Bike; $1k. Helmet; $50. Freedom; priceless.
I seem to have left out something here.
I lost my motorbike at the beginning of June. Since then, i have been moving around eithee by foot or bus. The 2 months spent walking and sweating under the hot sun always reminding me of my carelessness.
Recently, I bought a second hand motorbike from a former classmate. This time with my hard earned savings and some sponsorship from my mother; the sale of the house made her the most cash rich person in my house.
Since then, i have been wisking here and there happily on my 'new' bike. This time around, its a sports bike, so its supposed to be noisy, smoky and blistering fast. But at almost a decade old, its real noisy, real smoky but not really fast. As opposed to my previous bike. Quite, clean, reasonably fast. But im not complaining. I like this bike twice as much eventhough its value is barely half.
The bike could be smoking up my entire neighbourhood for all i care. After what happend the last time, im not about to start whining. Having 'loved' and lost, i have greeted this second chance with eyes wide open and a leaping heart. Sure its not a car, but I can go wherever i want, whenever i want for whatever reason, and thats enough reason for me to keep me happy. Better than walking. Freedom is truely priceless.
So the next time im on my bike and i get caught in the rain, or when the black smokes of that dirty bus is on my face, i wont say "I wish i had a car." but ill say "How lovely the taste of freedom."
:p
Of birthday wishes
This Saturday i will be turning 21 years old. The age many consider the threshold of young adulthood.
Despite my best efforts to keep it as quiet and as low profile as possible, everyone around me seems to be making big deal out of it. A month ahead, my brother, mother, father and girlfriend have already started asking me about it.
In fact, i remember saying very clearly that i didnt want any parties, any celebration or silly cake and song. But like it or not, there will be a bunch of my friends and aquaintences coming over to my house for a 'simple' dinner. All at my girlfriends insistence. Worst part of it all it that i will probably be paying for all the food and obliged to help out with the cooking. But since my girlfriend has taken it personally to 'do something for me' i cant complain. But then, i am uncomforble now having everyone coming to my house celebrating me and being obliged to buy me a gift because they are coming for a free meal! Hehe... Im so bad.
But enough of that.
Inevitably, everytime someone reaches a birthday, there's always a birthday wish. People feel the need to make a wish to the heavens above, thinking since its my special day, maybe God would grant me one wish on this sacred day. Similarly, whenever my birthday comes, people eventually ask me "What do you want for your birthday?" What do i want for my birthday?
The simple and standard answer from me is Nothing. I dont wish for anything on my birthday. Not that i dont WANT anything. There are a million and one things that i want, but i dont really want to 'wish' for them. Why should i wish for them? To wish for it is to put hopes on getting it. To put hopes on getting something just because you want it and just because its your birthday is setting yourself up for dissapointment. Things dont just drop on your lap on your birthday unless you just so happen to have a long lost and filthy rich uncle somewhere.
I want the same things everyday, as well as on my birthday. Maybe that is why i didnt want to celebrate my birthday in any big way. I wanted it to be a quiet affair, just a regular dinner with the people i am aways with. The same as every other day. Nothing has changed suddenly whether it be on the outside or on the inside of me. Why should i make a hoo haa about being born on this date?
The things that i want on my birthday are the very same things that i want everyday. I want happiness in my life and in the life of people around me. I want good health to enjoy friendship and love and all the beautiful things in life. I dont expect my problems to go away but for solutions to present themselves to me when i need them. To be able to manage them and not wisk them away. All the other things like money and material things, every single one of us wishes for it. I am no different. But money cant buy you love, time, health or dignity.
I dont feel the need to make a wish on my birthday because i think The Man Upstairs already knows what i want. Its the same thing i wished for yesterday, today and tommorrow.
To love or not to love?
Can a relationship between 2 people of the opposite sex remain totally platonic?
Maybe if the 2 persons arent too close to each other, it isnt a problem, but what happens if these 2 people become very close? Where do you draw lines? How do you differentiale 'loving' someone and 'being in love'? Someone told me its different.
What does it mean to be in love anyway? From what i can gather, people associate being in love with having romantic feelings, of blushing cheeks, of feeling like your on top of the world being swept off your feet by your feelings. Is that being 'in' love? How we feel?
And what about loving someone. How does that work? To me, loving someone is a conscious effort. Its not purely about feelings, or about emotions. Its about sacrifice, its about the deliberate act of caring and looking after the feelings and wellfare of one person, even if you dont feel like it, even if you feel you couldnt hate a person more in your life.
