We All Have a Bad Within
I'm sometimes concerned about how mean I am. I do or say something and then, afterwards, I replay it over and over inside my head. These become like movie scenes in my head wherein I dissect what I've said and done. *Was I too mean? Was the term I used "bad" or unacceptable? Was I too forward? Too blunt? Did I laugh at something I shouldn't have laughed at?* Then I think about what I should have said or done that would have given a better perception of me. But then that wouldn't be the real me. It would be a sterilized version of me.
People see me as someone unapproachable. In college, it had something to do with my eyebrows or my eyes. Even the people who've managed to become my friends did tell me that I have this unapproachable vibe because of how I looked or stared. I find it mildly amusing now. But then, my eyebrows were a cause for worry. They were too arched, I guess? Too arched to the point that people labeled me as "maldita" or mean because of it. To judge me by the shape of my brows is too shallow. Don't you think?
I also have this habit of just nodding and listening, especially to conversations wherein I hear someone who brags too much. My lips will form a small smile and I'll have probably this vague and dream-like look on my face while my mind wander to other more interesting things, like what K-Drama should I watch next. I don't know. I just don't like listening to others who brag too much. I am more impressed with character, not material things. I am more drawn to people who say "Thank you" to servers than to those who mention their yachts or million-dollar rest houses. I like kindness and intelligence, empathy as well.
I guess I am also an introvert, but I do chat away when I am with people whom I know well and vice-versa. Maybe I'm also afraid of being rejected. We, my brothers and I, grew up without a father since he left my Mama for another woman when I was barely five years old. Things that happen to us in the past, no matter how hard we try to bury them in our memories, do come out, perhaps ever so subtly, in how we think and behave. This fear of rejection that is always at the back of my mind is perhaps something that's ingrained because I felt, subliminally, that we were rejected by our father. So, instead of being rejected once more, I distance myself. I step away and separate myself from people first before they get a chance to leave me. It's unhealthy, but it's difficult to overcome.
There is so much within us at present that are because of what we went through in the past. Our childhood does have an effect on our character and behavior. Even if we try so very hard to hide these things or erase them from our hearts and minds, these will always become evident in what we do and how we react. Our past cannot be erased. We can learn from it and take it in stride. We can deal with it. Face it, so that we will know what our weaknesses really are and perhaps find strength in them instead. In order to not be crippled by the past, we must face it head on because maybe, just maybe, what we fear isn't that bad at all.
Maybe, what is bad inside us isn't really that bad or evil. Maybe it is just a part of us that needs light and love, attention and care. In time, this "bad" within will morph into something good. That is what gives me hope.
Get-Rich-Quick Fail
I don't want to be a killjoy when it comes to investing, but I've been called as such. I don't mind because I am just protecting myself and my finances. With the pandemic and the strain that it has brought upon our pockets, it's but natural for us to look at other sources of income. However, we still need to be mindful - extra mindful actually because these are also the times when others take advantage of the gullible and desperate.
This came to mind because a lot of people from my province got scammed. It was basically a Ponzi scheme that they called "repa." I don't know what that means, but admins of the so-called "repa" scheme ran away with millions of pesos. Now, they are nowhere to be found. I also don't understand this since our province is a small island province. It should be quite difficult to run away and hide, especially with the stricter quarantine regulations in place.
I feel for the victims. I'm not one who would say "I told you so" to people who are already worried and desperate. Their desperation is evident on my FB feed. These days, there are too many rush sales of property/land, gadgets, and even furniture so that they'll be able to pay those who bought slots from them.
From what I understand, there is one overall administrator or head of this repa scheme. Then, there are administrators or admins who are the ones who sell "slots." To illustrate, let's say Admin A asks X to invest his hard-earned savings, say 100,000, with the promise of turning it to 150,000 the next month. Isn't that amazing? The interest rate is through the roof! If X is willing, then Admin A has 100,000 already, right? Then Admin A asks another person, say Y, to invest another 100,000. He convinces Y, and then moves on to Z. Let's say Z is skeptical and asks for proof. So then, Admin A, who now has 200,000 from X and Y, will then give the 150,000 (of the 200,000) to X. X tells Z that it's absolutely legit! So, Z is then convinced and invests his 100,000 as well. The process goes on and on, but this cannot be sustained as the money that goes out is so much higher than the amount that is collected. The money is never invested in actual stocks or bonds. It is only redistributed. Once it all crashes down, only the head and perhaps a select number of admins will get the money.
What irks me is how others seem to find this funny. How could they find humor in people's distress? How could they be so unfeeling? Why do they have to put salt in the wounds of the desperate who are perhaps only clinging to a sliver of hope? What if, with that one mean remark, an affected individual would then choose to end his life? Who then should be blamed? Would this still be funny?
Sadly, I've seen many of my acquaintances on FB poke fun at the victims of this Ponzi scheme. Some are even supposedly *respected* and *influential* individuals. It makes you think twice about what makes a person respected, right? Influential, well, so many have that capability these days, even teenagers. But what is influence without compassion?
I pray that the victims will find justice soon. I hope that they'll get their money back, although it seems impossible now, especially since there are rumors that the backer of this scheme is someone who holds a high office in the province. (So high that he/they were even able to stop a national TV station from doing a story about this scheme). How scary if it's true. But it does reiterate the message that those in power will continue to become more powerful, while the masses will continue to suffer. How unfair is this world? I could scream in frustration, but nothing will happen. Nothing will change. Society will always favor the rich and powerful.
Re-energizing Through Distractions
#lifethoughts #randomthoughts
Distractions come in all forms, colors, sizes, and kind. In fact, anything that hinders us from doing what we are supposed to do is a distraction. The world tells us that we must focus on our responsibilities and to not be distracted by internal or external factors in order to perform our responsibilities well. We must always give our utmost best. But what if these responsibilities deplete not only our energy but also our soul? What about our joy? Peace? Contentment? How do we replenish what we lose each and every day? We recharge by amusing ourselves through things that distract us.
Some of the things that distract us could help in renewing our vim and vigor. These could be the very elements that give us life and hope. They propel us forward and give us strength to face another day filled with obstacles. If this is so, should we then classify responsibilities as the actual distractions that hinder us from being happy, peaceful, and content? I guess it's about creating a balance and knowing what the real distractions are in our lives.
To me, distractions are elements within us or around us that rob us of time well spent. It could be anything, from our pets and chores to our mindset and emotions. It could even be work. What happens around us and, most especially, within us could be a distraction if it stops us from being productive **and** happy. I specified the word "and" because if we are productive but not happy, then perhaps we should allow ourselves to be distracted by things that make us feel joy since to not feel happiness in what we do each day robs us of our accomplishments. For what good are accomplishments if these only leave us empty? Will success taste sweet without a joyful soul?
Perhaps it's best to allow distractions in life once in a while as these could be the very things that enliven us. The very elements that distract us give us the will to power on - to stand up and face the challenges ahead. Still, we must be mindful about what we allow to consume our precious time since there are also things that could lead to our downfall.
Monotony Kills
Monotony is death. Living a life that begins the same way and ends in the same way is, to some, satisfactory. It, however, makes me feel like a robot - just clocking in at six in the morning and clocking out at eleven or twelve midnight. Then, the process repeats the next day, and the next, and the next. It does not end.
Living a monotonous life is stifling. Not only does it put you in a square box; but, in time, it will make a square out of you. If you are originally a trapezoid, a rectangle, or a pentagon, the monotony of life will make you lose your original shape. Your corners are shaved just right. Your beautiful, unique surface, which may have been rough or colorful, is made smooth and bland, until you look common, indistinguishable from the rest.
Monotony is a box that has been built for you to force yourself to fit into it and not a box for you to explore. It is a box that you cannot get out of. It is a box that is open; however, it traps you. You can jump out, but your mind says you can't. That is the power of monotony. It makes you become so used to what is the the supposed norm that you forget yourself. You forget that you can be better - that you can be exceptional. It makes you powerless to jump out and explore your surroundings and most especially yourself and all your capabilities.
