Why did God invent L-O-V-E?
Why? Seriously...why? Why did God invent this L-O-V-E word? The symbolism of "falling in love" is so literate that is freaks even Socrates himself. When you fall in love, you really fall. You are in this dark pit of your own galaxy lighted by the passion between you and this Mr. Perfect Man. And some day, Mr. Perfect Man might climb out with your only source of light and leave you there lost. Then, you gotta Crocodile Dundee your way out somehow.
But what happens...when in some cases as I have read in many books and seen in many movies....where there was a little life involved? Men are always proud to be fathers. They may be afraid initially but despite it all, it is their life calling, to be a dad. What happens then to a woman, who is carrying their child in their own pit of happiness when the man decides to walk away and leave them to fend for their own?
Then, all alone and scared, some might walk into a abortion clinic and allow the norm of the world talk them into the scary procedure of killing a life..their baby. The little baby every kid girl cuddles as their doll dreaming up weird names for them like Elizabeth or Ryan. As she walks out from that painful operation, she is alone and given anaesthesia to deal with the pain; and supposedly simutaneously numb the pain of the heart.
What would a woman do then? I can imagine them clinging on to every hope there is in their life. A t-shirt that smells like him, a doll he has given you for your birthday or just the many pictures stating the only reminder of what was lost.
But who is going to heal their pain when they reach the aniversary of their supposed baby's birthday? Who is going to hold their hand when they break down looking at other happy families with proud parents and a real life baby? Who is going to tell them its ok when their heart bleeds from pain when someone else's kid walks up to them and touches their hand? Who is there for them especially when they are so afraid of God for killing His own great creation?
"I rather be the fool with the broken heart ... then someone who never had a part of you.."
I am once again looking into his beautiful eyes. My heart is racing, my fingers and toes numb from excitement. "I missed you so much!", I whispered breathlessly. He reaches his hand out to me. My heart skips a beat as he approaches closer. I see my hand stretch out to meet his. I inwardly gasp. Something is not right with that picture. There is a glistening silver object that I am holding; ready to give over to him. My mind races, my reasoning skills in a blur. Suddenly it clicks, it is my knife from my side drawer. What is happening? What is he going to do with it?
I search the depth of his eyes. Searching for that last grain of love for me. I found none. And then, a voice within me told him, "Please stab me! Do it please. End my suffering!"
With that encouragement, he dove into me aiming the knife straight at my heart. I did not scream yet smiled falsely as I feel the warm blood trickle down the front of my shirt. My mind constantly repeats, pleading; "I love you. Why won't you love me back?" as his stabbing intensifies with rage and maybe a little amusement. I see Satan again. This time he is closer. Seeing the horror in front of him, he seems to come even closer; smiling smugly. The whole scene seems to beckon him for a closer look.
I watch as this fallen angel approaches closer. The stench of death lingering in the air, the foul odor of his rotting flesh triggers me to want to vomit. Yet, I have lost feeling of everything in my body. There is pools of blood everywhere and my body has gone limp. I am now standing watching from afar, standing beside my body and the violent man I once loved.
"God! WHY?", I scream. The gates of heaven open, and my eyes close shut from the splendor. The next thing I knew, He was before me. I was sitting on His lap like a little girl, cuddled in the warmth of Holiness. His awesomeness reveals the hurt and pain and blackness in me. I break down in tears.
"I am so sorry for being such a bad child", I plead with tears streaming down my face. He silents me, saying "Let him go. Let him go." I finally understood and took His orders into heart. The weight from the reality of what I am about to do creates more violent tears. He allows me to cry my heart out. I snuggle in for a long day of crying and comfort from my Heavenly Father. Before my eyes shut into a peaceful sleep, I ask Him one last question;
"Will he ever love me again?"
My answer was met with silence. I ask no more and allow sleep to lull me away.
This is my vow...
"This is my vow!" I scream at the top of my lungs standing atop a podium of flowers with the members of the floor cheering loudly, some tearing from the wonder of my words. I turn around to look behind me, there is no one standing there. "Where are my supporters?" I scream towards the empty chairs. I turn back to the front, the enthusiastic mob of people cheering me has disappeared. Silence surrounds me. I look down, "Am I naked?" as most horrible dreams would be. But it is the same old me, clad in my blue top from Padini I got a year ago from Curve with my beloved and my cheap RM20 jeans I got from Survey.
