That tale unheard

    They were bickering again. She crept into her usual spot and curled up into the fetal position as always. She pulled the curtains close, so it felt like she was in a different room. Not the one she was in. Not the one that was in that house. Not in that house where they were shouting profanities and regret. How could they regret? What did they regret? She existed. She was real. She was there. Did that count for nothing? Did it count for nothing that she could hear every single word, understood or not, she could hear every single word? She could hear the sobs and the futile pleadings. She could hear the defenseless household items flung across the adjacent room. She was there. Didn't they know? Didn't they care? Didn't it matter? Was her existence a mere mistake that they could choose to ignore whenever they decided? She fought back her tears, cupped her little hands around her ears and snuggled closer to the wall. The wall was cold. She shuffled about trying to get into a comfortable position. She shut her eyes. She hummed to herself, trying to drown out the noise. But she could feel it. She could feel their tense fighting going on. She wished, in that one moment, to disappear. She wished she never came to be. Perhaps then, they would have nothing to bicker about. Perhaps then, they could be happy. Perhaps then, the pain would stop.

Of salted fish bolsters and folded love letters.

I'd like to think that I'm not held down by material possessions. I'd like to see myself as a person who can rise above that need for that brand-new-something. I'd like to be the person who could part with items simply because someone else needs it more than I do. If I only owned something for the sake of owning it, and someone else truly needed it, or it would be a luxury for them to have, then I would like to be that person that could just part with it without regret.

But then there are the sentimental items. Those that you keep not because of their function, but rather because of what they mean to you. Would it be easier to decide to keep or give away or chuck it away if it were not functional? Like old love letters. Do you chuck them away just because the relationship has ended? They can do no good to anyone else, and perhaps you yourself have not set eyes on them in years. Do you throw them away? How do you decide that "this is trash" and to put it into a bag together with banana peels and food wrappers? How do you decide that you will no longer want to see reminders of when life's joy meant seeing that note tucked secretly into your text book; heart thumping and pulling away so no one could see you carefully read the written words of your loved one? Your fingers cold, trembling, your eyes darting across the room and across the page. Careful Teacher doesn't catch sight of you, and careful your friends don't try to take a peek, your brain commands your eyes to read one word at a time, but you can't. Your eyes excitedly dart across the page he lovingly wrote for you. Your face lights up, your cheeks glow, your pupils dilate. You finish reading, heart thumping like a rabbit across a carrot field, fold it carefully the exact same way he folded it for you. You sneak a glance at him, and he meets your gaze. Bliss.

There are also the safety items. Like blankets. Or pillows. We find comfort in their texture, their smell (unwrinkle your nose. You know you love that smell), their feel as you run your fingers through them. On bad days we cry our tears right into them, holding them close. On happy days we hug them tight till their shape's all wrong. On angry days we squeeze them, or perhaps just cuddle with them while whispering curse words to those who made us angry.

 

Then the greatest disaster hits. They get washed. If you're lucky, they come out looking brand new and you discover it was a totally different color than you imagined all along. You smell the fabric softener instead of that smell you loved and knew so well all these years. But if you're UN-lucky, it gets mangled and doesn't survive the wash. Or it looks fine physically, but for some unknown inexplicable reason it comes out smelling like salted fish. So you try to sun dry it. Doesn't work. You dry it for three days straight. Doesn't work. You douse it with odor remover. Doesn't work. You douse it again with odor remover. Still doesn't work. You put on its coat anyway hoping that after you hug it a few nights, your smell will return to it and cover up the salted fish smell. You give up after forty minutes of agonizing hugging because the smell of salted fish just doesn't promote sleep. You soak it in odor remover and leave it to dry in the sun. It still smells like salted fish. Now it's been lying on the bed unhugged for the past four days because even though the stench has lessened due to the multiple dousing of odor remover, it just doesn't feel right.

 

 

I miss you. I really really miss you. Seeing you at a distance, in full view but out of reach, I realize that I really do love you. They told me to just get a new one. But how do you even begin to search for one that feels just right when you run your fingers through it? How do you search for the one that cuddles you at just the right angles of your face and body? How do you decide that this is the one that will replace the one I've had all these years. Having it chucked away at the corner of my bed may be "throwing it away" already, in a sense. I don't touch it anymore, I don't cuddle up to it anymore, I've even shed tears without it in my arms. But to pick it up, and put in in the rubbish pile downstairs, with the soiled diapers and broken dishes….how do I do that?

 

So you keep in in the corner. Perhaps, just perhaps, someday it will lose the salted fish scent it suddenly developed, and though the scent may not be the exact same that you fell in love with, maybe the smell will be an ok smell that you'll learn to love. It will be a new love, and you'll have to search again for those cuddle spots you had together those past years, but it should still be there. You can't assume to just pick up where you left off. It will be a struggle. Perhaps you will give up. Perhaps you'll have the greatest cuddles ever that will last you a whole lifetime.

 

But maybe, just maybe, you're just meant to get a new one.

 

I pick it up for a moment. I don't cuddle it, for fear that if I were repulsed by its scent that I forever be disgusted by its existence. I take a gentle whiff. I still smell traces of the salted fish. God knows how it got that salted fish smell. Right after going through the wash, too! The blanket, pillow cases, another small pillow, all went in the same cycle, yet they all came out smelling just fine! Why do you have that horrid stench inside of you? Perhaps it was there all along, but I failed to notice it. I was too engrossed in my tears and need for cuddles to realize that you always had that salted fish scent inside of you. You kept it hidden, because you knew I needed the cuddles back then. You sneaky piece of fluff.

 

I held it closer this time, took a deep sniff. I think I'll give some more time in the corner. Perhaps, in the near future, we'll find ourselves in cuddles again in between the comforter sheets. I don't know whether I'll be the one to take you out of the corner, or you'll find your way back to me. But I'm keeping you. I'm not throwing you away. And I'm not "getting another" either.