Staying too long in this box of monotony kills. It kills creativity. Most of all, it kills dreams. Once our dreams are dead, things inside us die too - ambition, hope, desire for change and self-improvement - those vital stuff that fuel us to live.
Monotony is a sneaky monster. It makes us believe that what we dream is out of reach; not because we do not have the ability to do them, but because we are constrained with what we are supposed to do. We are entrapped by the responsibilities that have been hoisted onto us - responsibilities that make us guilty if we step out of the comforts of the box that we've been placed in.
How stifling. How utterly stifling. Sometimes, I cannot breathe just thinking about it. I look back and see that so many things have changed. Yet I have remained the same in this box of monotony. Time flies. Time goes by. But it's the same for me day in and day out. I want to break free, but I don't know how. I cannot seem to find the strength. This fear... This fear of not being responsible for all of my responsibilities has made me a cripple. I can walk. I can run like the wind. But I am a cripple. I envy those who are only physically cripple, yet their hearts, minds, and souls fly so freely like birds in the vast sky.
What should I do? In these four corners, I try to be more. But the space is narrow. It is very confining. I can hardly move, let alone explore. How can I escape this monotony? How do I begin to live? This is not a life. Or is it? I feel like I am just waiting to die.
3 House of Shadows
4 September, 3:15 AM **A Final Goodbye, A New Hello**
I woke up with cheeks wet with tears. My chest felt heavy as though a huge block of sadness coupled with weariness had been laid on top of me. I had been crying; not the sniffling cry, but the real bawl-my-eyes-out cry. The wetness on my pillow was evidence of that.
I dreamed about Lola. It was not some sort of imagined scenario. In fact, the setting was right here! In this room! On this bed! I felt it all as though it just happened. My head was on her lap and she was brushing wisps of hair away from my face with gentle fingers. The moon was full, which meant that I could see her more clearly than if it had been any other night. There were more light and fewer shadows as the moon beamed her gentle glow through the window that was beside my bed.
Lola was looking outside, her expression melancholy and somewhat worried. What could be making her apprehensive? Was it this house? The *work*, as she called it? Somehow, threads of those feelings were transferred to me, which made me look at her more concern. Her face was familiar, but older. There were lines on her face, but her age was more evident on her hands. The skin on the hand that I had been clutching felt paper-thin, like parchment that could disintegrate if you rub too roughly. Blue-violet veins that looked darker under the moonlight appeared as though embossed on her skin.
She hummed something familiar while stroking my face although I couldn't quite remember it. The melody was from a past memory that I couldn't place though I felt like it was trying to break free from the deep recesses of my brain, leaving me feeling frustrated.
Miraculously, I did not feel afraid. What I felt was warmth not fear with now a splash of apprehension. Her face, often strict, looked softer. I did not feel threatened, nor did I feel as though something sinister was with me.
After a while, Lola stopped her humming. She bent her head and kissed me on the forehead. She did this three times. Each touch distinct. Each touch of her lips was felt so strongly that I wondered if I was dreaming or if in fact it was real. Or perhaps we were between the realm of dreams and reality. All I could trust at this moment was how it made me feel. To me, it felt real. Her presence was unmistakable as she tried to comfort me.
She whispered something before she dissipated like some gossamer fog. "He's here..." There was something else but I couldn't quite make it out. Then, like a soft night breeze that passes us by, she was gone, leaving me with this aching emptiness. It felt like a final goodbye. It felt as though it was truly the end; and my heart felt broken.
But now, I also wondered - who is **he**? Was it a warning? Her visit left me with sorrow and more confusion. Who was he? Was he friend or foe? Perhaps the light of day would give me clarity, I thought, as I straightened myself thinking if Ada was already awake at this hour.
I was in the process of putting on my gray hoodie over my strapped silk top when there was a knock on my door.
"Coming!" I said, my voice muffled and muted while I pushed my head through my thick hoodie.
The knocking grew more frantic and I heard Ada call out as hurriedly as possible without shouting through the door, "Are you awake, Cat?"
Instead of bellowing an answer, I quickly went and opened the door.
"Hey. What's going on? Is Dante okay?" I asked, my tone worried because having someone wake you up at this hour could only mean an emergency.
There was an intense look on her face when Ada replied in a hurried whisper, "We're fine. But there's someone here."
"Someone? Like a burglar?" I asked, my heart now beating faster at the prospect of having an intruder in the house.
Ada looked at me with a puzzled expression. Then as if a fog had cleared in her brain, her eyes cleared and she replied, "Oh, no, no. He's here for you."
"For me?" *Who was this person*? My curiosity was brimming as I followed Ada with quick footsteps towards the stairs and through the hallway that led to Lola's study.
2 House of Shadows
4 September 2021 - **Are Spirits Just Ghosts?**
Isn’t it strange that when you expect something to happen and you prepare for it, then nothing really happens? I couldn’t say if I was disappointed or relieved that I spent a pretty uneventful evening. The past few days had actually been surprisingly uneventful, which I did not take as a good sign. It felt like the calm before the riot. Something was brewing. The air hummed with it.
When I arrived the other night, Ada had quickly led me to the dining room while shushing Dante and scolding him for getting wet in the rain.
“Get changed! Quickly! Quickly! You don’t want to catch a cold, not especially these days!” she grumbled and fussed at him like a mother hen.
When she turned to me, her arms began to extend. But she caught herself and instead tried to busy herself with wiping the moisture from Dante's shirt onto her stained apron. I felt as though she wanted to give me a hug but caught herself before she did. I felt regret that somehow, with my desire to disentangle myself from the mystery of Lola and my family, I somehow estranged these people who seemed to truly care for me. I never wanted to push them away. But sometimes, we have to do painful things to ourselves and to those around us in order to protect our sanity, like a much needed surgery. But without anesthesia.
Ada had not lost her motherly look. She exuded this air of warmth and comfort that welcomed me whenever I was hurt as a child. Surprisingly, I still felt that pull like a cold person longing to sit beside a crackling fire. But I didn’t plan on fixing bridges that I had willingly burnt, so I only managed a small smile.
“Hello, Ada. It’s been a while,” I said softly though I couldn’t keep the pleasure out of my voice. It was truly nice to see her after so long.
Ada’s smile widened. She then gestured towards the table and said, “I prepared your favorite soup - shrimp sinigang! I went to the market early to get the freshest catch, and there’s also some tuna in the fridge if you want me to fry you some? I also made fresh orange juice, and your favorite leche flan for dessert. There’s also some mangoes and -”
“This is fine, Ada,” I said as I interrupted her rambling with a soft chuckle. The cold uncertainty that I had been feeling in the pit of my stomach had turned to warmth that spread throughout my body because of her thoughtfulness. After all these years, she still remembered. This, more than anything else, made me feel like I was truly home.
But then, there was this house. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but strange things happened to me in this house. Lola had said that it was because of the spirits in the house. Many stopped by here before moving on. Some could even be trapped with nowhere to go.
“Why here?” I had asked innocently and with a growing fear one gloomy morning when I was barely twelve years old. I had been reading in the study while Lola was also doing something from behind her desk.
My grandmother's study was one of my favorite places in the house. It was decorated in 18th-century Spanish style, with matching furniture that featured carvings and exquisite upholstery. The color palette of the room echoed that of the outdoors - varying hues of green with accents of pastel colors on rich velvet and glistening carved wood. But more important than its looks was how I felt whenever I was in this place. The heaviness that was perpetually present inside the house was absent here. It was like being outside. I felt free, like I could breathe without uncertainty.
That heaviness, I learned, was due to spirits and ghosts. But weren't they the same?
"No. There are *spirits* and there are *ghosts*." Lola had told me then, which confused me even more. She then got this thoughtful expression on her face and continued to explain, "Spirits are the souls of the dead. A spirit normally begins to travel to its destination nine days after death. A ghost is a spirit that stays. It is a spirit that chooses to communicate or interact with those walking on this earth."
"But that's scary, Lola!" I cried then, clutching the book that I had been reading to my chest more firmly as though trying to ward off unseen enemies.
"They should just go! And they are the same! Spirits! Ghosts! They're all scary!" I squeaked in fear wondering if they were here and watching my every move.