The more i think of it, the more distinct the difference. You can suddenly find yourself in love with someone. Your stomach does a summersault everytime he says hi.. You feel goosebumps when she smiles at you. You feel like running 10 miles when her shoulder brushes yours. But then, as quickly as the fire comes, it goes. And you find yourself saying "Me, me, what i want." and not willing to put up with the heartache that comes with every relationship.
Whether or not you are in love with someone, you CAN find yourself loving this person more than you though you ever could. You find yourself willing to make sacrifices, putting others interest before your own, and the amazing part of it all is feeling genuinly happy and willing to make that sacrifice. I never really though of the difference between being in love and loving someone until my teens.
Back to my original question. Can 2 persons of the opposite sex have a very close and warm but platonic friendship? If you find yourself caring a lot for a person, you enjoy the company, you are willing to do things for this person, are you in love? Or do you love this person? Either way, if there is love, is the relationship platonic? Can a personal relationship, of any kind, exist without love? Is loving someone allowed in a platonic relationship? Is doing that betraying your own relationship with your partner?
I'll have to think this one out.
Memories of yesterday
How sweet the memories of yesterday,
When the world seemed simple and fair,
When love and friendship ruled the day,
How we laughed and played without a care.
Friendship forever we cried out to each other,
It’s our time to love, its our time to shine,
Never did we imagine that love could wither,
Friendships washed away by the waves of time.
Gone are the illusions of eternity
Gone are the bonds we though so strong
All that’s left are memories of our fraternity.
How we shared the smiles, laughter and song.
How sweet the memories of yesterday
When the world seemed simple and fair
Longing for those days I lay down and pray
May the Lord bring me hope and keep me from despair.
Time to move on
The trip up north went smoothly without much incident.
We left KL at 4am in the morning, hoping to arrive there by the break of day. Initially, both my parents didn’t sleep, saying they couldn’t sleep in a moving car. But by 6am, the both of them were asleep, with me at the wheel driving.
I have made many trips up north for the past decade. All with the purpose of seeing my mother. Though I didn’t like the traveling and waiting in the bus, I felt that it was the least I could do for my mother. I used to dread having to see the house again, having to face the neighbours there. But also, I was glad to come back since it would mean seeing my mother again and knowing if she is well and it was also a sort of homecoming to my childhood house.
But this would probably be the last trip I make.
We arrive there 8.30 am in the morning. I must have been going faster than expected. We started clearing the things in the house and taking the things we wanted. We had to leave behind many of the things there; bed, fridge, pots and pans, tv, linen, drawers, cabinets. I confess I was a bit sad to let these things be go. After all, the next owner would probably just throw them away. I knew we couldn’t accommodate all the things so we had to leave them behind. But many of these things were part of the environment which I grew up in. My mothers wool blanket which I used to set up a small ‘tent’ inside the house and play camping; the old sewing machine, where I sat on the foot paddle and pretended to be a race car driver. My own room; where my brother and I swear we could see a monsters shadow on the window pane.
But we had to leave them behind, I knew that. But I couldn’t help but feel heavy and nostalgic about having to let all these things go. In the end, I just kept the steel plate and bowl that I used as a kid. It was my plate as a kid since my parents would not allow me to use the porcelain ones, fearing I would break them. Somehow, I couldn’t allow that to be thrown away. Its strange I know.
As I washed my hands at the sink, I heard a squeak as I turned the tap off. But it wasn’t just any squeak. That same tap, unchanged over the years was still giving out the same squeak as a kid. I hated doing the dishes when I was young and that squeaking sound only managed to annoy me further. But now, though my hands were already clean, I couldn’t resist turning the tap a few more times just to hear that squeak again. It’s crazy I know.
The interested buyer came to the house to take a look, bringing along her son, in-laws, siblings and what seemed like the entire neighbourhood with her. There were suddenly waves and waves of people coming into the house, looking around, commenting here and there. People from a few streets away came all the way just to take a peep. It seemed like it was quite an event for them. “That’s why I don’t like small towns. Everybody is a busybody.” I said to my mother. She just smiled and laughed. After all the commotion died down, we were ready to leave the house and go to the lawyers office to settle the bill and return to KL.
As I drove out the driveway and looked back, I though of my old dog Baxter, running and playing at the porch, barking at people passing. This was where I last saw him 12 years ago.I remember many times when I came visiting my mother in this house; Whenever it was time to go, I would be close to tears. I hated staying and living there during the holidays, but I hated having to walk away from my mother even more. I would just say to myself “Hang on ma, ill come back the next chance I get.” And I would swear to myself I would come back even if I hated it, for my mothers sake. The same house were I saw my mother lying naked on the floor crying her heart out in front of all to see as my fathers hand firmly led my brother and I away. Its sad I know.
