How Far Should A Person Go In The Name of Love?
20111017 @ Monday, October 17, 2011
“When you find you,
come back to me”
Lately, it seemed I
didn’t know a lot of things. There were people who claim they have all the
answers, or at least the answers to the big questions, but I had never believed
them. There was something about the assurance with which they spoke or wrote that
seemed self-justifying. But if there was one person who could answer any
question, my question would be; How far
should a person go in the name of love?
I could pose the
question to a hundred people and get a hundred different answers. Most were
obvious: A person should sacrifice, or accept or forgive or even fight if
needed be… the list went on and on. Still, even though I knew all the answers
were valid, none would help me now. Some things were beyond understanding.
Thinking back, I recall events which I wish I could change, tears I wish were
never shed, time that could have been better spent, and frustrations I should
have shrugged off. Life it seems was full of regret, and I yearn to turn back
the clock so I could live parts of my life over and over again. One thing was
certain: I should have been a better friend. As I consider the question of how
far a person should go in the name of love, I know what my answer would be.
Sometimes it means that a person should lie.
Days at The Hospital
Monday, October 17, 2011
“You were the hope that kept me trusting”
There was a cafeteria
on the ground floor of the hospital, and on most days I used to go there,
mainly to hear voices other than my own. Normally, I arrived around tea-time,
and over the weeks I began to recognize the regulars. Most were employees, but
there was an elderly woman who seems to be there every time I arrived. Though,
I’d never spoken to her, I learnt from Li Nar, the nurse, that the woman’s
husband had already been in the intensive care unit when Nick was admitted.
Something about complications from diabetes, and whenever I saw the woman
eating a bowl of soup, I thought about her husband upstairs. It was easy to
imagine the worst: a patient hooked up to a dozen machines, endless rounds of
surgery, possible amputation, a man barely hanging on. It wasn’t my business to
ask, and I wasn’t even certain that I wanted to know the truth, if only because
it felt as though I couldn’t summon the concern I knew I needed to show. My
ability to empathize, it seems to me, had evaporated.
Still, I watched her, curious about what I
could learn from her. While the knot in my stomach never seemed to settle
enough for me to swallow a few bites of anything, she not only ate her entire
meal, but seemed to enjoy it. While I found it impossible to focus long enough
on anything other than my own needs and my friends daily existence, she read
novels during lunch, and more than once I’d see her laughing quietly at a
passage that amused her. And unlike me, she still maintained an ability to
smile, one she offered willingly to those who passed her table.
Sometimes, in that smile, I thought I could
see a trace of loneliness, even as I chided myself for imagining something that
probably wasn’t there. I couldn’t help wondering about her marriage. Because of
her age, I assumed they’d celebrated a silver, even golden, anniversary. Most
likely, there were kids, even if I’d never seen them. I wondered whether they’d
been happy, for she seemed to be taking her husband’s illness in stride, while
I walked the corridors of the hospital feeling as if a single wrong step would
send me crumpling to the floor.
I didn’t know whether I should admire the
woman or feel sorry for her. I always turned away before she caught me
starring. I remember pushing aside my tray, feeling ill. My sandwich was only
half-eaten. I debated whether to bring it back with me to the room but I knew I
wouldn’t have finished it there either. I turned toward the window.
The cafeteria overlooked a small green space,
and I watched the world change outside.
A Tough Decision
Monday, October 17, 2011
“Everyone was watching you as you slipped away, but all they ever
wanted was the light you gave them”
They’ve given us a
week to decide which stream to take. A WEEK.
Choosing streams isn’t
as easy as I thought; it’s choosing what subjects you’re going to take for the
next 2 years and the examinations that you’re going to sit for SPM. It isn’t a
decision that should be taken lightly. It gets harder when your ambition
changes almost every 5 minutes. It’s probably much easier for the students that
have their life planned out, like Esther Kok.
I was thinking of choosing Sub
Science as my 1st choice and Arts as my second, package C to be
precise. Yet now, I think that I might take Pure Science as my 1st
choice and Sub Science as my 2nd. The only thing I know for certain
is that I am definitely not choosing Package D.
Tough decisions are always
frustrating.
Anyway, I have to keep
this short and simple, cause I’m off to go jogging with Oli.