"Don't fear them. They are often the ones that need our help," Lola said in a serious tone.
"Your help?" I asked in a voice filled with uncertainty and with much incredulity that I couldn't hide.
Lola chuckled as though making light of her scary revelation. "Yes. My help. Even yours."
"Mine?" I gasped. "I won't!"
"You will," Lola said with much certainty as though I had no choice in the matter. Her tone had changed from nonchalant to serious in the blink of an eye.
"It is our work. Our *family's* work," she said in a tone that provoked no challenges.
This strange work that Lola had mentioned was something that I never got to experience because, as soon as I was able, I ran away. Fear fueled me then. Fear still fueled me today. This house would never have me as its servant.
When "Forever" Ends
#randomthoughts
Being in love makes us believe in forever. But how long is a person's 'forever'? A month? A year? Seven years? A decade? There is not a single sure answer to that question because each of us has our own version of forever.
To promise to love someone ***forever*** is such an optimist thing to say. Not because it's impossible, but because, more often than not, those who freely declare such things are often the ones who are the first to let go. Why is that? Do promises hold such a low value to them?
To me, loving someone is something that should come naturally. Feelings or actions cannot be forced. If love is present, it is echoed in a person's thoughts and actions. However, although love does come naturally, ***staying together*** requires effort. Yes, I love this person. But there will likely be times when he does or says things that I might find irritating. Moreover, there will be challenges in life that will truly bring out the worst in both of us. It could be a huge incident, or it could be a series of separate and seemingly irrelevant events. Whatever the cause of any problem may be, one thing that will define any relationship is how we ***react*** to these issues. Will we let it pass with a resigned sigh or will we shout in anger? Or will we talk about it calmly and objectively?
***Communication*** is key in any relationship, especially in a loving relationship. Love cannot be sustained by silence. It is possible to show love with words or actions, but it is still also quite vital to be able to communicate freely with the one you love. Silence, I believe, can kill a love. Silence and inaction, even more so. The death of 'forever' is when we cease to talk; when we cease to act; when we cease to understand.
So, what comes after the end of 'forever'? I don't know. It differs for each of us. It depends on the situations we were in. It is affected by the people around us and the individuals that might even come in between a couple.
What I do know is that if 'forever' doesn't last, it can be devastating. Some say that it is even more devastating to the one who loved more, while the one who loved less, or maybe not at all, could readily move on to another 'forever.'
A love that does not last 'forever' may be crippling. Still, the deluge of sorrow and hopelessness will pass, even though we will have to get through it with almost insurmountable difficulty and a lot of tears. We can wallow in this sorrow for a bit - allow it to stay with us for awhile in order to understand it and finally accept it. Then, one day, we'll just wake up and the days will be brighter and we will be feeling much better and even stronger.
1 House of Shadows
1 September 2021 - Homecoming
Because of the quarantine, I was not able to attend my grandmother’s funeral. Dante, her driver, just told me that they buried Lola five days ago.
Yes. It has been five days since she died, but I would only get to see her now because I had been in quarantine even though I was fully vaccinated. How strange, these times. To live as though cattle that’s directed where to go or what to do. But whatever. There was nothing I could do. This was, as they say, the *new normal*.
“Ma’am, perhaps it’s better to visit tomorrow. The rain is getting worse and the pathways will be muddy and slippery,” Dante said in a voice that had thinned and turned breathy with age, waiting for me to acknowledge his decision before turning the car back.
We were already at the gate that opened to the cemetery, but we could barely see anything in front of us even though the windshield wipers were on max. It was raining hard, and the wind was picking up as well. I was pretty sure that we would be soaked to the skin right after getting out of the car if we did get out. I did not want to inconvenience him nor did I want us to get sick since getting sick even with just a cough or cold during these times was scary. So, I replied, “Ah. Tomorrow will be fine.”
Anyway, there was no hurry on my end. I learned too late that Lola had been sick, and I got home too late as well. There was nothing for me to see in the cemetery except her tombstone.
I felt pathetic thinking about that. I was her only living relative, yet I had not been there when she needed me the most. I really was the worst grandchild. The feeling of guilt that I had been carrying with me ever since I left home a decade ago kept growing every day, and more so these past few days than the past ten years combined.
“How is Ada?” I asked, pushing away the heaviness inside me with some friendly talk.
Dante and Ada had already been with Lola in the big house when I arrived there all those years ago. They were like permanent fixtures whose friendly faces also aged with the house. Ada was the closest thing that I had to a mother. Lola was more of a disciplinarian - the presence in the house that hovered over everything and everyone. Someone who was just there. I felt her but I couldn’t touch her. I couldn’t hug her or call out to her when I was hurting. I never really understood why.
I was five when I came to live with them. I couldn’t remember anything much of my life before I was sent to Lola’s house. In my memories, all I could see was fire. I was burning. In pain. Yet I was paralyzed. It felt like a dream. Sometimes, I even delude myself into thinking that perhaps it was just a nightmare. But my skin carries the evidence of that moment.
I was jolted awake from my reverie with Dante’s small chuckle.
“Sorry,” I hurriedly said in a small voice, embarrassed that I was caught not listening to what he had been saying.
“It’s alright. You must have a lot of things on your mind,” he responded with a friendly smile that I saw from the rear-view mirror. “It’s all going to be alright.”
I nodded and gave him a small smile that hopefully reassured him. I did not want him or Ada worrying about me. They loved Lola. Perhaps not exactly love. Loyalty. Yes. That was it. Although in my young eyes, I believed their actions as borne out of love and not loyalty. That was what I saw as a child. I had been quite the optimist. Now, I thought that perhaps it was both because one could not be loyal to another for years and years without any form of love involved, right?
I guess their loyalty for her also extended to me, which made me feel even more guilty because I felt as though I did not deserve any of that love or even loyalty. I'd have preferred for them to treat me nonchalantly instead of with warmth. All these years, I pretended to be alone. I worked hard at forgetting the life I had here. For them to treat me like a long lost loved one after years of no communication, without even a short '*How are you?*' only fueled my guilt.
With all the things going on in my head, I hardly noticed that we had arrived. I blinked my eyes as though the mundane act would help me focus on the present and chase away the memories that were fogging my sight.
Dante had stopped the car in front of the familiar gigantic black iron gate that led towards the house. I couldn’t see it yet from the road, but the feeling of foreboding was already creeping inside my bones. I took a deep breath as I watched Dante open the door to his side and hurriedly approach the side of the gate where he punched a series of numbers on what looked to me as a built-in automatic gate opener that largely resembled the keypad of an ATM machine.
*Well, that’s a new addition*. I said to myself as my eyes followed Dante's quick movements towards the car while the gate opened slowly, creaking and groaning as though it was such a tedious job to do so.
Dante was soaking wet when he got back inside the car. I wanted to offer him a towel or anything to wipe the rain, but I had nothing. So, I just kept quiet.
The rain was coming down much harder, and it lambasted the car on all sides. The sky was angry, it seemed, with the addition of the low rumblings of thunder followed by flashes of lightning in the sky. The wipers were almost useless under the torrential downpour, yet Dante drove as though he could clearly see the road in front of him.
*He’s been driving this road for years. He knows this like the back of his hand*, I thought. He probably knew every stone along this path, as well as every dip or hole, if there were any.
After a few meters, the car was released from the seemingly angry downpour that entrapped us as the water cleared when we entered the garage. I felt relieved that I was again able to see what was outside the windows. But what I saw, even though familiar, made me catch my breath.
For a second or two, I panicked as memories of the past overwhelmed me. I never wanted to go back to this house as long as I lived. Yet here I was again,stepping into the belly of the wicked beast - this too-quiet house that made me feel all sorts of strange.
*I am not afraid!* I declared while mustering some courage inside me. This helped in chasing the feeling of foreboding away and gradually turning it into resolve.
I breathed deeply as I gathered my strength to again step inside this house thinking, *I escaped her once. I’ll escape her again*.
*Fiction :)
Black Gift: Chapter 1
***Please note that this is a work in progress. Here's Chapter 1. I hope you like it.
****Chapter 1: Lola Lives****
“Am I being pranked?”
