It is funny how I call you mine when in fact you do not belong to me nor I to you. But I know how perfectly we are matched, like two hands clasped as fingers are entwined beautifully looking as one. You are a man of simplicity exuding strength, and I, a lady by your side equaling your existence.
I look at you and I see a man the way others can never see nor understand you. I admire your strength, of how well you carry yourself and stand well among others. How admirable your quick intelligence hidden behind your dignified manner never bragging and never loud. How proud your stance like an indestructible force tested and undefeated. Yet, I also know how gentle you can be. I feel it when you smooth my hair away from my face, like butterfly wings touching my skin. A simple smile from you to greet me as we see each other is enough for me to know how you are doing. I am fond of the simple joy of walking beside you knowing that you are gradually slowing your steps to match mine. Even the silence in your company I find soothing after a long day of noise and trouble. Deep in me, I know that your mere presence brings comfort to my tired being. That your reticence is my escape, words are not needed still we recognize the value of each other completely that others can never ever comprehend.
But like any firefly strongly attracted to the hazard of the flames, you fly straight to it mesmerized and entranced with its radiance. And I, helpless as I see you play around the danger that may cost you your life. I stand, not far from you as I watch you dance around another perilous game that you have accepted to challenge. With my hand clutched at my heart, I fear for you as I watch you get closer and closer to the blaze. I fear for what might happen as you fly around the flame in tune with its outburst and spits of fire. But I fear most for the safety of your beautiful wings. That it might catch fire, bring you down, and that you might perish. I shall weep for the pain that you will surely feel, but doubt not that I will be the one to catch you in the end of your dance with fate.
I am now saying goodbye to all those times I laid my head on your shoulder, those times you held me protectively in you arms, to the first times with you, those times I got lost in your kisses, your touch, your hands, your mouth, those times I felt one with you, to see you smile, to feel you beside me as I wrap you in my arms to protect you from all your fears and worries, to hear you speak, to hear your stories, your trials, your sorrows, your triumphs, to all the breathtakingly wonderful things you have done for me, to all the things I have done for you, to be touched, to be needed, to be loved, to understand and be understood, to accept and be accepted, to the time I believed all the things you said, to hold on to the promises you once told me you would always keep, to being vulnerable, to surrendering, to trusting wholeheartedly, to the time I gave my heart and soul in your care, to be conquered willingly, to the time when my world revolved around you, to the nights I never gave in, to the times when I was blind to see that many have changed, the nights you left me alone, the time you betrayed me, when you threw away all that we had, all that I am, all that I could give, the time you made my world crumble, crushed my soul, shattered all that I held dear, trampled on my dreams, the time you unceasingly became so unreasonably honest not minding much how I truly felt, to all the blows I had to take, to all the strikes I had to endure, to all the anguish I had to keep, to all the smiles I had to put on, to the slow death that was happening in me, to all the tears, the anger, the hatred, the shadows, the walls, to playing, to uncertainties, to fears, to hope and to wish.
Many things have happened between us that made our road rough. Somehow, we have now taken our own different paths even if we promised once never to do so. Once in my life, I thought I could never live without you, without the “Us.” Losing you was indeed the hardest part of my life so far. You have taught me how to love unconditionally yet you also taught me what pain is all about.
You gave me so much anguish but I learned from it. Gained from it and lived through it. I have found myself again when I once thought I would forever be lost without your love. I do not hate you, for how can I ever detest you when I learned once to love you with no inhibitions and even loved you more than my life itself. Nor am I here to tell you that I no longer love you. For love never really disappears completely. Rather, it changes; its intensity grows or lessens. I guess it is my time to tell you that I still love you but not enough to be with you anymore.
Somehow, all the hurt and pain you gave me finally found its way to creep within me.
There is not a time that I do not miss you. Even silly things and places remind me of you. Of how we once were. But that can never be for now, maybe not ever again. I need to live my life as I want it to and you have to live yours as well. We can only look back from all the things that we have shared together. Smile upon the good memories, and be thankful for all the lessons learned no matter how hard and painful the process we went through.