I hear the crickets creaking, the wind whistling and the leaves rustling. I feel terribly alone and my first reaction was to break down in tears. Too many tears has flown from my eyes, and they alone have rebelled against my body refusing me the relief of crying. I got to handle this on my own, no tears allowed; my brain commands me in what I imagine a commando hat.
I look up, I see the faces of all the people I love. And every one of them today has felt that they should walk away. "Have they moved on?" I ask my inner Jiminy Cricket. He ignores me too. Then, I decide with gusto. I will love them even more, communicate with them 10 times more, understand them 100 times more and be there for them a 1,000 times more. Because, I will not allow myself to give up on them. They were the reason for my smile on many days. The reason for me to feel complete on days when I am down.
There are days when I feel like screaming at their faces, telling them what they don't see wrong. Yet, we all know, when it comes to our own problems we are in denial. Like how I refused to eat because he won't love me. Like how he would drink and smoke when he was in pain. Like how she would think negatively bout her instead of trying to understand.
The fog is clearing day by day. Yet the amount of people standing, listening to my speeches has decreased to a simple NIL. But I am not giving up yet, I am only 22. If I got nothing to live for, it would be for them that I would live.
Today was my happy day!
My day started out wonderful. I have written my e-mail for our 1 year 8 months anniversary. And I woke up at 12.30 pm after a nice long sleep. Everything was going great. Then, I got myself involved in between my two best friends fights. And it did not help at all. Seriously, I should shut my mouth. Well, so now one thinks I am the horrible person for being the tell tale, the other is pissed off at everything that is happening. I hate being in between. And I hate it that my good day was ruined.
First I get screamed at by my housemate for doing her a favour. Then this. Next wat. It is hard enough that I love them both and do not want them to fight like that. Yet, it seems I made it worst. All I wanted was for them to talk and settle this. Not go to this extend. Well, the big mouthed girl gotta put her big fat feet where it belongs...in a deep pile of sh*t.
The thing is....both girls are not in the wrong. One longs for the attention as friend and the other is stressed out by everything that is happening in their life. They actually need each other in a sense to complete the circle. But the thing is, they gotta be understanding about it. I remember my days of fighting and angriness. I think she remembers it too. But you see, we both compromised, we both decided not to take too heart what each other have said and done. What is done is done! And she might have gotten a "told u so" moment but I guess she deserves this one.
Girls...I love you. More than anything in the world. And it hurts to see you guys in such a position. Take it from me....especially from such a small misunderstanding. However, since one is pissed at me and you are the one listening, my intentions were as good as I tried. If I made it worst sorry, doesn't make it that I love you guys any less.
It would have been a good anniversary. A toast to good memories. Hope to hear from you soon.
A little break from the series of truths because I have one more to tell but still in the tug of war in the worth of telling that story. Here is something else instead..
Eyes framed in geeky glasses. Mouth filled with iron bars and yellow bands. Lips chapped from dryness. Black coloring the wardrobe. Sleeked down oily hair. A too fair coloured skin. This encompassed the scene in which I first saw him. He was sitting in front of me eavesdropping on my conversation with a friend. First choir meeting and 5 minutes in, I already regret being there. My mind screams, "God, I can't sing. That choir master with the weird 80's hair will sure to kick me out".
His snickering indicated he was listening in. I was not very impressed. A man with the traits of a woman. His true beauty was sheltered by his weird jokes and nerdy references to things. His wonderful personality was shadowed by a cuter shorter more charming man from my hometown, Kota Kinabalu. He seemed a little too persistent on wanting to meet up later. A little too desperate for attention.
He annoyed me when he talked. He was too much of a spend thrift. He had too much love for his computer games. His life was everything about theater and acting. He was revoltingly still a child. Yet, 8 months down the road, my days were filled with his sms-es. A bad day at work meant that he was one call away to relief and happiness. Smiling came easier, laughing more intense, intimacy was just a step away.
