I hope someone’s here. Someone who I can spill out my words of hatred with, someone who will just simply touch my shoulder and then tell me that everything will be okay soon, someone who I think cares about me. The world is just so unfair. There are people who, in their difficult times, have someone to lean on and cry on their shoulders. But I don’t belong to those kind of people who are grateful enough that their friends or other family members are just-one-call-and-then-they’re-beside-you. Am I a bad person? Do I just really shut my world from my families and friends? Does the world itself hate my kind? Am I selfish to think of these things? It’s very hard to deal things on your own. It makes you feel….alone. I never felt alone before. Of course, hanging out with my friends during the happy times, going to school and see your professors and classmates, being home with your family members, and going out shopping with other people surrounding you, are exceptions. I mean well, that’s literal. But within me, I don’t know anymore. I just don’t.
I’m always having a good time when I read books (you may notice the abrupt change of topic). I even stay very late at night. I eat meals with my favorite book that I can’t wait to read the climax of it. I rather read books forever and ever and ever than study more about my course which is architecture. Until I’ve searched about the addiction of reading books. Pleasure and entertainment are one of the reasons why people love to read books, but as I scroll down the page on the computer, it read, ESCAPING THE REALITY. My eyes just read the line over and over. And then I thought, well, maybe that’s the very reason why I read so much. I am escaping the reality which I am telling above. The reality which are the devastations in our world and the feelings that are crumbling inside me which shatters me within.
I’m not into drama. I hated being involved in it. I even laugh at my friends and classmates when I read their posts on facebook about their break-ups with their boyfriends, the treachery of their friends, family matters, etc. But now as I’m writing this, I feel like I’m a drama queen. And I hated it so much. I posted what I feel now on facebook too. Maybe an hour already passed since posting them, and there are no comments on my posts. YET. I checked who among my friends are online. I only saw my classmates and buddies in college, but not the ones who I consider as my “real” friends since high school or elementary years. Will they even bother commenting on my posts or message me about it? Maybe even if they read it, they will just ignore it. Again, thinking about that makes me feel crap and worthless.
I had a best friend during my elementary days. We even vowed to each other that we will be best friends forever. But when we reached high school and college, I had no words from her. I added her on my facebook but we are not chatting with each other anymore. She’s on my list but I feel like she doesn’t exist on it. Maybe she feels the same way too.
So, now that I’m running out of words to write down what’s inside me, I think it’s time for me to stop it already. The computer and papers and pens are my “friends” during this kind of situation. I don’t open up with someone else because I don’t have that someone. That someone will be either a friend or a family member or excitingly,.. a ghost. (Oh I just realized now that that ghost is my mother ^_^)
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Friday, August 12, 2011
Another Loss
It was the day of my interview for the admission of the Special Science Class curriculum in high school. It was summer, and soon would be the beginning of another challenging journey of school life. As I was heading to the principal’s door, I was really shaking, my hands were cold, the butterflies in my stomach wouldn’t stop and there was a deafening silence around me and I could only hear my heart beat. My sister wished me luck. Most of the questions being asked that day were now forgotten, but one, “describe your mother”. The only answer that came out of my mouth was, “She’s small and kind”, and nothing else. How silly of me not to say anything more! If I could write them all, my pen’s ink wouldn’t be enough.
I had a little brother who died at the age of three because of his cardiovascular disease. When he was still alive, my mother always loved him. There was no time that she would leave him. She always told us that he was the kindest child, the most thoughtful, or the best term for it, the perfect one. We all understood her, because every member in our family, even I, was dysfunctional. My mother and little brother had a little world of their own. They focused themselves on each other. My brother was more dependent and attached to my mother and he was her life. Sometimes, I wondered if she even loved us because after my brother’s death, she was always furious and she talked too much when it comes to household chores. I couldn’t blame her because we were lazy and often made up some excuses to avoid those chores. She never stopped dealing with our clothes and dishes, dust and floor, everything. She even said that she was only our house maid, and didn’t feel that she was our mother. Of course, we hated to hear that.
