I longed for human contact and another person's touch, was I hurting myself more and digging myself further into his influence when I had earlier resolved to release myself from the entangled situation between him and the boy he is into...?
I woke up several times and lay next to him, listening to the softness of his breathing and felt the warmth of his beautiful, soft skin next to mine. He is so enchanting, his smell is so dizzying, his presence can make me melt and break down even the firmest resolve and promise to myself not to get too deeply involved...
Because I know, deep down, as much as I enjoyed his company, as much as I longed for his touch and caress, as much as I love to touch him, stroke his face and arms, nothing can last long. Everything is so uncertain between us, we are no longer that couple who have each other. We have perhaps never really been a couple who were uncomplicated and uninfluenced by external factors. And though both of us, I think, want to rekindle and savour this level of intimacy, the level of intimacy that we have only been able to find in each other's arms, he is confused about what he wants. And as long as he is confused, I cannot rule out the idea that maybe I'm just a temporary fix... I cannot even be certain if he is really lying next to me because he wants to, or because he feels like he is doing me a favour, as he feels responsible for my happiness and for making me hurt so much. I do know, whatever the reason why he is next to me, as much as he enjoys it and says he longs for it, and as much as I need it and crave for it, soon he will leave me and I will again be all alone... And I must learn to cope on my own.
Why is the most difficult things in life to let go of often also the most intoxicating...?
02 November 2011
More talks
My ex called today again, just as I was about to sit down to work. He said he was calmer and more clear headed, and he wanted to talk if I wanted to.
Talk more...? What else is there to talk about? He wants to have his time to see what happens with the guy he is so into. He wants to spend the last two months of his time here being committed to him. So what else is there to say?
Again, he reassured me he loved me, how he wishes to be with me, how he dreams of sharing life with me one day when he has peace and knows what he wants. In the mean time... I'm not sure what he is looking for in the mean time. But at least it is not with me.
I can accept that. But it is hard, it is harsh that just like that, all our moments of intimacy, and nights when we can lie next to one another and talk about things have been taken away from me. Right when I need someone the most... right when I am so hurting and so fragile because of mum's ailing health, I have to struggle on my own.
And what do I have left...? I told him how wonderful it is to have human contact, how wonderful it is to touch and be touched. And he is lucky to still have that with someone, so soon after he lay with me in my bed. And I have to make do lying down to sleep on my own. Not completely on my own, because I have my teddy bear, and occasionally my cat.
But still, they cannot give me the warmth and comfort that I seek. They cannot hold me, hug me and tell me "Whatever you're going through, it'll all be over soon..." I'll just have to tell myself that. Just have to find the source of strength, peace and happiness that I wished my ex within myself.
He asked me to go to a movie with him. I was at first interested, but later found out it was a movie about love and intimacy... how strange and insensitive it is to invite me to a movie like that. So I declined, as much as I wanted to let him know that I can still do things with him as a friend, I declined.
The thought of going to the movie, sitting there watching this tragicomedy about love is just too much. And at the end of it all, we will each go our separate ways, unlike before when I could easily sleep over at his place, or he at mine. Everything has changed, I feel... Changed. Changed. Changed.
And I must adapt accordingly, or learn to live without him.
Talk more...? What else is there to talk about? He wants to have his time to see what happens with the guy he is so into. He wants to spend the last two months of his time here being committed to him. So what else is there to say?
Again, he reassured me he loved me, how he wishes to be with me, how he dreams of sharing life with me one day when he has peace and knows what he wants. In the mean time... I'm not sure what he is looking for in the mean time. But at least it is not with me.
I can accept that. But it is hard, it is harsh that just like that, all our moments of intimacy, and nights when we can lie next to one another and talk about things have been taken away from me. Right when I need someone the most... right when I am so hurting and so fragile because of mum's ailing health, I have to struggle on my own.
And what do I have left...? I told him how wonderful it is to have human contact, how wonderful it is to touch and be touched. And he is lucky to still have that with someone, so soon after he lay with me in my bed. And I have to make do lying down to sleep on my own. Not completely on my own, because I have my teddy bear, and occasionally my cat.