The joy of a mother whose children misses her.

Looking at yourself through a mirror is not the same as looking at yourself through someone else's eyes. You may never get that opportunity; to see how you are in the eyes of someone else. Even the closest, watching yourself through a camera, can prove to be a surreal experience for those who have never experienced it. You suddenly realize how you hunch, or how ungracefully you move about a room. You realize your eyes are not as round as you see them, you realize that your voice is decidedly different than how you hear it. You look more/less confident than you always thought, you realize all the body issues you had were ridiculous/worse.

 

But sometimes, you get lucky. You find those that don't care if your tummy has an extra pinch of yum to it. You find those that don't snicker at your lack of grace, those who are with you because of who you are, and to them, you are great. Not perfect, but perfectly imperfect. And they miss you not for your few perfections, but for your various imperfections. And they hang on to you not because you are strong, but because together with them, all of you become stronger. They poke and prod you because they like to see you shine bright. And in return they shine their bright colors.

 

In that moment, I was happy.

After a day of agony.

Hey dad,

Remember that time when you walked in on me holding the razor blade, and I told you it was because I was trying to shave old school style? I've always wondered whether you ever figured out it wasn't. I remember that you usually left the food hanging on my bedroom doorknob, but for some reason this time you barged right in waving a bag of chips. I faked a smile and pretended there weren't tears down my face.

I don't think I ever thanked you for that. I wouldn't be the person I am if it weren't for you. I never told anyone this either, but that wasn't the only time I tried another "experiment". Being at home alone with big expectations to fill can do that to you. But each time I held the bottle, each time I picked up the razor blade, I thought of you. And each time, I put it all away, because as flawed, faulted, damaged as you were, you made me smile. You knew how to make me smile. And you made it a point to. You made me feel that I was awesome even when I wasn't the fastest kid in the race, and I hid away my record books because they were atrocious.

Maybe now it's my turn to check up on you. But I don't know how. I'm scared I can't do for you what you did all these years for me. I'm scared I can't be strong for you like you were for me. But I'll try.

 

 

I love you, dad.

 

 

An epiphany in candlelight.

 

Technology has hastened time. It makes time seem to go by faster. The modern man constantly complains of not having enough time. Even children moan and groan that they just don't have enough time. In order to run these faulted technology, we need the magical power of electricity. Cut off the electricity, and we are forced back to our archaic ways. But wait! Most modern technology comes with ample stored power (a.k.a the "battery") so just cutting off the electricity for a few hours wouldn't totally spiral us back to the caveman days. But it is enough for us to feel that slightly slowed down movement of time. If you're fortunate enough to be in the vicinity of others, you may enjoy the first few moments of

"Is the electricity out?"

"Yup"

"Is it just our house?"

*looks out the dusty previously untouched window*

"Nope. Whole block's out"

"Dammit"

*resumes staring at gadget*

 

    You wait for a few awkward moments, thinking that the power will come back on shortly (hopefully before your battery runs out). When it becomes apparent that it won't be coming on for a while, you have the continuation of the previous rare conversation

"so…what do we do for light"

"I think I have some candles somewhere"

"Why do you have candles?"

"They're aromatherapy candles, ok? They smell nice and stuff"

"Ok"

*Scrambles towards the room the said candles are most likely to be in using the lights of afore mentioned gadgets*

"Ok, got them."

    Now here's where you'd kick yourself if you didn't have one of the below:

1. Matches (well you did have candles…?)
   
2. Somebody who smokes (so he'd probably have a lighter)
   
3. A gas stove (I mean, fat lot of good an electric stove would have in this situation)
   

 

"Ok, candles are lit. Be careful with these."

"Alright"

*Awkwardly sits in the dim lighting staring at each other. Resumes staring at gadgets*

 

    Just out of curiosity, put down those gadgets. Turn off that tv you're not watching. Plug out the earphones from your waxy ears, put away all the gadgets. Look around you. What else do you have to do? What else do you have? If you manage to summon the willpower to tear away from all the modern technology, then good for you.

    Don't get me wrong; I'm as fond of gadgets and gizmos as the next person, but I'm glad that most of the time, I can just set it all away and look at life, look at people, look at those little things that nobody bothers with anymore. Not too long ago I made a vow to do the following:

1. When eating a meal with another person, I will not take out my phone (or any other device for the matter).
   
2. Cut down social media to the bare essentials (hereby defined as interaction with those of great physical distance from me)
   
3. Enjoy the scenery and food fist hand; not through the lens of a camera.
   
4. Pay attention to people when they talk to me (which also means, NO taking out phones)
   

 

Occasionally I feel that pang of regret that I have not much proof of the greatest years of my life; but if that other person is more inclined at learning about it via touch screen, then perhaps they don't deserve to learn about it at all. It's sad; how there are so few meaningful conversations that pass between people. They are convinced that seeing it on a screen is "better".

 

Well, tapping away at my very own screen, I'm not entirely pure of this time-sucking evil. All I'm saying is, perhaps if we set aside the technology, just for a while, we would gain some of that time we so strongly cry out for.

I will always want you

I know...I know...but it sounds nice, and it fits the bill.



Yes, I will always want you.

Perhaps out of boredom.

Out of nowhere I found a small reminder of you. When I say small, I mean teeny tiny. It was miniscule! But it was enough to remind me of you. Perhaps not because it was a reminder, but mostly because I was thinking of you. You probably think this is typical of me, to say these things at times like these; and perhaps it very much is. But that's ok. I am me. An older, more mature version, but still me. I still like to eat flavorful foods, and love to enjoy the night air and cuddle under the streetlights.