Clips From The Past

24 March 2007

When you look into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you. ~Friedrich Nietzche

I was in a deep abyss, void of all feelings and all voices. Darkness and silence engulfed me. The faint light I thought I had caught a glimpse of had vanished and once again, I was plunged into darkness. I wasn't scared; nor was I panic. It was as if my emotions had deserted me too. I couldn't feel a thing.

I treaded slowly; blindly. I had to move on. Every step I took seemed to plunge me deeper into the darkness. There was no way out.

Mirages appeared now and then. Not learning from my lessons, I still tried desperately to grasp on them, only to fling myself heavily against the cold walls. Suddenly, I could feel pain; suddenly, I could weep.

A wave of nausea washed over me. I hadn't felt so sick ever since I was pregnant with Rachel. If only I could throw up and get rid of the queasy feeling. But the discomfort continued churning and turning my stomach; enough to make me ill, but not enough to purge it all out.

The kids' voices rang beside my ears. For them, I had to see; I had to find my voice; I still had to steer them away from the darkness and patch their broken dreams. What had I brought onto them? What had I done for them? It's no wonder even the darkness was mocking at me.

Faint lights flickered in the distance. The kids need me. I ran towards the lights, stumbling along the chase, but knew I'd be fine the moment I embrace my kids. They always give me the strength to be whole again.

Never mind about the cracks.


25 March 2007

Alice came to a fork in the road. "Which road do I take?" she asked."Where do you want to go?" responded the Cheshire cat."I don't know," Alice answered."Then," said the cat, "it doesn't matter."~Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

It’s finally time to break the news to the kids.

The kids’ dreams crumbled. I tried my best to pick up all the shattered pieces and put them back together.

Rachel’s nose reddened and her eyes were brimming with tears. But the strong-willed girl put on a brave front and didn’t shed a tear. Such a heavy blow to such a tender child; my heart was wrenching with agony. If only I could bear all these pain on my own.

Rachel and Angel offered to use all their savings over the years to pay for the debts. Touched by their unselfishness, my eyes dampened as I shook my head. My kids’ hearts are so great.

“Mummy, now we’re poorer,” Angel suddenly whispered from my bed.

I choked back a sniff and searched my blank mind for an appropriate response.

“We are not really poor. We still have many things other people don’t.”

As the little cherub fell into sleep, I turned her words in my head over and over again.

“We’re not poor. We still have one another,” I planted the words with a kiss on her soft forehead.


22 August 2007

The scars you can't see are the hardest to heal. ~Astrid Alauda

Once more, sleep escaped me.

I had almost convinced myself that I’d obtained complete immunity against all odds. But it just took a few knocks on my door to send the whole wall crumbling again.

It wasn’t as bad as the last time though. And I had more sense and felt less guilty to leave the two men rapping on the other side of the closed door with mad barking from my side of the door. What I hadn’t expected, was the dreaded fatigue creeping up my body, clawing at my heart and engulfing my mind. And all along I had told myself and others that I had gotten used to everything.

Even after they left, and calm settled once again in the household, my mind was a state of chaotic turmoil. The same old questions flogged me again and again. Some landed on old scars, leaving an ever deeper wound, more pain.

For a fleeting second, I thought of ending all the rushes of voices in my head, all the pain, all the fatigue; that scary fleeting second.

My kids give me the strength and the purpose to stand up again. I have really lost count on how much I really owe them.

I am really so weary. Holding on is tiring. Letting go is unimaginable. I know I’m weak. Thus, I have only myself to blame.

Thus, I should cease complaining.

Thus, I just pray for a dreamless sleep.


24 August 2007

It takes all the running you can do just to keep in the same place. ~Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass, 1872

There are times when I suddenly wonder where I am, who I am and what I am. It happened again in the middle of the night while I was into another late night reading.

I certainly wasn’t amused when my mind suddenly blanked out and confusion clouded my perception. Either the book was really that incredible to transport me to its unearthly world or I was into one of my stupor again. Fear crept in slowly like a mist and gripped my heart with its icy fingers. Everything about me seemed so far and unreal. I had to search my mind frantically for answer to the ironically funny “Who Am I”. Memories flashed and faded into distance, before I could grasp onto them. And remember. And know.

My eyes were boring through he pages, forcing myself to concentrate, to think.

It’s a scary affair to know but not to feel anything, for who you are. Nothing I had done meant anything to me. It was like reading someone else’s story. Who am I?

Uneasiness was beginning to churn inside me and devour me. Then, as suddenly as it had happened, the spell was broken, by a sleepy murmur right beside me. I turned my head and took in greedily the incredulous sight of my three gems snoring lightly in their sleeps. The icy fingers retreated as my heart began warming by the passion overflowing it. The cloud lifted and I could feel once more. My kids’ love for me is so overwhelming it will take me through everything.

I closed my book and switched off my bedside lamp. My fingers were tightly linked with Angel’s while I drifted reassuringly into sleep.


1 September 2007

While we try to teach our children all about life,Our children teach us what life is all about.~Angela Schwindt

Today is Teachers’ Day.

It was a pleasant surprise to receive a gift from the boy whom I’m tutoring. But the biggest surprise came from my little cherub.

In the midst of the night, amidst the stack of papers I intended to read before heading home from my in-law’s place, a piece of paper landed neatly on my lap as a little shadow vanished into the adjacent room.

“It must be another drawing by Angel,” a hint of smile crossed my face.

I picked up the paper casually, unprepared for the huge wave of passion that swept me off my feet. Thank God I wasn’t standing.

Inscripted neatly on the paper was the most touching message of the day (unedited):

“Happy Teacher’s Day!

You are a teacher and a mother.

Thank you for teaching us me and Benjamin a the tussion.

I love you

*kiss kiss kiss kiss*

*hug hug hug hug*

*love love love love*”

I almost drowned in the sea of overwhelming love. My head was dizzy and I was smiling stupidly at the paper, reminiscing the words over and over again.

It’s the happiest Teachers’ Day I can ever have.