I raised an eyebrow as I examined the envelope that the man in black, as he was literally in an all-black suit, gave me. It wasn’t the usual formal suit though that most would find on businessmen or those in government offices. It was more modern. Trendy, like the ones actors or K-pop artists would wear during a movie premiere. Black but in-style and with texture that could only be noticed when one looked closer. Hidden depth. That was it. Something that wasn’t what it seemed, much like the wearer.
All in all, he looked the part of an accomplished modern lawyer, as was my assumption based on the fact that he came here with a formal letter for me so early in the morning.
Just a few minutes ago, we were sitting in my small outdoor breakfast nook as he did come early enough to catch me having my breakfast of kimchi fried rice, eggs sunny side up, slices of Spam, and a generous supply of hot aromatic and delicious brewed coffee. After a brief introduction, I asked him if he wanted to join me for breakfast because I did not want to make my hot rice wait, to which he replied with a deep murmur, “I’d appreciate some coffee. Thanks.”
He then added in a deep baritone, “Is someone else here?”
“No,” I replied with a slight frown on my forehead. “Why?”
“Ah, nothing,” he said with a small forced smile as though I caught him off guard. Then he quickly looked down and began to shuffle inside his black leather bag that could easily fit a thin laptop, but not before I caught him looking at my food and then at me as though confused about how such a tiny person like me could have such a huge appetite so early in the morning. Well, that’s just how I do it. My grandmother used to say, ‘Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,’ and I took that to heart.
The rice was getting cold, so I wanted to get this over with. But I couldn’t just start shoveling food inside my mouth with him sitting across from me with what I perceived was a judgmental look on his face. I restrained a huge irate sigh that almost left my lips and instead asked politely, “What brings you here, Mr. Lei?”
“I’m here to deliver a message,” he paused when he saw my eyebrow raised in question. “From your grandmother,” he added as though that explained everything.
“My grandmother?” I asked. My earlier irritation was now suddenly replaced by confusion. Then, a sudden realization as I blurted out with brows furrowed, “You must have mistaken me for someone else. My grandmother is dead.”
Mr. Lei slightly shook his head and hesitatingly said, “Ah... That.”
He paused and took a deep breath with this expression of concession as though he already lost an argument that has yet to begin before adding, “You were misinformed.”
I felt incredulous as I spouted the first thing that came into my head, “Excuse me?”
*How could I be misinformed about my grandmother's death when I buried her all those years ago?* *The nerve of this man*! I thought while the rest of my mind was blank as I tried to figure out what was the angle of this guy. Quickly enough, this idea was forming in my head, and what I realized then angered me.
“Is this some sort of prank?” I asked heatedly. “Am I being pranked?” I asked again as I looked around the small garden as though any minute, my friend, Jiro, would jump out of the woodwork while declaring, ‘Gotcha!’
He was the only one who would dare pull a malicious prank like this. But then, even though Jiro was naughty, I didn’t think that he could actually do this type of hurtful prank. Besides, I doubt if he knew about my grandmother. Perhaps I might have mentioned her once or twice. But I never talked about her, or my family, at length. There was nothing to say anyway.
Mr. Lei tilted his head and focused his light gray eyes on me that radiated intelligence and not malice. Either he was a good actor or he was being sincere. I did not know him enough and the topic that arose was just improbable, so I voted for the former.
“No,” he answered in a serious tone. “This is not a prank, Miss Luna.”
“Look, Mr. Lei,” I said, not believing a word he was saying no matter how honest he appeared to be. Something indeed seemed off here. He was hiding something. I could sense it.
At first glance, he seemed legit, like the letter that he had given me.The envelope looked official enough, but I couldn’t help the smirk on my face as I looked at the added touch of a wax seal on it like it was some sort of medieval correspondence.
“Using my grandmother’s name just to get a kick out of me is not funny,” I declared firmly while giving a small laugh of disbelief. I pinned him with a direct glare, which was hard to do because he was a formidable presence in the room. Without any effort of his, he just commanded attention.
I swallowed a breath and stood up, stopping myself from putting my arms on my hips like what my grandmother used to do when she scolded me for being naughty. I straightened my body to my full height, which wasn’t much as I was on the short side. My five-foot-three-inches height would need more than a pair of 5-inch platform heels just to look him in the eyes. I’d likely need a booster step or something. If I were to guess, I believe he was six feet tall, give or take an inch or two. Or three, more like. But for now, I towered over him while he was still sitting down.
I was not normally self-conscious about my height, but he was making me feel not only tiny but defensive as well. *Now I could relate why chihuahuas are more aggressive than, say, a large bully dog*, I thought. There’s just something about being overshadowed that makes people put their guard up whether consciously or unconsciously.
With as much confidence as I could muster, I declared with mock bravado, “Even the dead have rights. I could sue you for this - you!” I paused, forgetting what to say next and desperately trying to think of a legal jargon or term that might be the slightest bit applicable to the situation at hand.
It was a challenge to think of something or anything for that matter because his eyes made me uncomfortable. He seemed to have overcome his small faux pas about judging me for my huge breakfast because his gray eyes were giving me this intense look as though he was trying to read what’s on my mind, which made me feel awkward. So I shifted my weight from one leg to another just for something to do, which didn’t help at all as I looked like a fidgety teenager waiting to be reprimanded.
Then, while feeling all uneasy at his intense gaze, which I proudly held albeit it created this tangle of somersaulting spiders inside my stomach, I thought of something and exclaimed it triumphantly and with all the confidence that I could muster, “You inheritance scammers!”
My breathing was heavy and my nostrils flared in defiance as if this small victory could be likened to finishing first at a championship track and field tournament. I felt awkward yet triumphant as I surreptitiously blew back the locks of dark hair that had come undone from my ponytail. I did my best to not look flustered though my knees were more wobbly than usual. I knew I did not look near my best at all as I was still in my favorite pink Hello Kitty sweatpants. I also had on a comfy nude camisole underneath the matching loose pink hoodie. To top it off, my feet were encased in the most comfy white fluffy slippers that had pink bunny ears.
So, no. Not in the very least did I appear professional. In my defense, I did not need to look anything but comfy when I worked at home.
*Ah*, I thought as I took a mental note. *This could be a cute scene for my next book*.
All the while, however, I felt his intense gaze examining me as though I was an interesting creature that he had just uncovered. It made me fidget even more because as much as I didn’t want to admit it, he was really a very good-looking ‘scammer.’ I hated to admit it, but I was a sucker for guys with extraordinary eyes, and his were, to say the least, quite extraordinary.
*Too bad*. I thought while trying my darned best to glare at him. I consciously raised my eyebrow to show my irritation and waved the document in front of him.
“I think you need to go, Mr. Lei. And bring this *letter* with you,” I mockingly said as I took a step towards him, meaning to give the letter back with some forced bravado to let him know that I meant business. But then, of all the stupid things to happen, I tripped on one of those bunny ears. I felt myself falling forward, and all I could hear in my head was my own voice yelling, ‘Timber!’ as if I was a falling tree in a forest. How absurd! I could kick myself!
I expected my face to hit the floor, but I found myself in Mr. Lei’s arms instead.
*Damn! Damn! Damn!* I thought as I felt my ears and cheeks get warm with the rush of blood borne out of embarrassment.
“Are you alright?” he asked as he helped me to regain my balance.
I detected a hint of amusement in his tone, but I couldn’t look him in the eye to confirm my suspicion. Instead, with as much dignity as I could muster, I mumbled into Mr. Lei’s chest, “I’m fine.”
But I wasn’t. I really wasn’t.
Not only did I want to high kick these bunny slippers to the high heavens, but I also couldn’t control the way my body reacted to this scent emanating from him. He did not reek of some cheap cologne. Instead, he smelled of soap and the outdoors - crisp with a hint of woodsy, like the start of spring when the wind begins to lose the harsh chill of winter and the air becomes slightly perfumed by all sorts of flowers that have been awakened.