Cinemas in KL were the hot spot for everything. And it became the hot spot for my love scene. A comedic Cantonese movie which he brought me for set the scene for the night. After beating him down endlessly for the past 283 days with my bat of rejection, I felt myself falling as he placed his hand next to mine. I knew his mind wasn't on that moving fat man on the screen but more on fervent prayer that I would respond positively. My brain screamed; "NOOOOO!" yet my hand refused to obey. I placed my hand on his and looked straight ahead refusing to admit the damage I have done. My heart races faster knowing there was no turning back. Why did it feel so right when my heart was still debating how unsure I was?
The night ensued with me using him as a punching bag of my doubt and insecurities. How was I going to tell my best friend after saying to her I won't fall? I can imagine the scene unfolding.
Best friend from many years,"So you finally fell. I knew it. Just because you never had a man chasing you for so long."
Me in disarray,"But but...."
Terrific-lawyer-to-be-if-she-would-study-law;"It's all the emotions coming to you. He is such a boy!"
Me still in disarray, "But I love him..."
Cruella De'Ville," You will regret this. Mark my words. He knows you are easily swayed now."
Truth is..she is not that horrific yet my mind seems to conjure her as a witch. 24 hours later, a cute sheep arrives in my hand. One I have been dreaming about for years from friends as a birthday gift. Several minutes later, I was ushered into the Gold Class to watch my all time favourite movie - Memoirs of a Geisha. I never knew the ending. Till today. Because after caging up my feelings for so long, I kissed him just as Sayuri plots her plan for true love. 60 minutes later, I told him yes. Finally, I could say YES to love, YES to trying, YES to risking it all, YES to a man, and YES to trusting. Today, this image still vividly plays in my mind. The awe, the beating heart, the passion, the fire, the assurance that I am loved. Even though all that has shattered into a million glass pieces, the glue of hope that stripes life away through its toxic chemicals sits in my hand as I lovingly try to string each piece back together as Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love shakes her head disapprovingly while Venus crosses her fingers wishing Cupid was still able to help.
So, does moving on mean that I have to make a conscious effort to go further away from the one thing that the heart really desires and wants? Does forgetting and going forward mean to blur out all those memories into meaningless nothingness of all those wonderful moments?
WARNING: This is a series of truth which I feel I do not want to lie about anymore. If any of these has changed your perception on me...I wished it wasn't so.
"How to mend a broken heart". Movies such as Bridget Jones and Gilmore Girls show you that pigging out is the way to help transition your broken heart to ok heart. So, this broken heart here started becoming a glutton. Wolfing down chips, lollies (Australian slang for gummies), chocolate and ice cream. But it never did help. The heart continued to cry, the eyes continued to tear and I kept falling deeper down the sh*t hole.
Numerous advice poured in. All from people obviously who had survived such turmoil. Yet, some has neglected to remember the fatal day of destruction and the many months of pain and depression that followed..only remembering with them the day of victory when they have finally moved on. My ears burn with insults of how I am allowing myself such misery. Which idiot would do so. The pain is just too unbearable. If there was no pain, I wouldn't put myself through the f*cking emotional rollercoaster ride in hell. Satan is here again. This time he is grinning wide, chuckling even as he giving me free rides for his theme park.
Several days later, I rang up the man of my dreams demanding an explanation on why he did not sms me on my birthday. As usual, an arguement pursued as his irritated angry voice hammered into my brain. Satan sneaks up to my other ear whispering, "See after all you given him, you still not good enough for him to be gentle to you."
Tears run down my face and at that moment our conversation went to halting stop as his last words chilled me to the bone, freezing the very core of me.
"There is no hope" rings over and over again. The same mouth that uttered I will always love you
I am in shock! The conversation turns more sour and he slams the phone down. Betrayed by my inner instincts, outraged at my obvious love for him, an idea pops up into my mind. Obviously another brilliant plan from my beloved enemy, Satan.