The years we have been together gave us something to keep. Knowing that there is someone who understands who we truly are and accepts both the good and the bad was a gift for me. That is something that comes once in a lifetime. Thank you.
Dream my prince So beautiful in you r slumber As I watch you How timeless you look I touch you slowly Your skin smooth and delicate You remain unmoving As my fingers and lips explored Your body – warm statue. I only seek your love For you are my god But how tragic this is For eternally you shall sleep And forever I must weep.
Like a firefly in the night I fly straight to your flame Burning me, Scorching me deep, Deep within the realms of my soul. I continuously yearn for you from within Existence my price In exchange for your fire, Your life, my life. Consume me, Ensnare me more, Wrap me in your warmth, Engulfed by your strength I let go – As I die in bliss.
A story of lust, love, reality and finally of choice amid the many shadows of ones life.
“Like an octopus’ tentacles.” I accidentally said aloud as I once again noticed our legs and arms tangled up together along with the coarse sheets of the creaky bed we were on.
For a while, I thought he heard what I said but I felt that his steady breathing continued. Even in his sleep, I want his body against mine. He never ceases to release in me, this primal instinct of pure animalistic pleasure that his body causes my flesh to react the way it does. I placed my hand on his warm flesh, my fingers splayed on his abdominal muscles as I explored its contours making slow small circles. I watched the night lazily through the small window with its old floral curtain. It was raining hard again in the city and I can imagine the scenario on the street. I can even hear the distant rush of footsteps as men and women hustle along to get away from this crowded place eager to go home. Listening to the blaring horns as cars swerve, and imagining the smelly drivers who always seem to run out of patience shouting at each other and so uptight in reaching the next corner. I can conceive what was going on in the heads of those people down there as they contemplate on the many things they needed to do as soon as possible. How time consuming everything is nowadays, the deadline that needed to be met within the next 24 hours by the countless working men and women on the streets. The eagerness of some to come home knowing that their family was anticipating their arrival from work. Or even the silence waiting for those who are living alone in their own house in this dense place. Yes, these are just some realities of the night a person is faced with after a long strenuous day of work.
A bolt of lightning flashed. For a while, it illuminated the room and I saw our figures on the bed like pale translucent porcelain dolls with its eerie glow cast by the sudden light. I wonder how we would look through the eyes of another person if we were seen this way here. Maybe they would find us repulsive and be condemned forever and maybe some would just wonder. My Amadeo stirred in his sleep, I covered him from the cold with the starchy white blanket careful that the rough texture would not scratch his fair skin. There was another blast of light and a roar of thunder that shook the walls of the small building followed it. Was that a warning for what I was doing? I searched blindly for my pack of cigarettes beside the small bedside table and was relieved to have found it quickly. I lit one and puffed heavily as I tried again to make some sense out of my being. I turned my head to the side and stared once again out the window. Not a single star can be seen in the horizon no matter how hard you try to catch a glimpse of one. The rain continuously poured heavily hitting the only windowpane of our rented room and it made my view of the outside world blurry. I was getting bored I put out the consumed cigarette and lit another one. I puffed like a dragon making sure that I savor the joy of satisfying my addiction to it, and then I realized that my life was like the simple act of smoking. I light a cigarette, savor it in and whatever pleasure it brings me I took advantage, of course eventually, I had to release as much smoke as I can. However, in reality of my life, I gather as much as I can but I cannot expel everything that I took in my body. Like remnants of all the nicotine inside my lungs, what was left in me was the rotten side I should have disposed of in the first place.
I watched Amadeo sleep beside me and still I felt empty. Yes he satisfies my flesh and its yearning towards pleasure but he can never satisfy my soul. Nevertheless, like old habits, I snuggled closer to him as he instinctively wrapped his arms around me. We were each other’s antithesis in this arena. My Amadeo was the beauty and life, and I was the darker side of him. All I had was my head full of eccentricities of my life and decisions that I was not always sure of. He, on the other hand, was simple in thinking and did not demand much from life and its meaning. I knew he had more freedom than I do and he seemed to take everything in stride. I do not know what he planned to do with his life but I did not really care much for I myself was in an intricate point in my existence or whatever people may call it. I know I have made countless whirlpools in my lifetime and that this time, I have created another bigger and more dangerous one with Amadeo and me in the middle. This made me wonder whether I shall ever be out of my self-made hole or end up being under it forever engulfed in the darkness.