It was a struggle to not snuggle into his chest to get more of this wonderful smell. I had to mentally shake this compelling feeling and, so as not to embarrass myself further, I pushed myself away. But I pushed too forcefully and too quickly that I would have lost my balance again and fell on my bum if it hadn’t been for his firm grip that helped me to steady myself.
*Oh my God!* I exclaimed in my head.
In the book *Alice in Wonderland*, someone said, ‘*Sometimes, I believe in as many as six* ***impossible*** *things before breakfast*.’
*Yup. Impossible. Not embarrassing, which was what I was doing.*
I wasn’t usually overly clumsy, but I seem to be doing embarrassing things one after the other. And I haven’t even had breakfast yet!
If I could only see where my confidence was, it was probably in smithereens all over the floor. But I held on to what dignity I had left in the same way that I gripped his steel-like forearms because to fall on my ass would not be the most ideal thing.
As for the letter, it fell from my hand during the ruckus. As soon as Mr. Lei had steadied me, he bent to pick it up.
In that few seconds that I was out of his sight, I hurriedly attempted to straighten myself. I patted my ponytail, which was still miraculously holding although there was hair all over my face that I quickly finger-combed behind my ears. I took a deep breath and straightened to my full height and stood as still and calm as possible with a plan to appear firm but hospitable as I asked him to go yet again because the embarrassment was consuming me. All I wanted to do was hide, but I had to keep a serious face. I no longer cared if he was a scammer or not. I just wanted him gone.
Mr. Lei then straightened and handed me the letter. He tilted his head and looked at me with a hint of humor in his eyes that I decided to ignore.
I felt my nostrils flare as I exhaled my irritation and again told him with a resigned sigh, “Mr. Lei, you should go. If you’re thinking that scamming me will get you something, you’re wrong. My grandmother’s been dead for twenty-one years. There’s nothing here for you.”
He continued to look at me with a curious intensity building in his eyes. Then he said in a crisp and impersonal manner, “Be more cautious next time, Miss Luna. Calling out a ‘scammer’ could be dangerous. Lucky for you, I’m not one.”
“What are you then, Mr. Lei?” I asked, my voice laced with impatience. “If you’re not a scammer, then why are you here telling me that my grandmother is alive? How can I take you seriously with that statement?"
“Because it’s the truth,” he replied with calm sincerity.
“I don’t get it!” I fumed.
He was smart enough to sense that my patience was running on low because he handed me the letter once again and gently said, “Please. Just read it.”
I scoffed and snatched the letter from his hand. With much disregard, I tore open the red wax that sealed the envelope and unceremoniously took out the letter. It had the texture of thick parchment with a letterhead that echoed the image on the seal, which was of the moon and stars, with what looked like a small dog.
*It would’ve looked better with a wolf or lion*, I thought inanely.
My eyes darted towards the lower left-hand corner of the letter, and I couldn’t help the gasp that escaped from my lips.
“Lola’s signature!” I exclaimed softly as my eyes began to devour the letter.
I read the letter not once but three or perhaps even four times. Disbelief, anger, betrayal, relief - I felt all of this. But mostly, I felt this cloud of confusion engulfing me.
“What does this mean?” I whispered to Mr. Lei as I looked up at him, seeking clarification from him.
My pulse pounded against my temples. The shock coupled with confusion was giving me a huge headache.
“Perhaps you should sit down,” Mr. Lei coaxed me in a quiet tone that carried some concern.
“Sit down?! How could I sit down after knowing this?” I choked as waves of emotions I couldn’t identify crashed into me one after the other. They ebbed and flowed through me so fast that I couldn’t keep up.
I gasped and spread my arms to take hold of something solid.
The document in my hand now felt alien. Not because it looked unusual, but because its contents were like a jolt - a jolt of a truth that had been hidden from me for more than two decades.
The letter fell from my hand, lightweight. Yet it left this heavy cloud around me that strangled every breath I took. Around me, things seemed to blur and swirl. Again, I felt myself going down. But before darkness overcame me, I whispered, “Lola is alive.”
Was I Attacked by an Aswang?
I was one of those non-believers. The type who rolled my eyes when someone told me stories about the “aswang” - evil monsters that preyed on unborn children. But I did like to listen to these tales as they were entertaining, like watching a horror film unfold before my eyes, except that I was listening to it. My imagination did run wild at times.
Growing up, many of my grandmother’s bedtime stories were about the aswang. Once, she said that she actually encountered one when she was a child. The creature came to her as a small bird, a maya. The maya is a local bird which is perhaps a cousin of the sparrow. In my imagination, it was truly a tiny bird. But, Lola said, “It landed on a beam nearest the window, and our entire house felt it like a small vibration.”
Indeed, I, and probably most kids my age who lived in the provinces, were weaned on stories like these growing up. Now, I believe our elders used these stories to make us afraid of staying out too late. The scary tales were like a curfew that were subliminally implanted in our minds.
Today, however, something happened that made me rethink my beliefs.
Twilight slowly and quietly crept all around me while I worked alone in my garden. I was too absorbed that I did not hear the metal gate squeak open. Suddenly, I felt the hair at the back of my neck stand. Potchi, my dog, who had been sleeping nearby, was now alert. He was looking beyond me, towards my right side where the gate was, with raised shackles and alert eyes. A low growl vibrated through his throat.
Before I could turn around, I heard a raspy, frail voice saying, “Could you give me a glass of water?” Each word was prolonged, as though the speaker was too exhausted to make the request quickly.
Potchi became more alert - his stance rigid, his growls now low and menacing. My heart quickened, like a drummer was playing a fast but difficult riff inside my rib cage.
I slowly turned my head and beheld the old woman who had entered the closed gate.
She looked like any woman that I could’ve met on the street. Her simple white shirt was tucked in a black printed skirt, and on her feet were black ballet flats that looked almost gray with dust. If I had met her on the street, I would have probably given her a small smile.
The lady looked normal. Yet I knew who she was. Deep in my gut, I knew she was the lady that everyone in the village was talking about.
“Water?” I asked. But I did not wait for a reply as I called my husband’s name, “Greg!”
Greg wasn’t home yet. I just felt it was important for her to know that I was not alone.
“Maybe we should go to the sari-sari store next door. I’m sure they have some water. I’ll buy you one. Our ref isn’t working, so we don’t have any cold water,” I said, hoping that she wouldn’t see through my lies.
The old woman emitted a low chuckle in her attempt to be friendly only to end up sounding menacing to my ears. Then, her eyes focused on my rounded belly. My hands immediately hugged my abdomen, shielding my unborn child from her eyes. She tried to look away, but it was as if my stomach was a magnet and she couldn’t help but stare.
I swallowed the lump of fear in my throat. Potchi was growling even more, saliva dripping from the sides of his wide mouth. He was ready to pounce at the tiniest provocation. As strange as it might seem, I felt safer that he was there as my protector because this woman, no matter how friendly she wanted to appear, possessed a sinister energy that came off of her, like a dark cloud that moved around her, with her.
“Seven months?” she rasped, licking her lips as though something tasty was already near her mouth.
I knew she meant how far along I was, and she was right. But I did not want to acknowledge that, so I feigned ignorance and hoped to turn her attention somewhere else.
“Seven months?” I asked while striving doubly hard to have an innocent expression on my face. “You know what, let’s go to the store. It’s just the house next to this one,” I explained as I pointed towards my left side.
The old woman smiled smugly, her yellowed teeth peeking through her pale lips.
“Tap water will be just fine,” she said. Her words came more quickly as though she couldn’t contain her excitement.
She made a slight move towards me, arms outstretched like she wanted to usher me into my own home. Potchi growled and leaped in front of me. He bared his teeth and advanced at the woman.
I wanted to yell, ‘No!’ But the word remained trapped in my throat. All I could see was the menace etched on her face as she released a low guttural sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep and far, like an echo from the bowels of the earth.
Then, I sensed some movement just outside the gate. Lights flashed, and I breathed in relief. It was Greg at last!
Greg’s arrival loosened me from the grip of fear. I felt safer as I called off Potchi's nearing attack; and so, I uttered in an assertive tone, “No, Potchi!”
I glanced at Potchi as I gave him my command. When I looked up, it was Greg that I saw coming out of the Jeep and opening the gate wide so that he could park the vehicle inside.