Despite of our negative traits, we were trying our best to help her out in our messed up little home. But I thought she wasn’t satisfied and we were wondering what she wanted. One day she told us that she was already tired and couldn’t take it anymore. She even said stupid things like she wanted to go with Bruce, our dead little brother. She always cried, and thought that no one was helping her and cared for her except Bruce. Her uncontrolled temper led to high blood pressure and she was having maintenance. There were nights when she vomited and felt nauseous. Most of the time, she complained her head ached because of her migraine. But father was always there and he wouldn’t leave her alone.
December 2006. One year and nine months after my brother’s death. Christmas was just around the corner, and we were all excited about the presents that we were going to have for this awaited day. We started shopping with mother, and everyone was happy and contented. But these feelings were all replaced by grief, loss, and melancholy.
December 14, 2006. One a.m. She collapsed in their bedroom and everyone at the apartment (my relatives) was awakened by the thump on the wooden floor. They rushed her to the hospital. My father, together with my uncles and aunts, who carried her out, were all filled with terror. Everyone who was left at the apartment was all silent in disbelief. I wore a blank face because I didn’t witness the scene. I was the last one who woke up and everything was only been told. When I heard about it, this time I was really hoping that my mother could overcome this. And pray was the only best thing to do. Without any news yet, my grandmother ordered us to go back to sleep, assuring us that everything’s gonna be fine.
I was really happy to visit her in the morning. She was in a ward and my father and eldest brother were there. Her eyes were closed. I wondered if she was okay. I didn’t dare to ask either of them because I was afraid I might hear another heartbreaking, gloomy word. I waited for her to wake up, but she didn’t. She was just kicking and stretching her arms like an uncomfortable big baby. I got home for a while to bring a pair of pajamas for her. I found myself sobbing so hard that I couldn’t catch my breath, hoping that my mother could make it. I was sitting at the bench with my arms wrapped around my aunt’s waist. She was convincing me that she was going to be alright and modern medicine could heal her. With the words of my aunt and a little hope, I went back to the hospital. That afternoon, the doctors explained that she had a stroke and her hemorrhage was caused by an erupted vein in her brain, and they transferred her in Intensive Care Unit. This time, I knew that something was wrong.
Then, the most terrifying thing happened. Nurses told us that she couldn’t make it. And as I entered the room, my mother was still, and the respirator was the only thing that helped her breathe. Her brain shut down. We believed that she could hear what we were saying to her. We were all crying and we gave her so many kisses for the last time. Nurses took off her tubes. No signs of life. We couldn’t accept the fact of this sudden loss.
Months after we lost our mother, I always cried to sleep. I couldn’t help thinking about her. I was in full regret for not telling her “I love you so much, Ma”, when she was still alive. I was a junior when that happened. Losing one was already a tragic but loosing another after we just coped up with the first one was really devastating. We didn’t know how to live the coming days without a mother. We tried our best to become strong. I really hated being pitied by others who knew about it. I was envious seeing other girls walking with their moms holding hands, shopping and laughing together, while we had the company of my dad to buy our feminine stuffs.
I was really happy to have our father with his full support and love no matter what predicaments we face in our way. I was really amazed by the way he handles everything. He really did everything he could. I wonder how will be our life now if both of them are here. Maybe there is a non- stop laughing during dinners. Maybe the noises always begin in our home. Maybe we are always the last one to turn off the lights every night. Maybe we are the happiest family in the world. I want to shout out that my mother was the best, the super mom in the world. And I am really proud of her, and was lucky to be her daughter.
Consider their ages my brother will turn ten in September and mother will be fifty one. It’s already five years and we are able to accept the loss. When I remember those happy times with them, I couldn’t stop my tears. Maybe the pain of my father and siblings was already gone but my heart is still mending. I’m sure both of them are very happy now that they are in peace. And I know that they are guarding us every single day.
-written on April 2010
Three: A Story About My Brother
Ask anyone if they are afraid to die. You’ll probably expect them to answer yes and otherwise to older ones. Maybe they haven’t accomplished their goals yet, and others might say that they had already fulfilled their dreams; they had been contented in their lives, and accomplished their missions. But if I was the one being asked, I wouldn’t know my answer.