This darkness reminded me of how I felt one time not long ago when Amadeo and I attended his sister’s wedding. I watched the whole sequence of the ceremony with Amadeo sitting beside me. I saw on the couple’s faces the happiness and hope they had for the future as they took their vows. How glorious they looked as their union was announced as husband and wife. Yes, Husband and Wife - that is what must be. I glanced at Amadeo and I knew that my union with him takes place only when we are in each other’s arms lost in bliss of nothing but carnal pleasure. We can never stand in front of the altar and say, “I do.” I felt Amadeo move.
“Don’t you want to sleep for a little while?” He said sleepily as he disrupted my thoughts.
“No. I’m okay.” I answered safely, kissed him gently on the lips and tried to recapture what it was that I was thinking of in the first place.
He went back to sleep and I closed my eyes as I tried to feel, concentrate and let thoughts drift. I eventually nodded off to sleep with Amadeo in my arms.
I woke up with a start and that gave me a splitting headache. I grabbed for a cigarette only to find out that I ran out of it already. Once again, I looked out the window and noticed that the rain had lessened its downpour. There were still the occasional flashes of lightning and the low rumbling of thunder but still it did not do much difference to lighten my soul. As I looked out the window for God knows how many times already in the past hours since we’ve been here, I can see once more the lights outside the busy streets of the city and the traffic I knew that was still in progress and had gotten worse. I did not notice the time that passed by while I laid bare reasoning with my own sardonic mind. Nor had I known that I had fallen asleep for almost an hour only to wake up with a headache. As I continued contemplating of what must be and what must not be only hours ago, I had emptied my pack of cigarettes and that was my cue that somehow I knew I needed to leave soon.
I carefully disentangled myself from Amadeo’s warm body and got up to take a shower. As I stood up I felt a cold rush through me and it made goose bumps rise on my skin. I turned on the small lamp on the side table and the dim light hurt my eyes. Amadeo was now half-awake watching me through half-opened eyes as I moved around the gloomy room, his face darkened by the cast of shadow from the small lamp. Then I walked to the bathroom and kept the water running. I stepped in the shower room and immediately felt the cold water flow down my body. I felt feverish yet completely alive all of a sudden. The cold water woke me up totally and the bright white light of the bathroom no longer hurt my eyes. As I stepped out the bathroom with the scratchy towel wrapped around me, I saw Amadeo sitting on the bed. His profile was still in the shadows and it cast a strange look to him though I knew that he was somehow smiling at me as he watched me intently. I finished getting dressed, smoothed my clothes, and approached him by the side of the bed. I looked at him gravely as I tried to think of what right words to say. But there were no more words to utter and I thought that it should always be like that in our case. I bent down and kissed him slowly. I was not sure if it was our last kiss at that time but I felt it was the thing to do.
“I have to go now.” I said to him.
“Will I see you again?” he curiously asked.
“I hope not anymore.” I replied.
I walked away from him knowing that he was there in bed and in the shadows watching my retreating form with no sadness in him. I knew he understood. That it was simply how things are and how it must eventually be.
I stepped out of the small building and was welcomed by the bright lights of the vibrant city street. The speeding of vehicles and the people hustling were continuous as everything passed me by. I glanced at the room where I came from and saw Amadeo looking out the window, his face still in the shadows. He lifted his hand, and with just one wave, he bid me goodbye. I nodded, only then did I start to join the crowd that was hurrying to go their destination. I became one of them as well, one of the many countless faces of the city always rushing and hastily going forward and never looking back in their rush towards life.
What I did was inevitable for I knew I had to move one way or the other. After all, my wife and two kids are waiting for me at home.