To make a long story short, we paid up our outstanding bills and signed the sales and purchase agreement at the lawyers office and made our way home. In the car, I could tell both my parents were a little down about the matter. It seems individually had some cherished or dreaded memory of that place too, though they didn’t say what they were. It was clear that the house embodied many of our family struggles and perhaps some good times. “Look at it this way ma, let the selling of this house signify the closing of one chapter in your life and hopefully this new chapter would be a happier one. It’s time to move on.” I said. She smile and patted me on the lap.
It is time to move on.
House For Sale; fully equiped with memory of laughter and tears
I guess its safe to say that things have since returned to normal at home.
After about a week plus of my mother behaving well, i can safely say that the medicine has worked. In fact, she is pretty much back to normal, resuming the activities she used to do previously.
This coming Thursday, my father, mother and i will be going up north to sell off the house there. We have already found a buyer and what is left is clearing up the place, taking somethings and signing the agreement. My mother, who initially resisted the idea eventually agreed to selling the house. I think the medicine paid a big part in her change of mind. Afterall, whens he went into her relapse 2 weeks ago, she wanted nothing but to go back to that house. Now, she has agreed to our reasoning.
It will be a long drive, almost 5 hours, which will give me plenty of time reminisce about old times in that house.
It was the house i grew up in for 4 years of my early childhood. Many sweet and bitter memories come back to me everytime i step into that house; times when life seemed perfect, with my then perfect family. It was in that house that i kept my dog Baxter, the place i learnt how to ride a bike and also the place i climbed the most trees in my life. As a child, i loved that place. As a kid, i was free to do anything and go wherever in the safety of that neighbourhood. But as a teen, as i returned every holiday, i hated the place, refusing to step out of the house or socialize with the neighbours. Maybe it was because it only reminded me that the life i once knew was gone, and seeing this same places and faces only made me bitter.
I remember one holiday when i was 10 years old. My mother refused to let my brother and i return to KL. My father had to come down personally to get us. There was a heated arguement between them that became a scuffle. My mother was hitting my father, he responsed by slapping her and pushing her down. He quickly took my brother and i and we walked straight out of the house. But my mother rushed out, went to the porch, stripped naked, crying and sat down on the floor. I looked back and was utterly shocked. I wanted to stop, wanted to ask my father why she was doing it. But i could see the expression on his face and i knew there was nothing anyone could do to make him stop walking away. That image of my mother sitting naked on the floor, crying still lingers in my mind. It crushed my heart. I was lost and helpless in trying to understand why she did it. The extremes of being naked in public, and of the tears flowing down her cheek seem to be screaming out some unsaid message of frustration and desperation.
That was the house it all happened.
Many years later, when i grew up, i did aske her why she did it. She said to me she heard a story of a friend of hers who did the same thing. The couple had a big fight and the husband walked out of the house, and the wife, in her desperation, stripped naked in front of the house, hoping to make her husband turn. He did turn around, quickly covering her up and going back inside the house and eventually, they resolved whatever they were arguing about.
It the dawned on me, maybe my mother wasnt entirely insane afterall.
As i make one final return this Thursday, i will keep all this memories in mind, from the sweet memories of growing up to the bitter realization of lifes hardships. May the selling of that house mark a newer and hopefully happier chapter in my mothers tragic life.
Days come and go
Things have calmed down somewhat for me now. Since a few days ago, my mother seems to have returned to her former self. She’s no longer restless, ill tempered or behaving weirdly. I’m not sure if it’s the right word to use, but she seems kind of ‘pacified’. I guess giving her the medication personally has paid off in a way, though it was just so hard at times. Though I have not returned her keys, she has stopped badgering me about it. Ironically, that just makes me want to return it to her sooner. But I think I will give it a few more days before I do anything.
Last Saturday, I went down to meet my girlfriends Aunt. She came down with her family back to Malaysia on vacation and wanted to talk to me. I was actually a little scared, because I knew I would be talking to her on my own, since my girlfriend would not be joining us until later. I too had things to report to her, mostly about her nephew, whom I was giving tuition. But our conversation got on surprisingly well and we talked for almost 3 hours. Not bad considering I’ve only met her once and that was a year ago. She spoke of the hard times she went through when she was younger and was poor, about her best friend who also suffered from mental illness. I never asked her about any of this, but she seemed willing to share, so I listened. It made me feel hopefully about my own future despite my problems at the present. Maybe things wont be that bad in the future for me.
