“Better not try to please you tonight if I’m not the one you want”

When I’d asked, “Why her?“, I’d actually meant.. “Why not me, instead?

I guess Murphy’s Law just comes into play when you least expect it.

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“With a heart full of wine, with nothing else to pour”

The irony about the way some of us approach our relationships, is this –

Short term relationships seem to cut it better than long term relationships. I’m not only talking about lovers, I’m talking about relationships in general, friendships included. Some of us seem to open up better to strangers, or to people whom we know will be in our lives only a matter of weeks or a couple of months, yet we open up so freely to them; divulge in our inner, deeper selves; let loose the secrets in our Pandora boxes. It’s crazy, innit – to wear our hearts on our sleeves when with people we barely know? The beauty of it is that we know this relationship most likely has an expiry date, so anything & everything we confide will be forgotten in a matter of time. You won’t be seeing that person again soon, and you won’t be kicking yourself for letting yourself become so vulnerable at one point.

In that one moment or one night or however short a period your relationship with that person is, you trust them to such an extent you know you wouldn’t normally do to those you’re expected to trust.

And yet, when the time of separation looms near… You start to feel sad. A nagging sense of loss that you try to ignore. Hints of regret may come about, but mostly it’s just the part of knowing that you have this bond going on with a person that you know is bound to end someday.

But still, in that one short period of time, the thought of knowing you can somehow fully trust someone with no qualms whatsoever, and vice versa, is comforting. To say the least.

Pax et amor,

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“One step forward, two steps back”

I had imagined it in my head, played it over several times in fact, the moment when I’d let everything out and the response I would get –

That he’d be sorry. Even a meek apology would be fine; I’m not asking for much. An apology, and an understanding, no matter if it’s relayed through silence. At least that much. What I didn’t expect was the fierce resistance – the usual ego, the blaming on others, the irrelevant things that were brought up. Yes, I did imagine some kind of defense, but not to the extent where I was yelling at him to shut up so that he could LISTEN to what I had to say

I’d imagined my words to flow out eloquently, not choked out in between sobs. I’d expected the entire scenario to happen rationally, instead of at the heat of anger

Time and again, I don’t expect much. I don’t have high hopes nor expectations for anything, because things would most likely turn out the complete opposite. Even having a tiny sliver of hope might just doom everything. It’s not good to be this jaded, but this the fact of my reality; it’s like a protective layer that has grown like a web over my skin over the last few years

And it’s like the poison in my blood that I’d have to live with for the rest of my life.

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“Turn the radio up, push the pedal to the ground”

Oh sweet Lord. Upon reading some of my previous posts, I realized how utterly gloomy my little space here has become – I never intended it to be the  dark, depressing hole of emotions I think it’s becoming (or maybe it already is!) to the point where I get somewhat disgusted with myself for being this bare and volatile and emotionally-fueled.

Ugh.

I’m not this gloomy or dark all the time, I promise you. For those who know me, I can be a big bag of sunshine and rainbows, especially when I’m in an overdrive of hyperactivity. I have my off days, that’s for sure, and I think my daily routines have fallen into a mundane lull only because my current day job has made it out to be this way… Although I do worry sometimes that I may come off as boring to others. Do I? But it doesn’t bother me to the extent of keeping me up at night (I think. It’s a nightly battle between my mind and my thoughts, with the former trying to suppress the latter lot from surfacing) and I don’t need another trait of my personality to be an additional baggage of insecurity.

But to keep things ALIVE, I would have to write more often and on more.. interesting topics? But so help me, I just do not have that kinda time on my hands anymore. Coupled with my skills of procrastination – ha! To write about my everyday life or things that happen in my life, would go somewhat like this:

Work was the usual today. So much drama – too much drama – that I

… Yeah I can’t even narrate a proper post like that anymore.

So here’s some Eliza Doolitte to perk up your Friday –

Pax et amor,

“With Tired Eyes, Tired Minds, Tired Souls, We Slept”

Last weekend, it was my grandmother’s third death anniversary. I’m not sure whether to say “wow, that was fast” or just to leave it as it is –

The funny (well, not really. More like just the way it is) thing about “time” itself is that it depends on perception. And all the constants in one’s life. For example, time might seem to fly past you because you are juggling so many tasks on hand at one go, while simultaneously time might seem to slow down even when you’re really busy because you have a deadline to meet and Mr. Time decides to be nice to you and make you feel like you have ample time to meet the deadline. Did I make sense? I hope I did, because I’m constantly at war with how time feels to me –

I’m past the grieving stage, at least. I haven’t cried at the thought of her lately, though the gnawing in my chest still hasn’t gone away. I haven’t thought of her much, mostly cos work keeps my life preoccupied but certain things/places/people will still remind me of her. I don’t feel sad each time I see any other old lady I pass by but I still can’t look at them in the eye without thinking how lucky her grandchildren must be to have her.  I don’t feel angry anymore that she’s gone, but I still wish I had someone to call Nyai just for one more day.

To put it simply, I just don’t think about it much anymore. I’m not sure if that came with growing numb, or if it was the successful result of forcing my mind not to dwell on it still.

I’ve always thought grieving would happen in stages – and those stages may take years to go through before you have everything coming full circle. But even when you reach that final stage of letting go, after leaping over the painfully high hurdle of acceptance, someone’s death will always be a part of us. We’ll come to a point when we’d barely feel the pain of loss anymore, but we have that gaping hole in our heart as the wound that can’t be healed. I wouldn’t call it a wound of glory like the one a soldier would bring home proudly as a statement of having fought a war, but the wound that death inflicts upon us is a wound that would just remain unhealed; a wound not in your flesh, but in your soul, if you will.

It’s like a scar that will forever mark your skin, or that lipstick stain on the shirt you can’t get rid of – you’ll get past the fact that it’s THERE, but you go through your day with it anyway because it’s best to just move on instead of being stuck in a state of inertia.

If she and my mom were still around, Mothers’ Day today would probably feel like it meant something to me, rather than just one other ordinary day.

Here’s to a wonderful Mothers’ Day to all amazing mamas out there.

Pax et amor,