A story of deception, sanity, greed, but most of all, the capacity of the human mind.
“Has the jury reached a verdict?” the formidable looking judge inquired in Court Room 18.
“It has, Your Honor,” replied the foreman of the jury.
The judge nodded and his clerk walked over to the foreman to retrieve a slip of paper from him and handed it to the judge. That day Alexandra wore her favorite black suit that she had been saving for the occasion and felt it was appropriate for her to wear it in court as part of her grieving act. She particularly liked its matching black hat trimmed with a delicate black netted lace that covered her face to complement the over all dramatic effect. She stared hard at the piece of paper held by the man sitting atop his place, knowing in her heart that whatever was written on the paper would mark her life forever. It would mean the success or failure of her grand scheme as she calls it.
“The defendant will please rise,” said the judge, his low voice was the only sound that can be heard in the courtroom. Alexandra stood beside her lawyer gathering as much strength to hold her body upright as she held her breath as if doing so would save her life. She watched the grim expression of the judge and she could not fathom any clue as to what her sentence might be.
“The People of the State of New Jersey versus Alexandra Thomas, charged with the murder of her husband James Thomas, the jury found that it is in favor of the defendant pleading temporary insanity on the account of death of James Thomas. It is therefore decided that the defendant, Alexandra Z. Thomas, be committed in a mental institution no less than 5 years and appear again in court after the said period.”
Only then was Alexandra able to breathe a sigh of relief. Her feint composure of being out of her mind almost slipped from her, grateful that she was able to behave as she was supposed to soon after realizing her almost blunder of act. She preferred to stay in asylum than to be sentenced for life and live her remaining years in a penitentiary, with nothing else to do but to count the years left before the death comes knocking on her door to bring her to the hellhole she might belong to. She watched everything in slow motion as the judge used his gavel to close the trial. She distinctively heard the sound of the gavel’s resonating sound to confirm her fate. All she could hear was the thudding of the wood, as if finally sealing everything else to its final end as she felt the reverberation passes through her causing her body to chill and shiver for a while. She stared on it and wondered how a simple piece of wood can cause people in this courtroom either happiness or pure terror. That a simple act of beating it and creating a sound from it could actually mean life or death to anyone standing on trial. The sound from the gavel simply drowned out everything else in her life crashing down upon her in tune with the gavel’s dull sound.
“Mrs. Thomas?” Alexandra woke with a start as she realized that it was just the familiar face of the practical nurse knocking insistently. He was simply doing his daily duty of giving her the tray of food and her stupid pills that doctors think all patients need. He opened the door and left the tray on the bedside table as Alexandra thanked him. It had been four years since she made the asylum her home and she somehow never got used to the people knocking on her door every so often even if she was in the middle of her sleep. The nurse was just outside her room when a much younger woman in a straight jacket assisted by two nurses appeared. She watched the group from where she sat on the bed through the small window opening on her door.
“Ah yes, we have been waiting for your arrival. Do not worry, you shall be under my care while you are here. Welcome to Rosewood.” said the nurse to the young woman in the straightjacket, who, in return only stared at him drooling. Yes, another pathetic patient in the house! Nevertheless, Alexandra always liked the name of the institution she was in - Rosewood, a tropical tree with dark red wood, streaked with black. But to Alexandra it was more than just the literal dark wood that it represents, the patients here are the rosewoods, all flesh and blood as any healthy human being outside this asylum. Like any rosewood, all human beings have their own dark and evil monsters locked inside them waiting to come out. She stared out the window in broad daylight and observed that the institution was located in a large wooded area where rosewoods grow abundant around the vicinity. During spring, to amuse herself, she listens to the sounds of the woodpeckers up on trees and even sees hummingbirds occasionally outside her window. Sometimes when she is lucky enough she can spot wild turkeys and deer walking along the railings gazing on the grass. The grounds were fenced in and the only access before entry into the institution was through the guarded gate. Alexandra thought that the shelter was not bad at all in fact, it was the best private institution in the state of Jersey.