Later, when we were joined by my girlfriend and her younger brother, I was totally shocked when somewhere along the conversation; she said to her nephew that I was pleasant guy, very diplomatic and suave in talking. She said despite coming from such a difficult background, I was mature and had integrity. I didn’t know whether to smile and say thank you or run away and hide my blushing face. But it had been such a long time since I received a sincere compliment from someone, it really made my day.
Sunday, I went with my girlfriend to a Talent Time night organized by the college. I was strictly for freshmen only, but my classmate was the organizing chairman, so he got us tickets in. It had been a long time since I went out and immerse myself in entertainment. Such a long time since I dressed up too. It was a formal evening event, so all the men (except me) we looking sharp and handsome, and all the ladies were beautifully dressed in their dresses and outfits. The show came on with the contestants singing their heart out, dancing for all their worth there was even a guest appearance by some local celebrities, though I didn’t know who they were! :p
But for those 4 long hours, I totally forgot about all my worries, all my troubles. I was laughing, I was cheering, I was enjoying the amazing talents that were on display. I was thinking to myself; this is the last academic year I will be here. I want it to be memorable. Let me enjoy this moment right here, right now, among friends, among loved ones. Because I know that exact moment will not come again, and all that will be left are sweet memories. I went home that day feeling elated. I had been feeling down for almost half a month, and going to this event was a really welcomed break from the norm.
Monday, I had class to go to, but I didn’t. I was instead in another room. I was standing on the stage talking, and my college principal, vice principal, heads of school, department heads and about 50 other people were listening to me. It was the college inter-school debate finals. But don’t be mistaken, I wasn’t debating. Instead, I was invited by the lecturers in charge of the event to give a public speaking presentation. I had entered the public speaking competition last semester and was one of the finalists, though I didn’t win. I was kind of bitter about it, since I felt the guy who won didn’t deserve it. They needed someone to do a presentation after the debates were over, and I was called. I said yes, and as I spoke on stage, looking at all these important people looking back at me and hanging on my every word, I felt glad. I could feel my confidence go up a notch again. That feeling of worth and pride, so long missing was coming back a little. Though I know there were many others better than me, the fact that the lecturers remembered me and wanted me to speak was a great encouragement. Even a few of my fellow finalist from the competition were there. It felt good to be supported and patted on the back again. There was this one special person that I met that I really wanted to talk to, but that person had to go off. It’s almost cruel sometimes. You see only one person you want to talk, among a sea of strangers. But you are force to face this endless stream of strangers as that friendly face gradually floats away. Oh well, I guess you can’t have everything.
It seems almost a miracle. 3 good days, and just like that, life doesn’t feel like a giant anvil on my shoulder anymore. Which is also scary if you think of it carefully, since it means 3 bad days and it feels like the sky is falling again. The point is, though I’m not in seventh heaven just yet, these little little things have lifted my spirits in a very subtle way. Though the issues and problems around me have not changed or gone away, it is the change in spirits inside of me that has given me fresh determination to soldier on.
A word of thanks
Dear friends whoever or wherever you are,
Thank you.
Thank you for your encouragement and support, for saying you believe in me. At a time when it feels like no one knows let alone understand what’s going on in my mind, receiving words of assurance and comfort from you has been a tonic to this hurting heart of mine.
In all honesty, I never really intended for anyone to read my blog. Since from the beginning I decided that I would write exactly what I feel inside, with no self restrain, I knew it was going to be very personal, with all my weaknesses laid bare for all to see. So, I kept this domain close to my heart, only ever having told a small handful of people. Even now, I’m not sure if they read what I write, or have they forgotten about it.
For what seemed like the greater half of this blog, I received no comments. I felt assured that I was alone, that this truly was my little secret hiding place.
But slowly, I start receiving words of encouragement, comments here and there, little snippets of your own personal struggles relating to mine. I was a little embarrassed that someone out there read what I wrote and actually replied. But I felt honoured and touched that you think my struggles are worthy of your attention, especially at times when your words meant the difference between waking up with hope or despair. After all, who am I to you but a stranger half way around the globe.
Believe it or not, I really appreciate your kind words. It energizes me to receive words of “Good job” or “Hang in there.” and “I feel your pain.” Though you all say it in your own special way. I have been back sliding in my own faith, and knowing that you have me in your prayers really brings warmth to my heart.
I know there are a small handful of you reading this. Those who have given me words of encouragement, I thank you deeply from the bottom of my heart. To those who read what I say and kept me in your prayers, I can’t thank you enough. We may or may not ever get to know each other personally in the future, but I will always remember that at my most difficult times, someone kind soul out there was listening and I wasn’t alone.
