Do we all not feel we are victims of circumstance? Do we not all feel like we had not choice but were forced, against our wills, cajoled or even blackmailed into doing something that perhaps, when we look back now, make us feel regret and cry?
Is it self conceited to stay stuck to my own view of things? Do I really never want to listen? And how well do others listen or want to listen? These are questions that will continue to ask themselves as I go on in life.
The past happened. The past cannot be changed. Things are the way things are. Things have moved on. Things and people have changed. Relationships severed and made. Tears have been shed, pain has been done and felt again and again.
Memories of my mother's funeral, the final farewell, has forever been etched with memories of someone i love and care about so deeply who came and stayed by me and gave me hopes and promises... Memories of those tumultuous days after mum left are in my eyes inseparable from memories of crying sessions and wrestling with love and promises of a relationship. from the farewell at the funeral to seeing and being with my ex, from the day mum died in my arms to the moment I was in my ex's arms, nothing is separable, everything jumbled mess I was tryin to figure out and am still trying to unravel.
Can nobody but me see that? Does any of that not matter at all? All I want is some recognition that what I went through mattered, some recognition that how I went through it all was so brave and so amazing and even more amazing that I an still standing (though struggling a little...)
Instead, in the days of mourning and grief that followed, I've met so much lack of recognition and respect for my feelings and experiences that it sickens me and dislluisons me...
You can move forward, or you can keep on hurting.
You can believe you have been so wronged. You can believe everyone is out to get you, to abuse your vulnerabilities and trust. certainly, this belief is deep because of past and extremely traumatic experiences of abuses of trust, confidence and my body...
But what is the point of dwelling
Have I not taken care of someone till the very end and gritted my teeth so bravely through all the horrific experiences of battling for life against illness and death? Why does it frustrate me so when people cannot see what I have gone through, do not recognise or do not remember what it is I have gone through?
But I will suffer.
Suffer and suffer while other people look at me with such judgmental eyes and wonder what is wrong with me... Have I not suffered enough? Do I not wish to be free from pain and hurt, perceptions of deceit and betrayal? Do I not long for, deserve love and respect? I do. I do. Do I not need it, now more than ever, the love and devotion of another human being? I do. I do.
Having my parents die in my arms changed me. Any experience of that magnitude or significance will change you forever. It teaches you the value of life, the fragility of life, and the true meaning of love. It is not fleeting or fun. It is devotion and compassion, understanding and openness, sharing and being there through till the very end. It is a commitment that can overlook the most revolting smells, the most sickening sights of the body and its functions and still allow you to see the person for who s-/he is... The person you love, the person you care about and will continue to care about because a-/he means more to you than anything in the world. That is love. True love in the purest and simplest form. True love that's the most difficult to be found and most difficult to keep because it is so rare, so very fragile.
No comments:
Post a Comment