I was very happy and so was everyone in our big family when my youngest brother came to our lives. Among us, he was the different one. He was a blue baby. He had a cardiovascular disease. I was in third grade when he was born. Back then, he was just as small as a medium sized teddy bear. I was afraid to touch him, hold his little fingers and thin arms as if I might break him. Little did I know about his disease because of my young mind but sometimes I pay attention to the grown ups who talked about it so I was able to understand it little by little. People always noticed him anywhere we went. Others thought that he was wearing a lipstick because of his violet lips. And when my parents explained it to them, they wore this pity expression on their faces.
My baby brother grew up into a little boy. He brought joy to our family, and he was a very happy child. He was very thoughtful and kind that I thought this child was an angel for knowing on how to care for others. I wondered, at his very young age, what he could feel inside. He was sick but he always had this smile on his cute little face which brightened our day, especially my mom’s. She loved him so much that I thought he was her favorite. But I disregard this thought because of his disease. She stopped working and decided to take care of him because no one knows how to baby sit him because they were all afraid of his vulnerable condition. My father was the only one who worked for our living. He and my mother seek anyone who could give a big help to our brother for the operations of his heart. We badly needed a financial support at those times because we didn’t have that big money to take care of those things on our own. We were all afraid that he might have a heart attack anytime and die.
When I was in sixth grade, he had a successful operation. He was three years old then and was able to play on his own and blissfully made his own world full of contentment with simple things. His lips were already red. He could talk straight kapampangan (one of the local dialects that we use), and during dinners, we would all laugh at his childish silly jokes. Sometimes, I forced myself to laugh even though it was not funny at all just to make him happy. I could still remember when he talked about going to school when he got a little older and told us of what things he would do to his teachers and classmates. He couldn’t wait to go to school.
It was March. At five in the morning, everyone at home was in panic. There were heavy footsteps going up and down the stairs. As I stood out of my bed, and got downstairs, I saw my brother covered up with white cloth. My mother was very anxious. I couldn’t understand the look on her face. She was pale, trembling, terrified. But my father was trying to be calm as he held my brother on his arms. I don’t know what was happening. They rushed him to the nearby hospital. My aunts and uncles followed after them as soon as they were told about what happened. My siblings and I stayed at home while waiting for any news. I was praying and praying and praying to God to help my brother. I told Him that it was not the time yet, that he should still live with us, and give him a longer life. He was just three years old.
The telephone rang. I grabbed the thing and answered it. My aunt was at the other end of the line. I heard the words that I didn’t want to hear.” Bruce is gone”. He had a heart attack and it would be a miracle if he was able to survive it with his small and weak body. I was shocked, my mouth was half open but I wasn’t crying. It was after a minute when I already absorbed the words that I heard and I burst in tears. I didn’t know what to do. I was just twelve and didn’t know anything about death.
We kept all of his toys in our cabinets and we didn’t want anyone to play with them. The last day of his funeral, many people came, our relatives and friends and they were all crying when my father delivered his speech. On the day of his burial, his favorite slipper and toys were also buried with him, beside on his white coffin.
The day when I went back to school, my classmates were all sorry. I was so silent. I didn’t want to speak to anyone, except when they ask questions (not about the death), because if I did, I was afraid that I was going to cry. I even bought a big guava, my little brother’s favorite, from school. Maybe I was fancying that my brother would be able to appreciate it for bringing it at home and sharing it with him. But he wouldn’t. He was gone and he won’t come back. And it took me a year before I fully recovered and the pain in my heart was completely healed. We loved him so much. I was in regret when there was a time that a thought of him would pop out of my mind and hoped that I jumped so high to look at my brother’s face for the last time of that unexpected day ( I didn’t really care even he looked so sick at that time). I hoped that I had talked to him, embraced him so tight and played with him the whole night before that unforgettable day. I miss him so much. I miss his voice, his laughter, his smile, the way he clung to me when I would make him fall to sleep with his head on my shoulder while I played with his little fingers. I admit that when I dreamed of him that he was hugging me, I considered it a shallow happiness.