Yours sincerely
Eu-Hann
To my dog
I used to have a dog. His name was Baxter. WE picked him up as u puppy by the road side when i was about 6 years old. He was placed in a box among his siblings, about 6 of them if i remember correctly. My brother chose what he thought the one he thought was the most handsome. For some reason, it had to be a male dog.
I was really happy having a dog. I used to carry him in my arms all the time until one day i suddenly couldnt carry him anymore. He was growing up faster than me!
I enjoyed patting the dog the most, although he wasnt a very well trained dog. I liked lying down on the floor with him and feeling his soft fur on my face.
I dont remember every thing that happened with that dog except a few things.
1st one, my friend was over at my house and i was patting and playing with my dog. My friend wanted to touch him, but he was afraid. I assured him that my dog would not bite him. So my friend ventured forward to touch him only to be bitten in the lips by Baxter. My friend, holding his bleeding lips, ran straight home. His mother forbid him from talking to me ever again,
2nd, my dog never liked people touching him when he ate. He would growl whenever i went near. One day, as he was eating, my father went over to pet him and to my great surprise, he didnt do anything. "Wow, my dog has improved!" i thought. SO i went over to pet him, only to suffer the same fate as my friend, except this time it was on the stomach and it left a small scar.
3rd, my mother wanted to pay a visit to my relatives. She refused to let my dog come along and just left him there, insisting that he could take care of himself. When our bus arrived, Baxter actually came running to us and tried boarding the bus with us, but since it wasnt allowed, we had to push him down the bus. As the bus left, i could see him chasing after the bus from the back until he couldnt keep up. I admit, at 6 years old, that incident brought me to tears. Having to push him down and watch him chase after us was kind of heavy emotionally.
Last memory was when my mother, at a whim suddenly wanted to move to KL. Since she didnt allow my dog to come along, we had to give him away. My neighbour had a friend who was willing to take the dog. The last memory of that dog i had was my brother bringing him up the car, and me thinking i will never see him again, never touching his soft fur again or rolling on the floor with him again.
Goodbye baxter. Thank you for the memories.
At a Lost
Times like these, I feel so sick and tired. I think from reading my last few posts, everyone can see I haven’t been in the happiest of moods. Just as I finish writing something and blogging it, something else happens. It’s getting so tiresome, I have stopped trying to write down everything I have been going through even if some of them were quite emotional to me. I just can’t stand going through one roller coaster ride after another then reliving it mentally again as I write it down.
There seems to be so many unhappy moments, so many unhappy situations to deal with recently that my life feels more like one big mess. Though things are still manageable to a certain extent, I am deflated. I am unmotivated and just generally unhappy. I walk around feeling an invisible weight on my shoulder. Even the World Cup has lost its luster to me. So what if Germany and Brazil lost and England too?
I find myself at a lost. I ask myself “Am I ok?” The short answer is “Yes I’m fine.” But the true answer is “I don’t know if I am ok.” And the worst part if it all is, I don’t know how to get rid of this feeling. Maybe I should go for a holiday? Maybe I can try shouting into the pillow? Maybe I can do cooking or handicraft or pottery or origami or golf or yoga?
Actually, I’m kind of worried since reading my own blog, I seem to be suffering from a mild (or strong, I don’t know) case of self pitying. Which is another question. Am I indulging in self pity? Are my problems actually not THAT bad and its me who’s feeling sorry for my sorry ass? Or do my problems merit me to some freedom to say “My life does suck.”? I just don’t know.
But I do know this; I want to be happy again. Or at the very least, I don’t want to be upset with my life anymore. I don’t want to walk around feeling the need to share my feelings but not wanting to at the same time. I don’t want to have to force medication on my mother, I don’t want to have to worry if the money in my pocket will last me the week. I don’t want to feel everyone else is getting it good except my family. Most of all, I really want to stop believing that good things hardly ever come my way.
Drink Up!
I just spent the last 30 minutes convincing my mother to take her medication. She refused to take the cup of water that I had crushed the tablets into. As expected, she feels that the dosage is too much and it was increased because I spoke to the doctor privately before she went it. She said I talked all the bad things about her to the doctor that’s why the dosage is increased. She said that the medicine was killing her, making her want to commit suicide. “You will regret it one day when I die.” She said. That really sent shivers down my spine but i kept a straight face.