Alexandra heard the other two nurses discussing about her condition and asked if she had caused any trouble in the recent past. That made her remember vividly how she acted when she was new in the institution. She would throw tantrums, rant and rave in her room until the nurses barge in and give her a shot on her arm to calm her down. Then she would laugh until her eyes ran with tears from so much delight while the nurses strap her down on her bed making sure that the leather fastenings were tight to prevent any mishaps. She would snicker, hoot, cackle or sometimes even whistle to amuse herself, which would bring more fits of laughter out of her. The people thought that she was indeed crazy but in truth, Alexandra was laughing herself to death considering her great talent in acting. But that was years ago when she was just new in the asylum. This time, she was halfway through with her act. Alexandra was now the silent, obedient, sane woman hoping to get out.
Upon hearing the conversation, it always gave her an uneasy feeling inside whenever some attendants in the place avoid much interaction with her and treat her as a madwoman incapable of logic and ready to kill anyone in a surge of rage or for just the sake of lunacy. It may be because the people in there feared for their own life. However, she had learned to accept that it was how things must be in order for her to prevent any further torture to herself by being in prison packed with women criminals like her. However, Alexandra knew that she would not be in this institution if not for what she had done to her beloved husband, she thought bitterly. The thought of her husband in the end always left her with the same bitter feelings she had up to her last moment with him.
She was very young when she met James in college, and that gave her an excuse to torment herself now with the belief that it was her naiveté that led her in James’ arms and eventually in his bed. They went out exclusively in college for years and eventually lived in together after graduating. It took them three years before James proposed to her for marriage and she felt it was the happiest day of her life. She adored James above all others and beyond anything else in her life, maybe even more than her life. She became the subservient wife for her James even if her husband became a useless gambler. She always told him that he must work to support his own vice for the reason that his money would eventually run out no matter how much he saved before. For years anything to please him she was willing to give, it did not matter that her spouse became less of a husband to her.
Their marriage was going down the drain and finally Alexandra gave up. She had to take matters into her own hands. Alexandra started going regularly to a psychiatrist to consult her so-called dilemma, it was a good thing that shrinks are so easy to find nowadays and are always seem ready to listen and have a run for their patient’s money. All her acting eventually led her to be diagnosed with Dysthymia - with frequent bouts of major depression. She was given prescriptions and anti-depressants along with some sleeping pills she always carried in her bag for props. She continued her therapy and pretended to be drinking her medicines. So far, her plans were going smoothly. The big event she had been preparing for did not take long. One night after she came home from her therapy, she found an envelope lying beside some bottles of pills on her bedside table. In it were papers filed for divorce.
“Why are you leaving me?” Alexandra asked James when he got home that night noticing that he was reeking from alcohol and that his clothes were all disheveled. Perfect.
“Xandra, you must know that our marriage is simply not working out anymore. I truly care about you but we cannot continue being like this. I’m sorry.” James replied as if he had practiced all those lines in his mind waiting for the right time to say it to her.
“You’re right James. Don’t worry, I do understand how you feel.” Alexandra replied pretending to be feeling similarly. She felt her heartbeat going faster as she anticipated her next step. She made sure that all the money to support her future was safe where she hid it.
That night, while James was asleep too numb from all the alcohol he drank, Alexandra slit his throat. She watched the blood rush from his neck to the bed, down the carpet leaving James only a few seconds of struggle before finally giving in to darkness. The blood was like hot lava flowing from him coloring the sheets a dark shade of red. She watched the gush of thick red blood drip from his skin down the pillows, and she knew that she did the right thing, the right way. Sure that James was dead, she started ransacking the place to make it look like as if they had a violent encounter in the room. Alexandra then went back on the bed where she touched the puddle of blood beside her and covered her face and arms with it watching her James unmoving and pale as he lost more and more blood. She knew that her nosy neighbor had called for help and that was how the police found her. She was on the bed cradling James while humming a lullaby, the blood still on her body all dried up, only this time it was no longer that dark red shade but more of a brown, soil-like sticky thing forming and molding itself on her skin. Everything through the eyes of Alexandra came as a series of events after, all connected and happening before her eyes.