My head swiveled to my left and right. I looked behind me, but there was nothing but Potchi and I.
“Did you see her?” I asked Greg as he approached me, his face tired but smiling.
He gathered me in his arms and planted a kiss on my forehead before asking in a distracted manner, “Who?”
“The old lady that was just here,” I said while my mind was still trying to figure out how she… *disappeared*.
I told Greg the entire story during dinner. He nodded his head but I knew he didn’t believe in these types of tall tales. We were both non-believers. But what happened was not normal, and it coincided with many stories that were being told by the pregnant women in our area.
It was always twilight and it was always an old woman asking for a glass of water. Of course, since most believed the story of the *aswang* who lived in the mountain nearby, these people chased her away with *bolos* and threats. I did neither, and I wondered if I should have done what they did too.
That night, Potchi seemed restless. He paced near the window that was to the side of the bed. Because what happened frightened me, I asked my husband to sleep on my side instead, which was beside the window. He agreed, and he was snoring as soon as his head touched the pillow.
After a while, I fell into an uneasy sleep.
It was still dark when I was awakened by Potchi’s growling. I quickly turned on the light on the bedside table and was about to tell him to keep quiet when I noticed something wet and cold underneath the sheets. I flipped my blanket, my heart racing as I expected the worst while I hoped for the best.
But then, I saw something staining the sheets. With shaking hands, I touched the wetness. It was sticky and had the faint odor of rust. It was blood! Blood was all over my pajamas and on the sheets!
Bile rose towards my throat. I retched, but nothing came out. I felt Greg bolt up and he then had his arms around me. It was his warmth that I felt before everything around me turned black.
💮***This is a work of fiction based on tales told in my neighborhood***. 💮
Bed of Lies
The room was bathed in the light of the full moon. Shadows of thin branches and leaves danced in the soft cool breeze, and they played on the walls like an intro to a Tim Burton film. I watched unblinking. My body was tired but my mind was fully awake as though I just had two or even three cups of espresso.
It was this shift that was keeping me awake. Something about him has changed. There had been subtle changes for a while now, like how he comes home much later than usual or how he’s been having secret conversations in the bathroom or veranda when he had not cared about who heard him before. This time, however, he seemed more preoccupied, which made me believe that it was something more serious.
We haven’t had a family dinner in a while too. For the past few months, he’d often tell me to “Wait. I’m on my way.” But then there would be nothing from him for hours.
I consider us as still a “family” even though it’s just me and him. No kids just yet as he wanted to “wait for the right time.” Perhaps things would be more bearable if only I had a child with me at the dinner table with both of us waiting for a husband and a father who regularly failed to come home. But how could I subject such innocence to the silent pain of waiting for nothing? There was nothing more pitiful than watching the steam from a hot meal evaporate until what’s left was cold ramen that has grown soggy and fried chicken that has lost its crispy goodness. To have a child go through that would be cruel. So, no. It would be selfish of me to wish to have a child just so I would be better able to bear the pain. Pain could be shared, but only with someone who has enough strength to hold you up. A child should be able to lean on a parent, not the other way around.
While these thoughts occupied my brain, his phone beeped. As though I was watching myself from a distance, I saw myself lean to the side. My arm stretched across his body and then reached out for his phone that was on the nightstand beside him.
I grasped the phone in my chest, gathering just enough strength to confirm if my gut feel was correct. His phone was probably locked, but I hoped that he had not changed the code since it was not my habit to check what’s his as I used to trust him fully; and perhaps, in his ignorance, he still trusted that too.
Viola! The code still worked. The immense relief I felt quickly changed into something that threatened to choke me. The name “MyLove” and the intimate messages between them were like a thick pillow placed on my face, threatening my air supply. My heart raced as though it wanted to break out of my ribs, while my skin felt cold from the thin film of sweat which now covered my body.
I looked at him sleeping peacefully beside me, unaware of the chaos that he started in my heart and mind. Then, I looked at the messages.
*Hi, baby. I miss you*.
*I had a great time tonight, babe*.
There were so many. It had been going on for a while now. Then I found my eyes glued to a text. *I love you, baby*. Four words. Four dull knives. They pierced through my flesh and through my heart so gradually as though savoring every level of skin, muscle, and bone that they passed through. The pain was both excruciating and numbing at the same time.
How? How could he betray me like this? Getting married to him put my life on hold; and it was still on hold until now. My dreams were a secondary option, even a last option, because everything had to be for him and for the family. I worked for this family like it was a high-paying job as I did not want anyone to have anything to say against me or him, or our family. Everything was perfect - perfectly cleaned house, perfectly tended garden, perfectly ironed clothes, perfectly organized house - perfect! Plus the smile on my face that I've pasted on for so long feel almost natural. My muscles have grown accustomed to it in a way that my eyes couldn't.
Still, my sacrifices were not enough. He wanted something more; and I could not provide him anymore because I had already given him my everything.
Every last ounce of what’s inside me was on the table; and like that food that had been ignored, what’s inside me has also grown cold.
The next morning, I sat on the table with a nice, normal breakfast prepared. I waited as I watched him take a seat.
“Do you want anything for dinner tonight?” I asked.
He took a sip of coffee, and he nodded in approval of his beverage. His hurried reply, however, was “No, no.”
“I have a meeting at eight. Don’t wait up. I don’t know how long it’s gonna be,” he added while shoveling the perfectly cooked eggs into his lying mouth.
“Why, John?” I inquired. My voice calm, belying the storm of emotions that whirled inside me clamoring to get out.
“Why what?” he asked as he continued to enjoy his food.
“MyLove,” I whispered as I looked at him directly. Once he lifted his head to actually look back at me in surprise, I continued to quote them.
“‘Hi, baby. I miss you.’”
In a mocking tone, I added, “‘I had a great time tonight, babe.’”
Then I gritted my teeth when I said, “‘I love you, baby.’”
He had stopped chewing his food and seemed to have difficulty swallowing.
“Why?” I demanded. “I need to know why?!”
He let out a tired sigh and said with a smug and sardonic twist of his lips, “You bore me. You don’t satisfy me anymore in every way, especially in bed!”
“You…” he said with his brows furrowed and his hands gesturing to me as though I was some sort of thing that could not be explained. “It’s just...you!”
“After all these years,” I said quietly, my eyes never leaving his face. This face that was handsome to me before now looked twisted, like a monster’s. An unfeeling monster.
“We’ve ended years ago, Anna. You just did not want to see it.”
“No. I saw it but I tried to fix it. You saw it but all you wanted to do was escape it,” I murmured, feeling drained from all the turmoil. However, there was also clarity, which told me that what I did was right.
So with a shrug, I stood. I exhaled although all the hurt and betrayal were still churning inside me.
“Enjoy your coffee,” I said with finality and walked away.
I turned to face him again when I heard a gurgling sound coming from where John was.
He was still seated. But now, he was clutching his throat and was turning blue. He gasped for air, and I whispered with a small, sad smile, “This is how we end it… John.”
💮 My thoughts:
Men cheat, as do women.I depicted *cheating on a spouse* here. Some say that men often think about sleeping with other women and when presented with an opportunity, they will take it. I disagree though because there are still men out there who have honor. When they love, they love deeply and truly. They respect their vows. They respect their partners.
I think there are many reasons why people cheat. One could be a **lack of love or connection**, which could pertain to any type of connection, including physical, emotional, and even mental connection. When a part of you is not invested in a relationship, it’ll be hard to stay true. Another could be **lack of or the absence of respect**. Even if you don’t love somebody but you respect that person, then that respect would stop you from cheating. Then there’s also **opportunity**, as mentioned, as well as issues with **character or morality**.
I do not condone cheating, but I do understand that there could be deeper reasons as to why people do this. Just because a person cheats, he or she is already a bad person; while the one who does not is a good person - it is not as black and white as this. There are varied reasons as to why people cheat, and some could stem from something emotional, physical or even primal and psychological. Aside from that, there are also many reasons why people choose to stay with those who have cheated on them.