When I gave her the cup of medication, she refused to talk to me or take the cup. When I told her to please drink it, she went into a flurry of arguments, beating about the bush, not wanting to drink it. After what seemed the 100th time of saying “Please drink it.” I lost my temper. I felt the familiar rage building inside and I was talking considerably louder and more aggressively. I told her that I will make her take the medication one way or another, that I will physically pour it down her throat if I had to. She didn’t flinch, not budging, not giving in. “You can slap me all you want.” She said. I continued threatening her telling her I would not hesitate to do it. “It would save you and I a lot of trauma and heart ache if you just co-operate.” I told her.
“You must treat me with dignity and respect.” She said. Fair enough, I backed down.
“Then tell me when you would like to take it.” I asked
“An hour from now, after I have done my bible study.”
“OK. Can I hold you to that? Can you promise me that 1 hour from now when I give you the medication, you will take it without question?”
Silence.
I knew it wasn’t that easy. Though I was still raging inside, I tried to calm down. “It would save you and I a lot of trauma and heart ache if you just co-operate.” I repeated.
I had reached the end of my patience. I took her hand in mine. “She thought I was going to hit her and she turned her head away. But I didn’t hit her. This time, I kept a tight leash on that monster. I placed her hand on the cup and guided it to her mouth. She resisted, but she couldn’t overpower me. With the cup near her mouth, I softened my grip and said “Please drink it ma.”
I tilted the cup and she duly drank. After about half was gone she stopped and said “Enough.” But I pressed on and eventually made her drink it all. “Thank you.” I said. But by now she was more upset at me than before. But I was glad that I didn’t have to force her physically. But just making her take her medication is so emotionally draining its getting very tiresome for me.
After appointment adversity
Doctor’s appointment day, I rushed home from school after class. I didn’t sleep well the day before. Tossed and turn till very late before I somehow fell asleep. At home, my father was already at home, ready to bring us there. But my mother had locked herself, along with all her bags into my room. I knocked on the door and told her to open the door. She told me she didn’t want to be around my father. Since we were about to leave soon, I didn’t bother to lock the grill door. As I closed my room door to change, I heard the grill door being opened. I immediately rushed out to see my mother, bible in one hand and pen in the other walking quickly out of the house. I raced towards her and grabbed her arm. She shouted at me, asking me to let go of her while I repeatedly asked her to come into the house. After giving some resistance, she finally followed me in. Holding her arm and bringing her into the house, I could see our next door neighbours staring at us, obviously a little surprised.
I locked the grill door and started scolding her.
“I turn my back barely 2 minutes and you try to make a run for it. You are so cunning. I can’t trust you, and this is all the more reason why I won’t give you the key. ” I said.
“I was just going to check the mail box.” She said
“Then why didn’t you say so? And why did you speed up when I chased you?”
“Because I knew what you were thinking and since you think I was running, I did.”
I have dealt with my mother enough times to know her style. She WAS cunning and deceiving, careful not to reveal her intentions so that people can’t read her. I knew this was a cover. After all, she has hoodwinked me twice already, running away on both occasions. I wasn’t ready for a third time.
We left for the doctors office, and on the way, she was pretty much quite except a few angry rebukes here and there against all sorts of people. It seemed she had a bone to pick with everyone. At the office, I insisted that I talk to the doctor first before she came in. She was very upset with this, and was convinced that I would tell the doctor to admit her or give her an injection. I gave her assurance that I would do neither but would give him an honest account on what is happening these pass few weeks.
To make a long story short, the doctor eventually spoke to her and changed her prescription to a slightly higher dosage. She was very protective and aggressive her medication, and told the doctor to just give her the medication on alternate days. At this, the doctor told her “You don’t try to be the doctor.” She refused to hand me the bottle of medicine as well as her clinic card. I had to physically struggle with her for it and as a result, the clinic card was torn into two. She wasn’t happy that the doctor had given her more medication, and to her I was the primary cause. Since I had ‘talked bad
After picking up my girlfriend, we went home. On the way home, she told my girlfriend not to use the washing machine to wash her cloths, which proved to be the start of my problems. Arriving home, my mother refused to enter the house. After 5 minutes of deliberating in front of the house, she finally went in. Somewhere in between trying to ask her to come into the house, my girlfriend, already at boiling point at the time asked her if she was trying to run away. To that my mother said “This is our family matter, what it is to you?” Man, this day already felt too long.