Alexandra then found herself in a courtroom sitting somewhere near the judge needing to defend and explain what she did to her husband.
“Your name?” “Alexandra Thomas.” “Would you speak up, please?” “Alexandra Thomas.” “Mrs. Thomas, what happened on the night of November 18, 1994?” “My husband came home that night. He was drunk.” “Was he always drunk?” “Yes, ma’am.” “How long have you been married?” “Four years.” “Have you always fought with each other?””Yes ma’am every time that he comes home drunk, he picks a fight.” “Have you ever been under pills for depression?” “Yes ma’am.” “And have you been seeking professional help from a psychiatrist since your marriage with Mr. James Thomas?” “Yes ma’am.” “I see. Mrs. Thomas, can you tell the court what happened on that fatal night?” “James came home that night, he was drunk and he was yelling at me. He said he wanted to end our marriage.” “For what reason Mrs. Thomas?” “He said that he had another woman.” “Did you know about it?” “No ma’am.” “Then what happened?” “Our argument became vicious when he told me about his mistress.” “In what way vicious Mrs. Thomas? What did he do?” “He started throwing things in the room. He wanted me to sign the papers. I was crying, pleading him not to leave me. He told me I was a good for nothing son of a bitch.” “What did you do?” “I could not think straight. All I wanted to do was escape. I cried and begged him not to go. I was holding onto him but he just grimaced at me. He was so evil.” “Then what happened?” “I can’t remember clearly. All I saw were the blood in our room. Blood all over me. Blood everywhere. And James, James was not moving.”
Alexandra felt nervous when her psychiatrist was called to the stand. She was hoping so much that her consultations with him for years would help her win the case. After all, she already had put too much of her money in his pocket just to make her scheme a success. She silently prayed to heaven that her psychiatrist would say the right words to acquit her from this case.
“Your name?” “Dr. Stephen Jones West.” “Dr. West, how long have you been treating the defendant Mrs. Alexandra Thomas?” “More than a year now.” “What is her condition?” “She is suffering under a form of depression called Dysthymia.” “Was she ever under any drugs?” “If you mean anti-depressants, yes.” “Can you say that a patient under Dysthymia can be totally mentally balanced?” “No.” “Care to explain doctor?” “Well, there are instances that men or women under the said condition tend to have lapses in memory especially when under certain psychological or emotional strain.” “Thank you Doctor West.”
Alexandra was no longer aware of all the proceedings in the courtroom. She was so lost in her own world that everything she saw was like a movie screen picture in front of her eyes with no sound. Because of her condition, she left everything in the hands of her lawyer as she thought of what might happen and asked herself if she had not made any error. She was thinking that if they win the case, she would definitely increase the payment of her lawyer. Her last memory of ever being in court was the loud thud of the gavel signaling the end of her trial. The jolting sound indicated that her life was sealed and shall change soon. She could still hear the pounding of the gavel in her head only to realize that it was the nurse knocking on her door again for the hundredth time.
“Hello Mrs. Thomas. Sorry to disrupt your thoughts but I must get your tray.” He said as he approached Alexandra’s table where the tray was.
“Thank you.” She smiled at him putting on a serene look on her face. She took the glass of water from the tray and drank her medicine placing the glass carefully back on the tray that he was holding before her.
He nodded with a little smile on his face as he walked towards the next room where the patient inside was chanting and banging the door with the tray.
Alexandra heard his retreating footstep and knew that the other nurses were coming to assist in the commotion that was happening in the next room. When she felt it was safe, she spit the pill that was all the while hidden under her tongue. She could still taste the bitterness of it in her mouth as she fixed the sheets of her bed and stretched out on it. One more year and she will be out of Rosewood, she can come home and hopefully find all the money she stashed in her hiding place. Alexandra smiled and closed her eyes.
A simple memory that brings a smile whenever remembered.