But still, they cannot give me the warmth and comfort that I seek. They cannot hold me, hug me and tell me "Whatever you're going through, it'll all be over soon..." I'll just have to tell myself that. Just have to find the source of strength, peace and happiness that I wished my ex within myself.
He asked me to go to a movie with him. I was at first interested, but later found out it was a movie about love and intimacy... how strange and insensitive it is to invite me to a movie like that. So I declined, as much as I wanted to let him know that I can still do things with him as a friend, I declined.
The thought of going to the movie, sitting there watching this tragicomedy about love is just too much. And at the end of it all, we will each go our separate ways, unlike before when I could easily sleep over at his place, or he at mine. Everything has changed, I feel... Changed. Changed. Changed.
And I must adapt accordingly, or learn to live without him.
Confusion...
He tells me he loves me, tells me he shares the same dreams as me, tells me how his parents love me (in the sense of appreciate me), and yet he wants to be with someone else. I cannot understand it.
If you know deep down there is such potential, there is such a strong bond with a person whom you love so much, and who loves you in return, then why do anything to jeopardise that dream? Why do everything, it seems, to deprive yourself of that dream? Isn't that just torturing yourself?
Late last night, just before I was about to retire, my ex called me. Again in tears. Crying, crying about how guilty he feels, about how confused he feels. And by calling me, he felt even guiltier, even guiltier for unloading his tears and emotions on me. I comforted him, or at least I tried, and said he is welcome to call any time. I want to be there for him, as he has so often been there for me, even though this issue touches me so deeply, so personally.
Why is he crying? Because he cannot let me go... he cannot feel guilt-free and cannot lie comfortably next to someone else at night because I am in his mind. I told him to let go of me, if that is what he wants. Just focus on one person, because he does not need me if he has someone else. That was the mistake before, being so torn and conflicted, and nobody has to go through that again.
But he somehow cannot let go of me. And he cannot let go of the other person, even though rationally, realistically, as he told me, there may not be much future between them. He knows that, the other person knows that, and yet my ex still wants to try. I am not sure what he wants to accomplish, what he wants to prove... but sometimes I think he is torturing himself unnecessarily. And over what? Over someone he cannot even say he loves? Over someone who has even told my ex that he belongs with me, just from the way he talks about me and thinks of me?
What is it all about? What is it that my ex wants? I can offer nothing else but comfort and compassion, I can only try to listen and try to understand what I cannot understand...
But really, sometimes it's that simple to just let go. What are is he afraid of losing, I asked him at one point yesterday. Imagine what you could gain from letting go! Because he is in that state of limbo, because he wants to try with the other person in the last two months that he has here before he moves to another city, I cannot see myself spending time with my ex. Shame, because I had such hopes of doing many things with him... bike trips, visiting a friend, even going to see his family. But I don't think I can bring myself to spend intimate moments and go on outings together when he is in that "trial" stage... Shame, but I hope for my ex being with the other person is worth all the opportunities and possibilities of time together I wanted to share with him.
Sometimes it just takes a change of heart to move on. To follow your heart, to look deep down inside and tell yourself what it is that you really need in life, instead of pursuing some uncertain fantasy of something uncertain and that you know may very well not last...
We ended the conversation late, far too late, and I was shaking in bed after I hung up the phone. I calmed myself, and quietly, slowly fell asleep. What a day it has been... Mum's treatment, then dealing with my friend, then trying to cheer mum up after her treatment, then dealing with my friend again.
Who will deal with me, who will cheer me up...?
If you know deep down there is such potential, there is such a strong bond with a person whom you love so much, and who loves you in return, then why do anything to jeopardise that dream? Why do everything, it seems, to deprive yourself of that dream? Isn't that just torturing yourself?
Late last night, just before I was about to retire, my ex called me. Again in tears. Crying, crying about how guilty he feels, about how confused he feels. And by calling me, he felt even guiltier, even guiltier for unloading his tears and emotions on me. I comforted him, or at least I tried, and said he is welcome to call any time. I want to be there for him, as he has so often been there for me, even though this issue touches me so deeply, so personally.