Needless to say, my girlfriend was deeply hurt by this remark. Back in the room, we went into a big fight for about an hour or so. She said she couldn’t take it anymore. Being treated like an unwanted guest despite being around for such a long time. She said she too had grown up facing this sort of family crisis and she has had quite enough. I tried calming her down, trying not to be dragged into an endless argument. After about an hour of talking and trying to sooth her, she finally calmed down, but still maintained a coolness around my mother. I don’t think my mother even realized the significance of what she had said earlier. Or she was deliberate in doing it. By night time, I was exhausted. Physically due to the lack of sleep and emotionally, due to the fight as well trying to contain my mother.
She still argues with me about the key. I must say she is a tricky person. Last night, she asked me to take her for a walk. I was pleasantly surprised by this request. But remembering barely a few hours ago how she refused to enter the house, I made her promise she will come back home with me once the walk was over. At this she kept quite. She then offered to cook dinner the next day. She said give me they key and ill go buy groceries tomorrow so you don’t have to buy dinner tomorrow. “Can you assure me that if I give you the key you will still be around when I get back from school? And continue to be home for the next few days?” I asked her. She kept quite. She said it wasn’t wrong of her to want to go where she wanted to. It was a free world after all. She offered to go throw the rubbish, to buy supper, and all sorts of suggestions, all having something in common, giving her the key.
I knew what she was up to. I told her “I know what you are trying to do. I can see through you. You have runaway from me twice. Do you think I will let it happen for the third time so easily? You are cunning, deceiving and slippery. You are careful not to reveal you true intentions, always saying one thing and meaning something else. I do not trust you with the keys now. I know that you will go off the first chance you get. Do you dare to say I am wrong in my deduction?” She kept quite. Eventually she said to me “Hann, you are too direct.” I said I had to be since she had the habit of talking bad behind peoples back and always scheming something in her mind. She didn’t like what I was saying and went to her room.
I spent the whole of Tuesday monitoring her. My brother was worried that she would do something crazy, like cook the dog or something. Though this seemed unlikely, I did worry for that little canine a little. I started crushing her medication and giving it to her in drink form instead. She seemed to reach well to that.
According to the doctor, her symptoms were a result of not taking her medication for a long time, weeks perhaps. I have questioned her very seriously about it, but she insist that she has taken it. Maybe its my imagination playing tricks on me. But I though I was flashes of her slowly recovering a bit. She seems more eager to do the housework and is somewhat less cranky, though still cranky in the normal sense. I wonder if the week of continuous medication was finally taking effect, but I realize I mustn’t jump to conclusions until I see solid proof of this really happening.
No birthday zone
SO its birthday month for me again. Near the end of this month, on the 29th, i will have lived on this earth for 21 years. I never like people asking me what i want to do for my birthday. In fact, i have this strange reluctance in making any big deal about it. This year more so than others.
I know to many, reaching 21 is a milestone A symbol of transition from rebellious raging teen to confident vibrant adult. But I dont feel any of that. I was never really rebellious as a teen anyway.
Still, i was approached by my mother, asking me to celebrate my birthday on the 19th instead. SHe said i was 10 days late when i was born. Though i know she might have meant well, but since she was giving me so much heart ache, i wasnt in the mood. I blasted her saying "Why should i celebrate my birthday? What is there to celebrate? Oh, i was born on this day, big deal. There is nothing great happening in my life that makes me want to celebrate living." I know thats a depressinng thought, but like i said, i wasnt in the mood."
Even my girlfriend insisted that we at least do something. I told her that my wish this year was for my birtday to pass quitely without any celebration or party. If she insisted that we do something, then let it just be between the 2 of us. Once upon a time, i loved celebrating my birthday with friends. I had parties, friends came over, congratulated me, gave me hugs and played till the break of dawn. I felt the need to share my joy and my life with the friends around me. But somehow, i dont want that anymore. Maybe because deep down i dont feel joyfull like i used to. Maybe its just me retreating into some sort of shell due to my family problems.
How i can be celebrating my life when i dont feel things are going great anyway? Is a birthday really that big a deal? It feels almost like a mockery on my life. Why pretend to be happy on that one day when the rest of the 364 days, things werent that great? Why put on a face of joy and happiness just for the sake of a date on the calender? I imagine having my friends comin over, presents in hand, laughing and shouting and celebrating but how do i join in the fun when inside, i am far from being in a festive mood? I cannot share the joys of being alive if in my heart i cannot feel joyful.
A birthday celebration should be about the birthday person. To me, theres no point in putting on a celebration if in my heart, there is no cause for celebration. I dont feel like celebration, i dont feel like saying "Congratulations to me,i was born today." Im not being ungrateful or self pitying. Far from it. I am grateful for many things. My health, my mother under our care, food to eat, shelter to sleep, brother, father and girlfriend, friends. I realise and appreciate that despite all the things i am missing, not all is lost. I do have things going on well in my life. For these things, i AM grateful.