The Yellow Brick Road Out of Wonderland
20111015 @ Saturday, October 15, 2011
I can’t think of anything
more difficult than accepting
that the first thing you’ve ever known
and believed in,
the first thing, from birth,
is all false. Have the earth
pulled away from under you.
It’s more than cutting
the proverbial umbilical cord
more than leaving the nest
in your wobbly wings
more like a contradiction
you swallowed and can’t spit out,
so you have to undo the knot
from inside you, a million times
worse than waking up after
sleeping with the enemy and
you can’t take back the night
and you have to live with yourself
and your personal effects
be surrounded by the things you bought
with the interest earned after
banking your sacrifices
and you were struck with amnesia
and don’t even know who you are.
But you have to start from somewhere,
and it starts with a purge.
Remove yourself from the wrong
you are trying to make right
and address it from a distance, not
when you’re waist-deep in it.
If it’s not you,
you can leave it.
It’s is like a demon
who feeds on your insecurities,
and burrows in
the gaps of your self-esteem,
making you hate what you love,
making you fear what
you can’t live without.
You have to get out.
Because the first thing you’ve ever wanted
was to impress her,
it was the axiom
of your life and your choices, but
you’ve almost already conquered the world
and she’s still stepping all over you.
You’ve lived your one life
taking the world more seriously
than most, intent in
finding validation,
and if no one is home,
maybe it’s in the songs on the radio,
or corporate brand slogans,
or fictional characters from Murakami novels.
But you found it.
Only God knows how, but you did.
You didn’t hear it growing up,
so now that it’s done
you should tell your own self:
you’re all you’ve worked so hard at becoming,
you just have to get it from within.
.
more difficult than accepting
that the first thing you’ve ever known
and believed in,
the first thing, from birth,
is all false. Have the earth
pulled away from under you.
It’s more than cutting
the proverbial umbilical cord
more than leaving the nest
in your wobbly wings
more like a contradiction
you swallowed and can’t spit out,
so you have to undo the knot
from inside you, a million times
worse than waking up after
sleeping with the enemy and
you can’t take back the night
and you have to live with yourself
and your personal effects
be surrounded by the things you bought
with the interest earned after
banking your sacrifices
and you were struck with amnesia
and don’t even know who you are.
But you have to start from somewhere,
and it starts with a purge.
Remove yourself from the wrong
you are trying to make right
and address it from a distance, not
when you’re waist-deep in it.
If it’s not you,
you can leave it.
It’s is like a demon
who feeds on your insecurities,
and burrows in
the gaps of your self-esteem,
making you hate what you love,
making you fear what
you can’t live without.
You have to get out.
Because the first thing you’ve ever wanted
was to impress her,
it was the axiom
of your life and your choices, but
you’ve almost already conquered the world
and she’s still stepping all over you.
You’ve lived your one life
taking the world more seriously
than most, intent in
finding validation,
and if no one is home,
maybe it’s in the songs on the radio,
or corporate brand slogans,
or fictional characters from Murakami novels.
But you found it.
Only God knows how, but you did.
You didn’t hear it growing up,
so now that it’s done
you should tell your own self:
you’re all you’ve worked so hard at becoming,
you just have to get it from within.
.
Oleander
Saturday, October 15, 2011
let’s both pretend that
all you see is all there is:
my body is healthy,
well groomed, well fed,
never mind that there are
large, purple bruises on my soul.
Because nagging is a form of
psychological abuse
and everyday I have my own brand
of struggling to survive.
I still remember the bad dreams
I had when she’d touch me.
I remember standing in front of
the school cafeteria, staring at
the door for half an hour,
having an internal shouting argument
with myself on whether I deserved lunch,
because she’d told me that morning
I was lazy and selfish and irresponsible
and girls like that didn’t deserve to eat.
I remember never being good enough.
I remember being laughed at
when I was seven and I asked her
if I was beautiful.
I remember getting my first
award and she told me
don’t be too happy, because
so many things can still go wrong.
I remember the nights I would
muffle my violent coughs with a pillow
so she could sleep in peace and not
find out I had pneumonia because
she said I was disrespecting her
every time I allowed myself to get sick.
I remember how she’d turn off the lights
and lecture me in the dark
every time I messed up
as if it disgusted her to see me cry
so I promised myself at one point
she had no right to see my tears
and I remember searching for a place
where I could be myself
and I remember learning how
to fix a schedule for my emotions.