Why is he crying? Because he cannot let me go... he cannot feel guilt-free and cannot lie comfortably next to someone else at night because I am in his mind. I told him to let go of me, if that is what he wants. Just focus on one person, because he does not need me if he has someone else. That was the mistake before, being so torn and conflicted, and nobody has to go through that again.
But he somehow cannot let go of me. And he cannot let go of the other person, even though rationally, realistically, as he told me, there may not be much future between them. He knows that, the other person knows that, and yet my ex still wants to try. I am not sure what he wants to accomplish, what he wants to prove... but sometimes I think he is torturing himself unnecessarily. And over what? Over someone he cannot even say he loves? Over someone who has even told my ex that he belongs with me, just from the way he talks about me and thinks of me?
What is it all about? What is it that my ex wants? I can offer nothing else but comfort and compassion, I can only try to listen and try to understand what I cannot understand...
But really, sometimes it's that simple to just let go. What are is he afraid of losing, I asked him at one point yesterday. Imagine what you could gain from letting go! Because he is in that state of limbo, because he wants to try with the other person in the last two months that he has here before he moves to another city, I cannot see myself spending time with my ex. Shame, because I had such hopes of doing many things with him... bike trips, visiting a friend, even going to see his family. But I don't think I can bring myself to spend intimate moments and go on outings together when he is in that "trial" stage... Shame, but I hope for my ex being with the other person is worth all the opportunities and possibilities of time together I wanted to share with him.
Sometimes it just takes a change of heart to move on. To follow your heart, to look deep down inside and tell yourself what it is that you really need in life, instead of pursuing some uncertain fantasy of something uncertain and that you know may very well not last...
We ended the conversation late, far too late, and I was shaking in bed after I hung up the phone. I calmed myself, and quietly, slowly fell asleep. What a day it has been... Mum's treatment, then dealing with my friend, then trying to cheer mum up after her treatment, then dealing with my friend again.
Who will deal with me, who will cheer me up...?
01 November 2011
Farewell, my dear lover...
Just like that, I left his place, left him with red eyes and barely
dried tears. I could still taste the saltiness of his tears (and
snot...) when I kissed him on the lips goodbye.
I care about him, I love him, more than I have anyone I have ever met. I imagined a future together, a future with cats and children, a lovely little home and the time to jet around the world (chasing after aeroplane miles...), but our past has been fraught with complications, difficulties and me withholding.
He cried, and cried and cried when he came to see me. We eventually ended up at his place because he had been crying so much I didn't want him to be alone and hurting by himself. So I 'escorted' him home, clandestinely stroked him leg as we sat together on the metro, and saw how red and moist his eyes still were. I have never seen anyone cry like that, sob like that, and I did what I could to hold him, to caress him, to whisper to him that it is all ok...
He had a good time away with the guy he is so into, and the rest... The rest I do not need to know. I hope he is truly happy, and hope he can find his peace. For too long my ex's has been stuck between two people. And now he seems to have found a way to move on. Move on to be with someone else, or at least, try to be with someone else.
So I did what I could: I let him go.
As much as it hurts me, disappoints me, as much as it tears me up inside, especially at a time when I am so heavily struck by mum's condition, I let him go. Not on bad terms. Not with exchanges of angry words, not swearing and without ill feelings (though I admittedly I may at times have been snappy and curt...). It was that easy, even though it was so very hard...
For I love him, I care about him more than anyone I have met. I care about and love him more than anything, more than myself, because as I told him, in caring about him and loving him, he taught me to love and care for myself. And because of him, because we were together for however brief a time, because we are now apart, I love myself more. More and more, I can now see the beauty in my own smile that i have never seen before. I am sad, broken, lost, but I care about myself now, care enough not to drown myself in pain and hurt. At least not for long.