And now, while I’m writing this story, I’m holding back my tears. Everything is coming back. All his memories, the pain, the hardships, and the happiness we shared for a short time together with our family. I hope we have a time machine and go back to the past and tell him how much I love him, and then I will hug him so tight and kiss him. And if that’s possible, I don’t want to go back to the present because this time, I also lost my mother.
-written on April 2010
A Part of A Childhood
Her name was Elizabeth
She was a tiny and silent type of a kid,
With her thoughts strong and vivid,
A shallow happiness was what she could get.
Often bullied in school and made fun of,
She had been a loner and no friends at all,
When her classmates’ eyes roll,
She would bow her head and hear them laughed.
They thought she was weird,
Coming to school sobbing and clinging to her father,
No one liked to sit beside her,
Because they knew she was a bother.
Teasing wasn’t stopped,
Even teachers scolding her made her cry,
Without her papa, she thought she would die,
She’ll blubber and on her mouth her hands were cupped.
She missed school days even if she wasn’t sick,
Making lame excuses which weren’t believed,
Another day of being bullied was what she conceived,
But her parents convinced her that her teachers were meek.
She was just in the first grade,
So teachers would understand,
And they promised to lend her a helping hand,
Thus, happy days and friends were made.
Soon her grimace was gone,
And her gloominess was replaced by joy,
Her crying and silence was no more,
And realized that school was a lot of fun.
-written on April 2010
Black and White
Good and evil were born,
White and black were their colors,
The good’s flesh and heart could be torn,
Because of evil’s actions coursed.
Good brought joyfulness and integrity,
That gave satisfaction to all,
But evil came with self –pity,
And wished to have a battle call.
With his plan of destruction,
He entered brains and hearts,
And told them, “Follow me and everything you desire will be shown,
And be given to you like a penny to be laid on your waiting palms”.
Evil made a battalion of followers,
He had the wicked face and was cheering himself,
He showed his troops presents and removed their covers,
They were weapons to be used, a possession of devilish wealth.
Evildoers stabbed their friend’s back,
Thus turning them into demons too,
Together they devoured the souls and were praised for the act,
Their plan, mission and goals were wooed.
The endeavor to turn good to evil was a little success,
But evil’s eyes were still seeking for contentment,
He wanted more battle, blood, death, and wretchedness,
But good shielded his people and wished the badness to end.
Soon the goodness reigned,
Evil was gone and found his place where he should be,
Good went to see him and said,
“Join us, you are our friend, and I assure you happiness and from evilness you’ll flee”.
-written on April 2010
Bruises
Brother, why are you like that?
Understanding you is like a problem in math,
Do you hurt us because of your wrath?
Or maybe it is just for fun?
Being the eldest, I know it is hard,
But you are a bully, and bullies are always coward,
Oftentimes, even nights we jarred,
And find myself with my sister at corner, we are jammed.
We don’t know what’s wrong with you,
You hate us and father too,
It’s a routine for your mission to woo,
Why don’t you try and feel on how to walk in our shoes?
Pain is always obvious,
My arms are often with bruises,
If there is a chance that this tie looses,
I’ll hurt you too and make your life a mess!
These red and bluish marks now I have,
Are signs that opposes the meaning of love,
I feel as if I am torn in half,
It is all because of the inner wound I have.
You are supposed to be our protector,
But you aren’t because of your demeanor,
The days pass and you hurt us more,
Will you still change your devilish behavior?
You are old enough to know what is right from wrong,
You are twenty three and yet you act like young,
To love and care for us is what we have longed,
I thought everything got worse since mother had gone.
You have a lot of friends,
And you are the attention to them,
But do they know how you act at home,
Or have a peace of mind for us to lend?
You are strong with those huge hands,
You chase us and we feel like we are in den,
Will this toughness of yours ever end?
Will this ache we have still mend?
I pity you for what you are now,
You’re idle and I look you down,
Somehow I want to help you but I don’t know how,
To be successful is what I wish you had vowed.
I know you have this intense pain inside,
Trust and tell us about it and do not hide,
Despite your mean actions we know you are kind,
We’ll help you to emerge this virtue on your surface,
Because we are your family, your helpers, your guide.
- written on March 6, 2010. Our brother's birthday, an unpleasant day for me.
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