06 April 2013

Boxes

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I opened the box. There was mum's hand bag, the one that dad gave to mum once. It's a Prada shoulder bag, and mum suspects dad found it somewhere some six or seven years ago. She refused to use it for a while, but stillage kept it. And then one day, after dad passed, she took it out of the closet and showed it to me. She said even though she's angry at dad at times, she still cares about him deeply. Mum used that small shoulder bag with the thin straps for several years. She had it with her when she went to the hospital. She used (in a sense...) till she left this world.

Those memories flooded my mind as soon as I saw the shoulder bag immediately after lifting the flaps of the cardboard moving box I dug deeper, in search of the hifi system that was hidden in the belly of the box. The outside of the box said the stereo was inside. There was also a small Japanese kimono doll. My old navy blue track pants. A black shirt I have had for over five years (and which I forgot about...). There was also a framed certificate belonging to dad. Only after shifting through so many objects, so many memories, did I manage to find the stereo system. The one I bought mum this time last year to give her some form of entertainment while she is lying in bed in her room. There was a point when I knew she would be in bed for some time, perhaps for the rest of her life, however long that would be. Indeed the stereo system came in handy and have mum hours of listening pleasure...

I remember I got the stereo and set it up in time for come home from the hospital back in May last year. She was upset because I went out and spent money again, even thought to me it was money well spent if the money could give her a few moments of peace and calm and escape from her physical pain. She saw the stereo and complained, as expected, and said when she goes, I have to take the stereo with me. I asked her once, one day during my one month sojourn back in Canada during May-June 2012, whether she enjoys the music. She said she did, and that was enough to make it all worthwhile.

The stereo now sits in my living room. A year later, her words came true. Now she has gone, the stereo is with me.

That was just one box I opened. I opened another one, one with "Buddha statue" written on the front of the box. In a sense, it was another object "on loan" from me to mum, for the statue was given to me by the monk in the mountains. I said almost as soon as I received it that I was going to leave it to mum, for she needed it more than me. I remember having to insist, and mum only accepted it when I promised I'd take the statue with me when she is no longer around...

And now the statue stands in my living room as well, a hand of which snapped off during the long overseas trek...

12 more boxes remain unopened. And I do not have the strength, the necessary strength to open them by myself...


02 April 2013

Flatness

Flatness

What is this flatness I feel? This strange flatness of emotions as if nothing is bothering me when something is bothering me? It's not agitation, even though there are emotions I wish to express but cannot. It's not anger or frustration, even though I feel something is dying to burst inside of me... What is it?

I cannot describe it. I cannot even talk about it with people who are my friends. Because they do not listen. Because they do not understand that sometimes all I need is someone to listen, Someone who will not trample all over my feelings but telling me how wrong it is to feel down and unmotivated, someone who will not dismiss my feelings and struggles to find myself with meaningless talk and soundbites of how things will be better (if I didn't know that, I wouldn't be trying so hard and doing all these things to be better...) all I need is someone who will listen and not just stare at me uncomfortably and quickly divert the conversation to latest gossip...

Today at therapy we got this beautiful piece written (it feels like) just for me. It was written by someone who was placed in different institutions over several years.

All he needed was someone who would actually listen to what he was saying.




01 April 2013

Bread bar


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We were having dinner, at this restaurant with a "bread bar". What a novel concept, and it crossed my mind mum would have really enjoyed a place like this one...

My ex began to tear, and then cry. "Why are you crying?" I asked. He denied it, but his words were not true to his eyes.

He spoke softly and with a tinge of regret. He told me how lonely it is for him in Toronto, where he now lives and works. He said he could have had a cat, a dog... and me.
He could have had it all.

I wasn't sure what to say. I wanted all that, and was prepared to give my all. But he made a choice, pushed me away. How can you make a choice and settle for someone else and cry in front of me, who has nothing? No friend I can trust, no confidante I can confide in, and no longer a potential partner I saw myself building a life and home with?

I said I only hoped he is happy. And truly, as I have always hoped for him, even at moments when I feel so rotten and so betrayed, I hope he has found happiness, true peace and that he has someone in his life who can make him feel complete and loved. Because I could never give him that, because I have become such a terrible friend and the love who loved him in all the wrong, selfish weis...

It hurt to see him cry. Under the table, I stroked his leg. It seemed the only way I felt appropriate and able to express my feelings and care for him. Under the table, hidden, indirectly, subtly and unrequited. He seemed to cry even more.

Is this really the end of us? Did I kill us because I was too impatient and too pushy with my feelings?

Who knows what will happen and why. He knows how much he cares for me, he knows how special I am. He knows himself how much he loves me.

And I? I am lost and confused and left wanting, longing...

Dream of mum

I woke up crying, the first time in a long while.

I dreamt of mum, saw her pass away, saw her body being pushed away. But in the scene she returned. She was healthy and like her old self again. We smiled and had a good time together, we travelled all over the place.

But at one point, I broke down. I told her that she is no longer real, she is but a dream. "You died already, mum... You have to go now..." With tears, she disappeared.

I woke up. Alone, extremely shaken and with tears in my eyes. Mum came back in my dreams, but she's already long gone.

I could not get myself to get up and out of bed again. I felt so groggy, so horrible, so broken... It was long past noon before I could pry myself out and start the day...




31 March 2013

Beneath the smile



Smile, because you have to. Smile, because people want to see the superficial.
Smile, not because you  want to, but you must prove to yourself, prove to others you are strong already.

But is it not just a charade? Is it not just pretend?
Behind the smile, do you not want to cry? Do you not want to burst out crying in front of those who make you feel safe and secure?

But who? Who?  Not my ex, who came to town this Easter weekend to relax and to... I'm not sure what for. He cried seeing me, he cried when we hugged. Crying because he can already feel that things are different now? Crying because he can feel I no longer hug him with the sense of dedication and commitment that I used to? Crying because he knows I am hurting inside, but I am too stubborn to let him grab me by the hand and let him help me, however much he tries?

I am broken inside, but who can see it? Who will and can I let inside my heart and soul to touch me, to heal me again?