I gave him the freedom he always wanted. I gave him freedom from me, freedom from being responsible for me. I have given him everything, everything... My affection, my love, my heart, my mind, my body, my deepest, darkest secrets, my most wonderful and childish dreams... He knows everything about me, knows me more and better than I know myself perhaps. I have no regrets ever giving myself completely to him, ever making myself vulnerable and weak in front of him. I did it because he, with all his care and affection, support and intimate touches, allowed me to give myself up. He opened me up like no one ever has, because he touched me so, because he touched me and soothed me and my past and present pains in ways no one ever could. But I gave him all I could give him, all I could possibly give anyone, too late.
I apologised for all the hurt I have caused him, for all the hurt and tears I am causing him still. I have been petty and mean, I have been selfish and did not see how good he was for me when he was there for me, fully and completely. And look where we are now... Crying, feeling frightened of forever losing perhaps the best person either of us have encountered, and scared to let go.
I thanked him, thanked him again and again, with words, with little kisses on his cheeks and head, with strokes of his face, caresses of his body. Thanked him for he has been so caring, so loving, so supportive for so long, and still wants to be there for me. I thanked him, for all the memories, all those beautiful moments together. I thought and imagined often there would be more, that I could build a future and life with him. But now he has found something else, found someone else, and I must let him go, let him find what he really needs in life, find out what makes him happy. Isn't that what anyone and everyone wants? Just to be happy. A happiness that is lasting and deep, meaningful and uncomplicated.
He tells me he loves me, how he loves me so much. He told me that and mouthed that to me as I turned to leave. Only he knows what he truly feels, and I will take his word that he loves me, and find comfort in that. Even if everything that is happening, even if what he is doing seems to contradict that... He tells me he can think of being with no one else who is kinder, more generous and caring, and that he still imagines us being together one day. But today is not that day. I listened, let the pain and sourness those words made in my heart pass over me, and just let things be. Whatever will be, will be.
Just like that, I left his apartment. I gave him many hugs before we parted. With each passing moment, with each passing second, I silently wished him strength, happiness and peace... Wished, like I wished when I held and hugged mum, that whatever positive energy, love and metta I have in me would flow from my body into his...
Strength to find himself and to pick himself up again after this ugly and long-drawn out episode of hurt and being torn between two people... happiness to make him smile and laugh and face every day with hope and pleasure... and I wished him peace, the peace to find himself, to carefully look inward and realise what it is that truly matters in life. Strength, happiness and peace to weather whatever obstacles that may come his way, strength, happiness and peace to carry on even if I am no longer around to give him that...
Farewell, my lover, farewell...
Be strong, happy, and peaceful.
I care about him, I love him, more than I have anyone I have ever met. I imagined a future together, a future with cats and children, a lovely little home and the time to jet around the world (chasing after aeroplane miles...), but our past has been fraught with complications, difficulties and me withholding.
He cried, and cried and cried when he came to see me. We eventually ended up at his place because he had been crying so much I didn't want him to be alone and hurting by himself. So I 'escorted' him home, clandestinely stroked him leg as we sat together on the metro, and saw how red and moist his eyes still were. I have never seen anyone cry like that, sob like that, and I did what I could to hold him, to caress him, to whisper to him that it is all ok...
He had a good time away with the guy he is so into, and the rest... The rest I do not need to know. I hope he is truly happy, and hope he can find his peace. For too long my ex's has been stuck between two people. And now he seems to have found a way to move on. Move on to be with someone else, or at least, try to be with someone else.
So I did what I could: I let him go.
As much as it hurts me, disappoints me, as much as it tears me up inside, especially at a time when I am so heavily struck by mum's condition, I let him go. Not on bad terms. Not with exchanges of angry words, not swearing and without ill feelings (though I admittedly I may at times have been snappy and curt...). It was that easy, even though it was so very hard...
For I love him, I care about him more than anyone I have met. I care about and love him more than anything, more than myself, because as I told him, in caring about him and loving him, he taught me to love and care for myself. And because of him, because we were together for however brief a time, because we are now apart, I love myself more. More and more, I can now see the beauty in my own smile that i have never seen before. I am sad, broken, lost, but I care about myself now, care enough not to drown myself in pain and hurt. At least not for long.