Don’t look too close.
My body is OK, but my spirit
is having an awful day.
I'm Still Alive but Barely Breathing
20111006 @ Thursday, October 06, 2011
“My universe will never same,
I’m glad you came”
The Lark Ascending wasn’t such an illogical piece to be played at
his funeral. It was one of his favorites.
I didn’t want it to be played. I could not bear the thought of
losing all those mental pictures of him and all those memories and remembering The
Lark Ascending only as music from his funeral. There was a part of the piece,
the first part. It was a heartbreaking beautiful solo; it was the musical
ascent of the lark, haunted and lonely, before the verdant tones of the other
instruments joined in. Even more than losing the imagery of graceful dancers, I
couldn’t bear to have him leave in the company of that violin.
Victor chose to use The Lark Ascending, and as I feared, he chose
the violin solo. The man who played it, I had never met before. He stood in
front of all of us and coaxed the music from the violin very slowly, his eyes
closed. He was tall and muscular and looked foreign to me. With a lover’s touch
he drew the notes from the instrument; the thin sound became achingly sad. I
expected to cry then. Rynn, Alexis, Den, Mel and the rest of them were crying.
But I sat, separate and dry eyed and desperately lonesome for him. He left me
here and went away.
He tended to be very vocal about a few
things, and it made you believe he was saying a lot, which I suspect was what
he wanted. But in fact, I think most of his thoughts, he kept to himself.
The worst part for me
was discovering the casket was open. No one told me it would be, and I was
repulsed by the sight of it. Why would people want to look at him when he was
dead? Besides, it didn’t even look like him. It looked like one of those
figures in a wax museum, exceptionally life-like, but sterile and inanimate,
nonetheless. His love kissed him on the lips and placed a rose beside him. I
didn’t touch him.
When we returned to the
studio, I got out of the car, went into the studio, straight through it and out
the back door into the small yard. I walked to the other end of the backyard,
to the fence beside the lilac bushes that marked the end of the property. I had
no reason in mind for going there other than to escape the others. I wanted to
be alone. There weren’t many places around the studio to do so. I was still
dressed up, teetering uncertainly in a new suit.
There wasn’t much to
look at from where I was standing, just the chain-link fence, the alley and the
father studios on the other side. Distantly, between the father studios I could
see the plains encroaching, their emptiness never quite arrested, even in the
city. Easing out of my sneakers, I stood barefooted and felt the damp coolness
of grass on the soles of my feet. The air was heady with the smell of lilac and
a slight scent of cologne. Time passed and I remained fingering the chain-link
fence.
“Micky, aren’t you coming in?” It was Rynn.
I shook my head.
“I know how hard it must be for you”
“Please, just leave me alone”
I could hear him standing there, although he was doing no more
than standing. I didn’t turn to look at him.
“It’s no one’s fault, what happened” he said breaking the silence.
I did not answer.
“It’s easy to want to blame someone, something or yourself when a
truly terrible thing happens. That’s natural. But you shouldn’t do it. This is
devastating for you and also for all of us. Don’t make it worse for yourself.
Absently, I ran my hand back and forth along the cool metal in the
fence.
“I know you cared for
him dearly. We all did. You most of all. I know he had a difficult past, and
that made him a rather more complicated person.”
“I don’t need you to tell me about him, Rynn. I know all about
him. I don’t need you to tell me”
“Someone needs to, Micky” he said reaching out to touch my
shoulder. I jerked away.
“This isn’t your fault. I don’t want to see you blame yourself for
it, because you weren’t responsible for any of it. If you are to be blamed,
it’s for loving someone a little more imperfect than the rest of us.”
-
I shut myself in my room. After changing my clothes, I took out
the book I had been reading, curled up on my bed and opened it. It was a great
book. It must have been, because I found it so engrossing.
Den came to my door to
say that dinner was ready. I told him I didn’t want any, and that I wasn’t
coming down. Sometime, late night Den came up again. He didn’t bother to knock
this time; he simply let himself in and closed the door behind him. Crossing
the room, he grabbed the chair from my desk, put it alongside the bed and sat
down.
“Somehow,” he said, “I get the feeling you’re awfully upset with
me”.
“Not especially”
I continued to read.
“This is a difficult time for all of us”
Not only was I able to continue but I was able to concentrate on
the gist of the story.