Hi @JonicaBradley here is my article for the "cheating" prompt. I am enjoying this. Thanks very much 💮☺️
Silence Is Not Just Being Silent
The word “silence” and its synonym “quiet” are all too familiar to us as we’ve heard these said many times and in various ways all throughout our lifetime. As kids, our parents would scream “Quiet!” if we become too rowdy while playing. In school, our teachers would command “Silence!” as they enter a noisy classroom. At work and even at home, we are sometimes told to be quiet as well.
Silence, as generally known, is the absence of sound. Officially, that is; because “silence” for me goes deeper and holds several different meanings apart from that.
At first, silence was **hope**. My emotional and mental health were both affected by disparaging remarks from people who I considered as family, in the same way that I was hurt by how their smiles quickly turned into smirks once I turned my back. I hoped and prayed that they would realize how much their words and actions hurt. But no matter how much time had passed and no matter how much I had hoped, when a habit is too deeply ingrained in a person’s mindset and practices, it is impossible to change it. In their everyday lives, they thought it usual and harmless to talk negatively about people, seemingly unaware that they have made others feel hurt and depressed, even unwanted and inadequate.
As time passed, the silence that was hope gradually changed to **anger** coupled with **frustration**. “Why?” I asked myself. “Why couldn’t they see that I’m hurting?” Sadly, although a person or two might have listened, they chose to do nothing because they wanted to protect their reputation and their family’s name at the expense of another’s pain.
Because it had been ingrained in me for so long to put family first, I still remained silent in order to **protect** my relationships. Instead of saying something in defense, I chose to keep my mouth shut even though the hurtful words said against me have already anchored themselves in my heart and mind so deeply that they were affecting my reality. Still, the status quo must be kept in order to save relationships since saying something would stir up trouble.
So I chose to stay silent even though some mistakenly believed that it was an admission of defeat or guilt. In some cases, it could be. In others, it might not. Thus, I have also come to understand that silence was also **suffering**. The pain inside was like a small wound that had been left to fester for years. It had grown and had become infected. It had spread malice and hate throughout my body until it could not be contained anymore. This meant that my silence needed to be broken. Perhaps it was akin to being a pressure cooker that needed to release steam; if it couldn’t, it would explode.
I instinctively knew that I had come to the point wherein silence was no longer an option.Once I began to **displace** my anger and frustrations on the people I love, I knew that I had to speak out. If I continue to choose to say nothing to those who’ve hurt me, I would also continue to hurt those who love me.
It was the hurt in my daughter’s eyes that made me decide to speak out. For far too long, the effects of my silence had made me short-tempered, which was not only directed at her but mostly at her father too. Even the smallest things at home could trigger me into getting too angry. My anger had become disproportionate and difficult to control. I’ve had conversations in my head where I said what I wanted to say. But it was different if you couldn’t say it out loud. It offered no relief; hence, the pressure continued to mount.
The funny thing was, once I began to **speak out**, their words lost the power to hurt me. Once I told my side of the story and painted their treatment of me, I felt relief. I no longer cared if they continued to talk about me behind my back because now I could tell the world what they truly were. I no longer felt hurt when they smiled their fake smiles or when they smirked at my name because I could already freely tell them and others how different their actions in private are compared to what they show the public.
After that, I chose to **cut them off** from my life. That was another type of silence - the one where you no longer speak to each other, which gave me freedom and relief. I let them know that I knew many of the things that they thought I didn’t know. I let them know that I was aware of what they said and what they did behind my back. This empowered me in many ways. For one, it freed me from caring about what they thought about me. Before, I walked on eggshells, too watchful and careful so that they would have no reason to say anything bad about me. But now, cutting them off made me find myself again. Instead of tiptoeing around, I now held my head high. If they still wished to disparage me, I no longer cared - because now they know that I know what they thought I didn’t not know.
Silence, truly, does mean so much - from hope to despair, from suffering to strength. It is a word with multitudinous facets that we could only understand as we go through our experiences in life.
The Sound of Darkness
It was like any other afternoon. Outside was the glaringly bright sunlight against a backdrop of cerulean blue. Almost no clouds were in sight, except for wisps of cottony white that languidly floated along as though carried by river water that stumbled on huge rocks while flowing so lazily towards the open sea. It was as if the heat of the sun had melted all the clouds, leaving only a sky that was so blindingly blue that looking at it made my eyes water.
Staring at the world from the fourth floor window made everything seem significant yet insignificant. People below scurried and hustled like busy ants during summer time. I saw some in uniform running towards the building, probably trying to beat the clock as it was almost four o’clock in the afternoon, which meant a shift change. Others walked hurriedly towards their vehicles or to the nearby bus stop as if they couldn’t wait to put some distance between them and this apathetic structure where people's feelings were trapped and hung like smelly, unwashed curtains that even the strongest antiseptic could not get rid of. It was as if Time was at their heels telling them to go and get away from a place that, in just a span of a few weeks, has become hell on earth for me.
The rush and bustle of the outdoors were muted as I was enclosed in this room. It was like watching a silent movie where the only sounds I could hear were the quiet purring of the air conditioner and the haggard breathing of my mother, who lay on pristine white sheets that only made her skin look even more ashen and jaundiced.
I woke up today listening to the change in her breathing. It was a rattling sound, like the sound of a baby's rattle that was being shaken listlessly. Just by the sound of it, I knew that it took her double or even triple the effort just to take one small breath that didn’t even go in and out smoothly. Her breaths snagged here and there as though there were barriers all over her throat that blocked the air from being inhaled and exhaled. I’ve heard them call this the “death rattle,” which was an ominous sound; a presentiment of what was to come.
Death was not easy to accept. However, when there was nothing else that could be done, when the road we were on would not let us turn back or to our sides - then all that we could do was to take a step forward even though we had no desire to see what was further down the road. That’s life, I guess. We believe that we have the ability to make choices. But then, circumstances would entrap us; and we would then be left with no other choice but to accept what Fate has destined for us.
The thought suffocated me. No matter how bright it was all around me, this thick cloud of darkness just closed in and engulfed me mercilessly. It settled on my shoulders like an over-sized winter jacket that I could not take off no matter how hard I tried and no matter how hot it had become.
Darkness was playing me, and I, powerless, became its puppet. It was an accordion player and I was the accordion. It pulled on my insides until I was stretched to the limit; and then, just before I'd break, it would then push everything in so that I would choke on all my feelings.
My mother’s rattled breathing grew louder and more far apart. I approached her bed slowly, my feet heavy as though I was wearing shoes made of cement. I did not like seeing her like this, a piteous shadow of her once bubbly self. Her eyes had sunk into their sockets. Her cold skin was like old parchment that looked like it would crumble at the slightest of touch. But still, I touched her. I held her hand. I let her know that I was there.
Her breathing gained resonance, like a runner who gets that final spurt of energy during the last few feet of a race. To her, it was her final fight. However futile it was, she did not give in so easily to this silent but menacing disease. Still, the cancer had already won. We were only waiting for it to claim the prize, and I already knew that I alone would wallow in the spoils.
Her breathing grew quicker but more shallow as though she was panting and trying to get more air but couldn’t. Then, she held one long breath that she exhaled in a slow, desperate whisper. Just like that, all the suffering and pain of the past year were done with a final exhausted sigh.
Slivers of afternoon sun danced gracefully on her skin impervious to the darkness that had already claimed her. Her hand was still in mine. It had some warmth left as I held it to my now soaked cheeks. As death took her, darkness also began to consume my heart and mind. I allowed it to spread inside me because I knew that it was a darkness that even the strongest light could not easily chase away.
Death has come and has brought darkness with it. For a while, I knew that I would sink myself into this darkness. I had to feel it - all of it - in order to accept it. Before I would be able to move on from the pain, I needed to grasp it with both hands and cling to it. Because without this darkness, I would not be able to move on. Without acceptance, I would remain stagnant. Without understanding this darkness, I would not be able to move towards the light and live again.
💮 Hello. I am new here on Read.Cash. I hope I did well. I wrote this with the prompt "Darkness" that was provided by @JonicaBradley which reminded me of the time when I had to let go of my mother who succumbed to cancer in 2004. I miss her still.