I gave him the freedom he always wanted. I gave him freedom from me, freedom from being responsible for me. I have given him everything, everything... My affection, my love, my heart, my mind, my body, my deepest, darkest secrets, my most wonderful and childish dreams... He knows everything about me, knows me more and better than I know myself perhaps. I have no regrets ever giving myself completely to him, ever making myself vulnerable and weak in front of him. I did it because he, with all his care and affection, support and intimate touches, allowed me to give myself up. He opened me up like no one ever has, because he touched me so, because he touched me and soothed me and my past and present pains in ways no one ever could. But I gave him all I could give him, all I could possibly give anyone, too late.
I apologised for all the hurt I have caused him, for all the hurt and tears I am causing him still. I have been petty and mean, I have been selfish and did not see how good he was for me when he was there for me, fully and completely. And look where we are now... Crying, feeling frightened of forever losing perhaps the best person either of us have encountered, and scared to let go.
I thanked him, thanked him again and again, with words, with little kisses on his cheeks and head, with strokes of his face, caresses of his body. Thanked him for he has been so caring, so loving, so supportive for so long, and still wants to be there for me. I thanked him, for all the memories, all those beautiful moments together. I thought and imagined often there would be more, that I could build a future and life with him. But now he has found something else, found someone else, and I must let him go, let him find what he really needs in life, find out what makes him happy. Isn't that what anyone and everyone wants? Just to be happy. A happiness that is lasting and deep, meaningful and uncomplicated.
He tells me he loves me, how he loves me so much. He told me that and mouthed that to me as I turned to leave. Only he knows what he truly feels, and I will take his word that he loves me, and find comfort in that. Even if everything that is happening, even if what he is doing seems to contradict that... He tells me he can think of being with no one else who is kinder, more generous and caring, and that he still imagines us being together one day. But today is not that day. I listened, let the pain and sourness those words made in my heart pass over me, and just let things be. Whatever will be, will be.
Just like that, I left his apartment. I gave him many hugs before we parted. With each passing moment, with each passing second, I silently wished him strength, happiness and peace... Wished, like I wished when I held and hugged mum, that whatever positive energy, love and metta I have in me would flow from my body into his...
Strength to find himself and to pick himself up again after this ugly and long-drawn out episode of hurt and being torn between two people... happiness to make him smile and laugh and face every day with hope and pleasure... and I wished him peace, the peace to find himself, to carefully look inward and realise what it is that truly matters in life. Strength, happiness and peace to weather whatever obstacles that may come his way, strength, happiness and peace to carry on even if I am no longer around to give him that...
Farewell, my lover, farewell...
Be strong, happy, and peaceful.
New drugs
Five months later, mum's back to the same drug, a very expensive treatment she now knows. Whereas before the national health insurance would cover everything, because mum interrupted the treatment she is no longer entitled to it for free. To pay for it privately, each session costs upwards of two thousand dollars, and a whole treatment consists of six to eight sessions, one every two weeks. As much as it costs, if it works, then we can only try, and keep on trying...
Keep on trying...
Mum says after the session yesterday she did feel less pain in her arm and in her neck. And for a day or so, it was not necessary to take painkillers. But the side-effects are still there... Poor sleep on the first, gradual loss of appetite, and feeling lethargic and weak for several days afterwards... The side effects will only accumulate and worsen as mum continues with the treatment.
I call her nowadays, at least once a day, usually in my morning and her nighttime. I just listen to her describe her day, and I'd ask her what she ate and whether she went out to exercise. I'm calmer I feel, or at least less anxious when I'm speaking to her on the phone. And she reassures me that things are alright. I can only take her word for it, and hope that she really is alright.
And I hope not just alright, but that she's free from pain and free from mental anguish...
A dream
I opened my email today, and there was an email about a dream. Not my dream, but a dear friend's dream. She dreamt of me last night. She saw me sitting in front of my laptop, stressed, really stressed out. At one point she gave me a hug and held me close, and I began to cry on her shoulder. She could feel the immense weight of sadness on my shoulder, she wrote, and she too began to cry. There was just so much sadness...
Her words touched me so, moving me to tears. What a great way to start a new day...!