“This has been nearly unbearable”
It was as if he weren’t there.
“This just isn’t the time for you to do this to me, Mi”
“I’m not doing anything” I said and kept reading.
For several seconds he watched me. I could feel him watching me.
Then he leaned over and put his hand across the page of the book. I looked up.
He was only inches away from my face.
“If you really want to know” I said “I do blame it on myself, the
others and you. We could’ve stopped him. If we really wanted to, we could have.
If we did, he wouldn’t be dead right now”
He flinched. Not in his body, but in his eyes. His pupils
contracted the dilated again. He shook his head.
“Den, we could have.”
“No.”
“I could have, Den. I could have, if I really tried”
He looked down.
“I know he was scarred badly, from all the things that happened in
his past. But I could have, we could have helped him get over that. If you love
somebody, sometimes you have to help them through things even though they don’t
want help. Anything would have been better than what happened. I could have
done something.” Slowly tears began to puddle at the corners of my eyes.
“Mi, you couldn’t ever have made him do what he didn’t want to do.
Never. No one could.”
“I could have at least tried!” I said as tears slowly began to
stream down my face.
Silence fell between us.
The guilt slowly killing me with each and
every breathe that I take.
Labels: The Author Within
A Thin Line
Thursday, October 06, 2011
“They say the worse things in life come free to
us”
2nd
day of PMR. I’ve been banned from the use of the internet, so I have no idea
when this post is going to be posted up.
“All around me are familiar faces, worn out
places,
Bright and early for the daily races,
going nowhere.
I find it kind of funny; I find it kind of sad,
The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve
ever had,
I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to
take,
When people run in circles,
It’s a very,
Mad world.”
Ever wonder how many
times you’ve been lied to? Ever counted how many times you’ve lied to others?
Lies hurt, I know. Yet
the circle never stops. You lie, you get lied to, you lie, you get lied to… it
just never ends.
You know what sucks?
When someone feels
hurt after being lied to, and stops talking to the ‘liar’ without ever thinking
how many times he’s lied to her.
Lying is forgivable;
it’s not something that’s impossible to forgive. The hardest part of forgiving
a ‘liar’ is when you find out that there was no legit reason behind hiding the
now uncovered truth.
I admit I have lied. I
have been lied to. Yet, life still goes on.
The one thing that
everyone has in common is the “I’m OK” lie. We’ve all said it.
I am a liar. I have
the guts to admit it. Do you?
-
I found that people
will question you on the big decisions you make in life, as though you hadn’t
thought about it all before, as though, through their 20 questions and many
dubious faces, they’re going to shine light on something that you missed the
first time or hundredth time round during your darkest hours.
They mean well, but to
me I find it rather pathetic. There are people who ask those 20 so questions
out of curiosity and care without crossing the line. But then there is always
the opposite.
-
One thing I realized
as PMR draws nearer was the fact that although almost every Form 3 across
Malaysia panics a little, most of them have already started planning what
they’re going to do after the examination. I find it rather odd.
Human behavior never
seizes to amaze me.
-
Anyway, lately I’ve
been catching up with some friends; Sie Mone, Benroy, and Julius.
It’s nice y’know
although sometimes it is quite sad having to ‘catch up’. To me, catching up
means I haven’t spent time with …whoever. I don’t like doing that. -.-
Julius told me that he
never quite seemed to be able to figure me out. I didn’t respond cause I wasn’t
sure whether that was a compliment or not. Then he went on to say that I was a
very complicated person. He even gave an example;
The
fact that I don’t expect much from someone makes that someone expect more from
his or herself.
My
reaction to it was “What crap are you crapping boy?”
Then
he continued with his little “Maria Monash is a very complicated person”
speech. I wasn’t listening half the time but I got the main idea of the entire
speech. He also stated that although I’m very open about my life, he feels that
I don’t tell him things, the things that I feel and how I am. He said that I
practically know his entire life yet the only things he and many others know
about me are the ‘tragedies’ that happen.
Other
than that, he stated that he finds it hard to have a one on one conversation
with me sometimes because he doesn’t know what to say and that my eyes always
seemed very dark to him.
Very
dark, metaphorically speaking.
Apparently,
to him I’m complicated.
Apparently to a lot of
people, I seem like a complicated person.