It was my first time to do it. My hands were getting cold and sweaty. Beads of perspiration showed on my face as the minutes passed. I thought I was ready for this then I realized that maybe it would not last that long. I knew he was waiting for me inside and that I wanted to do it as well. So, I gathered all my courage and started walking towards him. Each step I took reverberated through me, I felt I was walking on a death march in slow motion under a trance. “I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.” I chanted silently in my head. As I neared him, he gave his reassuring smile he always had for me every time he knew I was nervous. But it did not do its magic at that time. I went to where my boyfriend was and sat beside him. My heart was beating unsteadily, I could not breathe properly, I was fidgety, my hands were clammy and I could not look at him. My thoughts as I approached him ran, from my nervousness down to my being inexperienced. What if I could not do it? What would he think? How would he react? So many uncertainties all jumbled in my head as if a second voice was in there nagging me endlessly. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” he asked. I smiled and said it was better for us to get it over with since we would still end up doing it in the first place. He smiled, took my hand and guided it slowly to where it should be.
Finally, my first driving lesson has begun.
I remember that day of learning how to drive painfully well. The first thing he told me was to relax, relax, and relax. I wondered why he said such until I noticed my hands and knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel tightly. I gave him a nervous laugh and lightened my hold on the poor steering wheel. I was so uptight and we had not even moved a single inch from where we were parked. I thought it silly when he started teaching me how to shift gears properly when the car was not even started. I wondered if it was his delaying tactic for me not to drive yet, after all, it was his car I plan to practice on and maybe he prolonged the life of his car before I made any major damage to it.
After minutes of shifting gears without really going anywhere, he told me that it was time to get moving. Once again, my heart raced and my body tensed as I started the engine. I felt like a kid being taught systematically how to walk. Step on the brakes, release the hand break, left foot on the clutch, shift the gear from neutral to first gear, release the breaks and then step on the gas.
I did as I was told. And voila! It was a ride all right - a horse ride!
I felt like I was on a horse that was bucking wildly to get me off its back. All I wanted was to get out of the possessed car. So, I stepped on the brake a little too hard, and almost went out flying out the window shield of his car if not for the seat belts we wore. I was mortified and he was worried. Was he concerned for me or for his car? I was not sure. Nevertheless, he urged me to try again. I tried to make things lighter but ended up making a lame joke asking him about his car insurance. That definitely drained him of his blood.
But I was glad that he was patient with me and kept his sanity while he taught me how to do it properly. Eventually, my second try into setting the car into motion was not as bad as my first attempt. I was able to move inches away from our starting point, unfortunately, I had to re-start the engine due to my inability to properly use that thing called clutch. I myself was getting dizzy from all the racking and struggling that I was doing in the car just to be able to go farther with no mishaps. Gradually after many attempts, I was able to drive at a slow pace with no trouble. I noticed that tricycles easily maneuvered around us nevertheless, I was exhilarated. It was a far cry from my rodeo experience and at least the car was now exorcised. We drove that way for a few more minutes pretending to be cruising in the neighborhood.
When we finally reached the front of our house, I was relieved but not as much as he was. Maybe he thought that finally my driving lesson was over for the day. We got out of his car and walked to our house while contemplating on what took place. I did not know that driving was physically strenuous the first time. My legs ached, my back hurt, and I had a stiff neck for days, all that in exchange for just an hour of learning how to drive.
When my boyfriend had to go home, I walked him to his car, thanked him a whole lot for what he did and gave him a kiss. As he was about to leave, I ran back to him and handed him an aspirin. I knew he had a hell of a headache because of me and I think he preferred the tablet than my kiss before he left. After all, in reality, my kiss could not have taken away his headache due to my driving, but I am pretty sure the aspirin did.
A journey towards anger, pain and eventually of healing.
I have known betrayal, hurt, of tending grudges and eventually indifference for the past years. I recall not so long ago, I wrote a poem for my father. Only when I read the whole text again was I able to come up with the perfect title - Betrayal. What choice do I have left? My anger? My hatred towards those who are part of my pain? Or my father having another family outside ours? What can I write about such? Perhaps a part of my happy childhood I can share.
