C’s grandmother was out gambling at MBS last night, much to her dismay. Apparently it was her 3rd night in a row, and with a $100 levy per 24 hour block, C’s mother’s head did some shaking too. I told C not to get too worked up about the situation. She’s an old woman, who is lonely and has a love for gambling. If she knows her limits when she goes in, and does not come out without the roof over her head, so be it. As long as it makes her happy.
For a long time, actually, for as long as I could remember it, I have told my dad not to drink. I’d call him up (when he first got a cell) to remind him. Remind him before he left the house, complain when he got home (swaying side to side). The cycle weekly, unto deaf ears it fell. Till recently, (I think when my dad hit 60), I come to a point whereby I leave him to do his drinking free of my nuisance. I sometimes pick him up from the bar he drinks at, to ensure he does not drink and drive. Whatever makes the man happy. He is an old man, who feels like he managed to cheat death when he’s alive at 64, instead of 6 feet under before he is 50 like my grandfather and my great grandfather and great greats before him. For a few good years, I cut out the nagging, just gentle reminders to moderate the drinks. Live and let live, because we’re all trying to be happy in this convoluted world.
That is until a couple of months ago, where his heart specialist told him to stop, else face the prospective of a failed heart. And so it begins.
I only ever blog when I am upset. Happy moments hardly ever render the same sort of outcry. I think I blog when I am upset because it is an outlet, because it saves me from actually turning the brink of madness. I’d rather share my joy than my pain, so I try to leave my pain here, in anonymity, intangible. Funny thing is, this ends up as pain storage. The happy ones are like an intake of fresh air – dissipated – leaving only my fuzzy memory as the sole key to them. Some days the memories are vivid like it happened yesterday, other days the memories are like dementia.
Today, I am upset. Today, I am upset like my head may explode from the anger I am feeling within. As you unwound me, I let the tears flow freely. You laugh and make jokes about my survival abilities. What you don’t see, is me, crying in the toilet and reeling like the snap of the ruler against cold clammy palms. Nobody sees it, but everybody has a good laugh from it. I am the court jester and no one sees the pain under my painted face. I powder my face again and smile. Smile like it hurts if I stop.
We all know happy ever afters are a myth – a lie we tell children – because it’s the only way we still find hope in our lives. So, we do know that happy ever afters are myths, and that happiness is a state we must continually work towards. Then how is it that I see so many people trying to work things out and see no arrival at an overall happy state? Life has its ups and downs, throws us curve balls and rains on our parade, but at the end of it all, on a holistic basis, why is there still no (overall) happy ever after? If there are no happy endings, nor (overall) happy states over a period of time, what are we living for?
This depresses me. I think I need to see a therapist.
2010. A year of struggle.
Painful, wrenching, yet hopeful and ingenuous. Tumultuous. I don’t actually know what to make of the year. I learnt about reality, I learnt about lies, I learnt about truth. I learnt about love, I learnt to love more selflessly, I learnt hope. My heart just feels very tired this 2010, and I begin to wonder what I live for.
Some days I want to stop pretending. I want to stop pretending that I am understanding and accommodating about things, because I don’t want to be understanding.
I don’t want to tell the next person that “I’m ok” when really, I am not. I’m really not ok, but saying that I am saves a lot of time and energy; on trying to explain how I really feel, on getting the next person to listen and comprehend the subtext of my words, on acknowledging my own feeling and emotions.
I don’t want to tell the next person that “It’s ok” when really, it isn’t ok. It isn’t ok to be taken for granted, it isn’t ok to be priority #1428 when I make you priority #1, it isn’t ok to be your backup when everyone else isn’t free.
Some days I’m tired of pretending. Other days I’m too tired to acknowledge myself so I tell myself convenient truths of “ok”.
That is what christmas eating/bingeing does to us all.
What I do like about christmas: The spirit of giving, the excuse of catching up. In some deep crevice within me, lies a well of hope, wanting to be loved, wanting to love and breaking free of my insecurities. The spirit of christmas is a reminder of the importance of love, family and friendship. I am quietly grateful for those who love me and I love, for being a part of my life.
The stark contrast belies the inherent loneliness.
I say a little prayer, everyday, for your presence in my life. In your love, I try to maintain some sort of sanity.
Monthly report completed. Work build-up for semi-annual report begins. Christmas never really feels like christmas thanks to the bloody semi-annual report. Build up expectations for happy holidays and watch it crumble like a house of cards.
On another note, I overheard a girl bitching about parking in town during the festivities. “I’d much rather be chauffeured than drive, then I don’t have to stress myself to looking for a fucking lot..” -smirk- brings new meaning to carpark sex!