"Heck, you don't feel like eating right. Everything is so damn horrible. Don't eat. Be aneroxic. It's the best way to handle pain"
And so I did. I just suddenly decided there and then...I am going to be aneroxic. I already have the symptoms...besides the obvious fact that I am fat and don't have to think it. And the wonders of the internet fulfill my desires, telling me of the many intricate details that pursue being aneroxic...how to start it, what is encompassed in it, what do you do, and the best part: how do you control the hunger? This was the inspirational story of a person who wants to help people to get out of aneroxia yet I used as a guide on what to do. What a sick mind!
I whooped in joy as I saw that section. My stomach so prone to gastrics would not last 6 hours without food and not cry out for attention by stinging my stomach walls with gastric juice. The solution? Use your fists to hit your stomach. That would ease the pain.
Lo and behold, my quest started. The first few hours was fine as I had already spent it crying in bed. The next few hours were devoted to finishing my assignment. My housemate pestered me to eat some pizza every 30 minutes. I started wondering if she knew. After many refusals, I left for uni to hand in my assignment. I wanted to walk but was feeling a little whoosie. And even tho hectic exercise was part of the aneroxia routine I couldnt bring myself to do it with only 3 hours of sleep the previous night. However, I did walk home. And I felt liberated...maybe a little crazified in the mind. That night...I pigged out....on sugar free sweets to induce diarrhea. At cell group just an hour ago, I had a piece of lasagna and I felt fat.
Diarrhea pursued 2 hours after I have snuggled in bed. I had to wake up at 4 am for work. Whoopie...another sleepless night. I walked the 40 minutes to work and dove in into being the best ever cashier chick. As I finished at 3pm, it was not free time for me. I have signed up for a double shift so off I go to another store to work til midnight. By 10 pm, my stomach was in so much pain that hitting it wouldn't erase the pain. Maybe I wasn't hitting hard enough but I refrained from hitting any harder. Something was stopping me...telling me that this was insane.
At that store, I had the oppurtunity to take home some expired food. The greedy pig that I am...I ate half of it in one sitting that night. After that, everything went haywire. The stomach couldnt foster so much food at one time, the gastric got horrendously worst and the fact that it was expired food must have triggered the hellish spell. I cried in pain, whimpering on my bed, praying it would stop. In weakness, I picked up my phone and sms-ed my love of my life. He answered an hour later (I think..til today I can't recall from the agony of pain) but as usual I lied about the intensity and the truthful event. So a night filled with food poisoning and pain was the way to end Day 2 of my aneroxic spout. It wasn't much of it but it was painful enough for me to understand the realities of life. The next day I slowly tended to my stomach. Eating just a little at a time. Drawing my mind away from the posibilities of aneroxia nervosa.
I must have dissapointed all the aneroxic fans out there...a disgrace to their club. I must have dissapointed the person who put such thoughts into my mind...not fulfilling my mission.
Yet, deep down inside, I knew it was not the way to go. There must be other ways to deal with the pain.
I have damaged my stomach bad enough. A week of diarrhea and stomach pains pursued. I was punished for my wrong doings. But I lived!
WARNING: This might be too graphic for the weak of heart. Do not read on if you do not want to see this side of me.
Holding a knife in one hand and a bottle of pills in another. The mind tries to figure out which is less painful. The silver steel on the left hand weights heavy. If you don't cut it right, you won't go. The right hand beckons to gobble them down. No hassle...just sleeping your life away. Yet the wonders of television tells of stories that pursues if things go wrong. Left hand brings about blood loss, heart failure, muscle failure and loads more to live with if it doesn't work. Right hand will cause kidney failure, sticking a tube of charcoal down your throat and obviously chemical poisoning. The mind then cartwheels on which would be the possibility the body and mind and soul can most live with. Answer that comes to mind; both cause it doesn't matter anymore.
Yet, courage is not present when the time comes to actually slice the skin as the steel blade touches it's surface. Reluctance stands in between as the bottle touches the lips. Everything is in a standstill. The world continues revolving. The housemates outside laughing and screaming going about their own lives and knowing relief as they are about to leave soon. The house is always empty anyway because they are always so busy. The man of dreams is still moving on and thinking I am supposed to get over it quick and am not in really dire pain. The friends who walked out on me still saying that I am the bad crowd to hang out with..the irritant of the group...oh so many more expressions.
The mind screams; "What do I do now?".