When a Dog Bites
"Does your dog bite?" I often get asked this question when people see my dogs. I have three beautiful bois - one rescue, Skye, and two American Bullies, Grimm and Kit-Quat.
People are generally afraid of large breeds, and rightfully so. Unlike small dogs or toy dogs whose bites or aggression are often treated casually (because they look cute! which should not be reason enough), big breeds do have powerful bites and they could do a lot of damage. One glaring and recent example is the biting incident that happened in Oslob, Cebu wherein a young 16-year-old girl was bitten by a rottweiler. Reports say that the girl was picking up seashells on knee-deep water when the neighbor's rottweiler suddenly came at her. Some say that they dog was not leashed, while others believe that the dog had escaped.
A video surfaced on social media showing the girl trying to defend herself from the dog. Many netizens were outraged because of this, and the girl did sustain scratches and bite injuries from the incident. Now, aside from the public demanding for the dog's owner to pay for damages, some are also asking for the dog to be euthanized; and this is usually what gets me in cases like this.
My belief is that a dog's behavior is based not only on nature but also nurture. Nature because some breeds are predisposed to certain behavior. To illustrate, bloodhounds, huskies, German shepherds, and cattle dogs are only a few examples of working dogs. This means that they have been bred for certain tasks, like hunting, pulling heavy loads, or herding. As for rottweilers, they were bred to protect and herd cattle and even pull heavy loads.
It is crucial to know the breed before you buy or adopt a puppy because knowledge is key in disciplining a pup. For instance, when my brother told me that he was going to give my daughter an American Bully puppy, I first had to do some research because I needed to know what I was up against. I knew that I was going to be the primary disciplinarian; hence, I have to know whether or not I actually have the strength of character to discipline this dog because, honestly, I was afraid as I've heard of stories where Pit Bulls are supposed to "lock" their jaws once they bite. Which is not true, by the way. Also, Pit Bulls are different from American Bullies, although they do look somewhat the same.
Thus, nature pertains to what a breed is predisposed to do. Nurture, on the other hand, is the responsibility of an owner. As Cesar Millan often says, the 3 primary needs of your dogs, after the basic needs are met, include: discipline, exercise, and affection.
Discipline is when you train your dog so that he understands what he can or cannot do. I find this to be crucial especially during the first few months of puppyhood. During this time, dogs are at their cutest, and we find ourselves hesitating to discipline them because they are too cute! But the thing is, this is also the best time to establish limitations or boundaries. This is also the time when, if left undisciplined, your dog could readily develop bad habits. For instance, I've seen how people like to play with their puppies by allowing the pups to "play bite" their hands or other parts of the body or even clothes or things. I do not allow this at home. Why? Because when your dog grows up, its bite will become stronger and it will be harder to stop it from "play biting" with you once its teeth have grown bigger and its jaws have gotten stronger. Same thing with biting wires and furniture. I do not allow such actions as well. As puppies, whenever my dogs begin to take interest in things that they are not allowed to touch, I firmly say, "No!" and transfer their attention somewhere else, like an empty box, stuffed toys, or empty plastic bottles that they can play with. Thankfully, they seem to have remembered their lessons well because I can actually leave them inside the house and I am assured that everything will still be okay when I get back.
Dogs also need exercise, which goes hand in hand with socialization. Some breeds require more physical exertion, while others less. Cattle dogs, for instance, have a lot of energy as they were primarily bred for herding and protecting cattle. They can run and stay active for hours! Bullies, on the other hand, require only a few hours (or even less than an hour) of exercise because they were bred as companion dogs. This is why I love my bullies. I let them play and run around, and, after only a few minutes, they'll all get tuckered out and sleep for hours! My spirit animal 😁
We should remember that lack of exercise can lead to biting, not only stuff around the house but people too. It can also lead to aggression because a dog needs to release all of its pent up energy.
Last comes affection. When your dog behaves well, then he should be rewarded as this reinforces positive behavior. Do not show affection when your dog does something bad because, if you do, he'll believe that what he's doing is good, which means that he's going to keep repeating that behavior because you rewarded him for it.
When taking care of a dog, or any pet for that matter, we must consider both nature and nurture as these two are connected to each other. We cannot say that it is the nature of the Pit Bull to bite, and it is because of that nature that a dog must be punished. No. I vehemently disagree. As humans, and as pet owners, we must first assess ourselves before getting a dog of a certain breed. Ask yourself these questions:
Am I capable enough to provide for the needs of my future dog? These needs do not only pertain to food and shelter, but it must also take into consideration the nature of the breed. Some breeds are definitely smarter and more headstrong, which means that they need an owner who will challenge their intelligence but also have the confidence to train them, as well as the heart to love them.
Am I assertive enough to discipline a dog? Do I have enough time and energy for my pet? Do I have the extra budget to pay for vaccinations, pet food, and other essential needs of my future pet? Do I have enough space at home for a dog? If there is not enough space outside my house, do I have a way to effectively exercise my dog? These are only some of the questions that we must carefully consider before getting or adopting a dog.
Our choice must be based on our capabilities, and not because a dog looks nice or cute. If we are not effective dog owners, not only do we fail our dogs, but they could also take the punishment for our mistakes. In addition to that, we could put other people's safety at risk as well - because, yeah, all dogs do bite.
Macaron Day
I am currently watching a series called "Sell Your Haunted House" which stars the ever-youthful Jang Nara. Her character needs to eat a lot to keep her energy and temperature up (because sending restless spirits to the other side is not a job for the hungry and weak!). A few episodes show her eating cute and colorful macarons. I don't know how FB knew, but an ad for macarons suddenly popped up. Luckily, it was a baker in our locality (which means delivery is free!!!)
The bakery is called Macaron Day which specializes in Korean-style macarons. My daughter and I have not had macarons yet, if I remember correctly. Macaroons, yes. But macarons, no. The coconut macaroons, which are commonly sold in nearby stores, do not look and taste the same as these macarons. While macarons are colorful and filled with all sorts of flavors, the macaroons that we are used to are like small sweet cakes made primarily with dessicated coconut. Yes, they are also quite a treat.
As scheduled, the Macaron Day macarons arrived early, delivered by a Korean guy who handed me a brown paper bag. He then pointed to the sticker on the bag which had instructions on "How to Eat Deliciously." I was tempted to say, "kamsahamnida" 'coz being a fan of Kdramas, you do learn a word or two. Still, I just opted for a simple "Thank you!" to avoid sounding ridiculous.
The macarons came at just the right time. We were already having our warm beverages (coffee for me and milk for my girl), which are the perfect pair to these delicious desserts. They came in a small pretty pink box and were individually wrapped, which I think is to avoid the macarons from sticking to each other. As soon as you open the box, you'll see the colorful pastel colors of each macaron.
The 6 flavors that we tried were decadent and tasty. Each of them offers the taste buds a variety of different flavors, and every bite is a revelation and an exciting food adventure!
1. Rose Raspberry. The creaminess of the buttercream is beautifully offset by the slight tartness of the raspberry filling. (I really like its tart-sweet taste.)
2. Oreo. Inside is a choco-buttercream filling with a crunch from an oreo cookie. (My daughter loves this!)
3. Ang Butter. The filling is a wonderful anglaise buttercream with a yummy layer of sweet red bean paste, which is actually sweet and not savory at all. (One of my faves because I do love mochi filled with red bean paste.)
4. Lamington. Filled with anglaise buttercream and raspberry jam. The top has been dipped in chocolate sauce and sprinkled with dessicated coconut.
5. Grape Cream Cheese. Fresh grapes and yummy cream cheese makes this our favorite!
6. Matcha. You can really taste the earthiness of the matcha here (according to their FB page, they use Jeju Island matcha). The dusting of bitter matcha powder on top actually goes really well with the ice-cream like matcha-flavored filling.
The macarons themselves are crunchy once you bite into them but are wonderfully chewy inside. It's a joy to taste every one of them.
What's funny is that it came with instructions -"Can be stored in freezer for up to 3 days." Well, it didn't even last a full thirty minutes once the box was opened.
@camgo