But these things dont make me wake up in the morning feeling "Wow, this life is great. Im just so happy thinking about my life!" They dont make me jump for joy, they dont make smile as i walk alone, they dont comfort me when i toss and turn at night unable to fall asleep. They make me grateful, but they dont make me happy.
That is why i dont look forward to my birthday.
Monsters that grow from within
Sunday 2nd July 2006
As I sat down in the cyber café, doing some research online for my thesis, I received a call from my brother. He didn’t sound happy. He asked me where I was and told me to come home as soon as I could since he would be going off to church. I felt annoyed. I had barely left the house for more than an hour, with my mother still breathing down my neck for returning her key to her. My brothers annoyed tone and insistence that I come home asap made me feel as if I had done something wrong in leaving her alone at home.
But I was wrong. The tone in his voice was that of annoyance yes, but also of guilt and frustration. He told me my mother had been crying. He wanted me to come home to keep her company and comfort her. He told me to come home and hold her for a while.
So, I cut short my work and made my way home. On the way home, I suddenly felt like the bad guy in this whole matter. I haven’t been exactly very soft or kind with my mother these few days, though I took extra care not to lay a hand on her for whatever reason. I didn’t want a repeat of what happened previously. I felt a pang of guilt going down my spine. My mother had cried to my brother. For what reason? Was it because she couldn’t take how I was treating her these few days? Was is because I refused to give her they keys? Was it because I had been mean to her and forced her to take her medication? I didn’t know.
Arriving home, my brother had already left. She was lying down on the bed. I approached her and asked her what was going on and if she was ok. I could see her eyes swollen from the crying. She refused to reply anything I asked her. I guessed that she was emotionally drained from all the crying. She refused to look at me or acknowledge anything I said. Feeling frustrated all over again, I let her be and went to my room. I wondered what it was all about. Maybe I was the bad guy here after all. Maybe the reason she refused to talk to me but instead confide in my brother was because I was the cause of her misery. But then I received a text message from my brother. In it, he confessed to slapping her for trying to make a run for it. He said he wasn’t proud of it and had lost his temper. Then, the reason for all the crying became obvious. It wasn’t me entirely after all.
Still, this was still a serious matter. My brother had slapped her. I had done no better myself just 2 months ago. How many times will this happen? By right, it should never happen. What kind of a son would lay hands on his own mother? My brother said he wasn’t proud of it. But I think I understood deeper. It was pure shame and guilt. The guilt comes immediately after it happens. But the shame lingers on and on, for how long I dare not say. As for me, that feeling of shame still runs deep. I dare not speak of it or think of it. But deep down, that moment still replays over and over again in my mind. The feeling of frustration turned into anger into aggression and lastly into abuse. The explosion of anger and rage at the moment quickly turned into defiance, trying to defend my own actions. But eventually, I felt guilt and shame set in. Regret for what I had done, shame for not being able to control myself. It is not something you easily forget and I don’t think it is something I should ever be forgiven for. I dare not even ask her for forgiveness more than I dare ask for time to repeat itself. Of all the enemies that we face in life, the worst are the ones within ourselves. I fear for myself and my brother. That enemy within, creeping at the back of your mind, waiting till you are at your lowest point, when your strength and resistance has left you before it finally rears its ugly head. I never want to be an abusive husband or father. But already, I have shown these weaknesses through my own mother. I have been careful since then, not to lay a hand on her no matter how angry. The memory of it alone is enough of a nightmare.
Since then, she has become more and more redrawn and cranky. As I write these few words, she has locked herself in the room and refused to open the door for me. She said she was sick of seeing my face and since I won’t give her keys, she will just lock herself in the room. She says no one appreciates what she does at home, and when my brother left just now, she refused to say goodbye. Since I was out since evening till at night just before my brother left, I don’t really know if he has made his peace with her. But before locking herself into the room, she was still going on about needing to leave and that we are locking her in. Monday is her appointment. My father will be coming to pick us up and send us there. But she has expressed clearly that she doesn’t want my father involved. But without my own means of transport, my fathers the only way to get there. I only hope she will co-operate.
I honestly don’t know if hospitalization is the answer. From my past experience, the hospitals would rather the family take her than to keep her with them. Yet, at home, I cannot be supervising her all the time when she is so unstable. It disrupts everything at home and the frustration just piles up for everyone involved. Hopefully, the doctor can do something about the medication and calm her down. While he’s at it, maybe I can ask him for some medication for guilt, shame and regret or at least something to ease the pain.