The heart argues; "Think of all those with no life to spare."
The mind replies snugly; "Then God grant them her years so she may go early. She doesn't want it anyway"
The heart gently prompts; "But what of mom and dad?"
Satan is chuckling in the background. Amused at my inner banter. The last sentence provokes tears. Dilemma pursues..."How now brown cow?"
Minutes later, the inner banter is finally silent. The mind flashes past images of beautiful mom and dad, bro and sis. The right hand slowly places the pills on the table, the left hand guides the steel back into its holder. Satan stops laughing and mocks me of my failed attempts. I decide to ignore him....just for today I am stronger. The steel blade and pills of death is then neatly stored in the second drawer for safekeeping.
Is all these just happening in my mind or am I going insane?
Karma brings back the moments I used to laugh at people who are in depression. Saying how they just need to snap out of it and those medication prescribed is just a way of escape. My right hand now looks up the directory for counseling assistance available in the university. I will have to think about this. Hmmmmmmm...
To be continued........
HAPPY BIRTHDAY... to me! Well, on a happier note, my church friends gave me a short but sweet surprise party. About 2 hours before my birthday is over, they all came over hiding outside my house in the cold and waited for everyone to come. Besides that, my housemates teamed up to make sure I would open the door. However, apparently someone came late so the plan din pan out. By that time, I was already half asleep in my room wearing my comfortable pajamas when my housemate screamed out for me to come into the kitchen. By then, I was waddling out...braless.....and these people came out from no where....singing Happy Birthday! It was so sweet...
My housemate cutting my cake...yummy blueberry cheese cake!
Me in my pajamas...*sigh* embarassing...with my two cell leaders.
My present from my cell group...YES...that is a pillow. Nice red pillow...
Presents from my housemates. So sweet...cooking equipment...for lil old me!
Look at that big block of Cadbury choc. That mug next to it is a damn real big mug k.....so the choc bar is even bigger....
Me looking weird!
DAMNED ANNOYED! I can't understand how people in my house do not know how to wash their own plates. Last week I got scolded on how she kept having to wash for me. I couldnt say sorry or anything cuz I know it wasnt me. I always wash my own plates. And it is so damn annoying...I come home from a long day of class...at 8.30 and I have to wash their plates especially when they have been home free doing nothing but piling plates on....for me to wash. Why can't they wash it? Shesh man....
And it annoys me that some people complain bout not seeing their loved ones in a few months.....or some worst days.....I can only see them once a year or even 2 years. And that everything is in ruined because of the distance and of cuz partially mine. But whichever way...don't complain when you have it good.
Goodness...I seldom make noise bout how people are cuz I respect them and I know they don't mean to be so. But that doesnt mean I do not have a temper. So make sure you do something well before I do actually scream at you...and you start hating me....so don't blame me then...ARGH......
APPRECIATE...all the good things you have. Especially you not self funded students out there. I used to be funded by my parents but now I am self sponsored. I feel proud saying this yet at times it is the worst of the worst.
It is days when I haven't slept from assignments and haven't ate as well from personal problems...and yet you still have to wake up at 4.30 am to work and do double shifts working all the way to 18 hours a day just to make ends meet and put some bread on my table. Everything becomes so precious and luxuries are deeply appreciated. It is days like this when despite the swollen eyes you still got to continue keeping them open...you can't say let me sleep another 5 minutes...you still gotta continue smiling at the horrid customers...no complains bout the good customers. It is on days when your feet are swollen that you are limping every time you move a step...that you continue standing another 8 hours just for the money...that you continue putting the next foot in front of another despite the tears in your already sore eyes. You stomachache is the last time that should be in your mind...your food poisoning or diarrhea has to come last...you pray hard you are well during the shift. Tell me the days when you were able to call in sick to work....cuz you know you got it covered. I don't....not in the next 2 years anyway...
So please God...pray that I am well....and God I pray you grant me the strength to go on with this till the end...Let your grace be upon me. And seriously, everyone out there who has it good...remember to pray and thank God and your family for the wonderful blessings they gave. And those of you who do understand what I am going through...don't forget to thank God for providing as He has...and that we have survived so far.