I remember my earliest and fondest memory, as a child was every morning when I woke up. I would rush to him and he would carry me in his arms, and I would cling to him tightly by the neck until he leaves for work. Only now do I get to think how we would have looked back then, the father and his little girl with arms tightly wrapped around him. He never really minded if his well-ironed suit would have its usual morning creases courtesy of me, or that he would be late for work. I would always hold onto him hoping that he would give in and take me along with him to work and spend my day there. I loved staying in his office. He had his own room. Air-conditioned, carpeted floor, a wide space to play around and a big table where all sorts of office supplies would always be handy for me to play with. But the best part of his office was his Big Chair. It sits in the middle behind his brown wooden table. It was made of fine black leather with four matching buttons. It was a formidable chair. It looked uncomfortable to sit on yet it was exactly the opposite.
I would go up the big chair careful not to lose my balance in doing so. I would sit there and my world of play would start. Sitting on my father’s big chair made me feel different. It was like sitting on my father’s lap at home while he sings duet with me. The big chair was so much like him - big, strong, dependable, and it gives me a sense of security. Sitting on it was like having power and being in the center of the universe. My universe.
Ha! But that was my childhood memory of years past. Eight years ago, I discovered that my great daddy had other children besides us. Siblings other than my full-blooded younger sister. Children outside our own little world. I was devastated. How can he want more children? Worst of all, a family other than ours?
From there, I learned of anger. The blossoming of a feeling so intense, it was destructive. I nurtured pain, hatred, and bitterness inside me. I was suffering and I wanted those around me to suffer as much as I did. I turned out to be a 14-year-old adolescent kid from hell. A vengeful teenager replaced my ever-sweet disposition. I smoked, picked fights, went out night after night with friends, got drunk and hardly went to school. And if I ever did, I was suspended the same day for causing fights and for brawling.
I showed him what I had become. It was his own doing that I turned out to be a fire-spitting dragon that was in charge. Destroying everything good with no one to control me. I was miserable and angry that I made sure that he would be too. But I never got my victory. He never left.
My father started from scratch as he tried to bring his family together. But rejection was all he got from me. Resentment and rejection were the only ones I was willing to offer him. A cliché to say that action speaks louder than words, but that was what he did. I saw that he was sorry and was trying to make it up to us. But I made sure that all his effort and actions went down the drain.
But he never stopped trying. And the harder he tried, the more difficult it became for me. Finally, I decided to let him be. That eventually he would tire of his charade of being good and stop.
But he never stopped. Day after day. Month after month. Year after year.
My painfully erected wall of anger crumbled as time passed by. It was time to let go and no longer fight the truth. I am not ashamed of my defeat against my self-made war with him. In truth, that was what I wanted at the back of my mind. It took me eight years to heal.
My daddy is not getting any younger. It hit me big time when I saw him one early morning. I just got home from a night of partying and drinking, as I opened our front door I saw my father asleep on the couch, a cup of cold coffee on the table beside him. I watched him sleep for a while and I noticed that he indeed looked old. His face was wrinkled, gone was the smooth skin I always thought he’d have, and his hair, with streaks of white contrasted the blue pillowcase he used to cushion his head with, all traces of the years that passed us by were shown on his face. I went up to my room feeling remorseful.
“How long has he been there?” I asked my sister.
“I do not know,” she replied.
Then I knew that my father has been there for too long now. Eight long years of waiting for me.
And like old chairs, I know I have contributed much to his being worn out. Most old chairs are discarded and not given much value. But I know that now, I would never exchange my Big Chair for anything.
Why should I?
My Big Chair is a classic masterpiece that I am proud of for its worth in my life.
I am not a graphic artist nor some charcoal-watercolor-pencil-pastel-acrylic-artist-guru. This would mean that most of my photos that are included in my articles are from great pages like Yahoo!,MSN , Google or Deviant Art . I am therefore giving due credit to all those artistic people out there. Thank you for making my blogsite more appealing.