Indeed, there is so much sadness in me right now, so much I cannot begin to describe how I feel. Feelings of loss, feelings of being left on the edge and not knowing what is happening, feelings of such helplessness that has been worsened by the poor quality of sleep I have been getting....
And somehow, she felt it, even though we have not been in touch, even though we are so far apart. Sometimes, there are such bonds that are so special, that transcend space and description. How could she feel my pain? How could she know how deeply I am hurting inside? "It's going to be alright" she wrote.
It's going to be alright...
It has to be alright.
Her words touched me so, moving me to tears. What a great way to start a new day...!
Indeed, there is so much sadness in me right now, so much I cannot begin to describe how I feel. Feelings of loss, feelings of being left on the edge and not knowing what is happening, feelings of such helplessness that has been worsened by the poor quality of sleep I have been getting....
And somehow, she felt it, even though we have not been in touch, even though we are so far apart. Sometimes, there are such bonds that are so special, that transcend space and description. How could she feel my pain? How could she know how deeply I am hurting inside? "It's going to be alright" she wrote.
It's going to be alright...
It has to be alright.
31 October 2011
Surrender...
I called mum, who was just on the verge of going to the hospital.
It's an important day, 1 November. It's the day she gets to hear whether the latest treatment has helped. If not, then there has to be a new drug. But how many drugs are there left to try? How much more drugs can mum take...?
She sounded 'normal', and kept on telling me not to worry about her. Her appointment with her main physician is in the morning. I will go to bed, wake up in the morning, and a lot will have happened with mum... I will think of her, pray for her. I will imagine I am next to her, watching over her, holding her hand...
Can I fall asleep and sleep well tonight? It feels like it's been such a long time since I last slept, really slept without being tormented by nightmares and agonising thoughts and agitations...
30 October 2011
Bear(er) of hope
Woke up early again, and lay in bed for a while. Calm, at least calmer, yet still my mind is troubled and disturbed, imbalanced and at times hurting.
I tuned into some podcast to listen to some recorded talks. About learning to live with loss, learning to live with death and pain, about the benefits of spreading love and kindness to those far away, to those suffering pain. Such wisdom is a safehaven when I am lost and alone in the troubled waters of the world I find myself in.
Turned on Skype, and found my brother and mum online. For the first time we had a three way chat. It was pleasant and I listened mostly as they talked about the baby and how they're doing. Mum also talked about her pains and illness, and it was good that my brother was there to listen to so frank a discussion. Mum's friend commented on the picture of the bear I took yesterday and had posted on her Facebook page.
Later I learned that when she and her husband saw the picture, they were touched. Touched by my little gesture, touch by such a public display of affection, even from so far away. Mum's friend uttered the word "Hopeless..." to describe what she thought I must have felt. Indeed... The feeling can only be described as hopelessness. The hopelessness of a child so far away, who is worried about his mother and yet unable to do anything. I turned away to wipe away a tear.
The only support the child can offer, the only help the child can provide, if it is any help at any, is to listen, to smile and to show his mother how much he can with what little he can do...
I tuned into some podcast to listen to some recorded talks. About learning to live with loss, learning to live with death and pain, about the benefits of spreading love and kindness to those far away, to those suffering pain. Such wisdom is a safehaven when I am lost and alone in the troubled waters of the world I find myself in.
Turned on Skype, and found my brother and mum online. For the first time we had a three way chat. It was pleasant and I listened mostly as they talked about the baby and how they're doing. Mum also talked about her pains and illness, and it was good that my brother was there to listen to so frank a discussion. Mum's friend commented on the picture of the bear I took yesterday and had posted on her Facebook page.
Later I learned that when she and her husband saw the picture, they were touched. Touched by my little gesture, touch by such a public display of affection, even from so far away. Mum's friend uttered the word "Hopeless..." to describe what she thought I must have felt. Indeed... The feeling can only be described as hopelessness. The hopelessness of a child so far away, who is worried about his mother and yet unable to do anything. I turned away to wipe away a tear.
The only support the child can offer, the only help the child can provide, if it is any help at any, is to listen, to smile and to show his mother how much he can with what little he can do...
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