6 Years of Downfall

“You’re right! I am turning into this horrible person. Maybe I already am. I am always irritated, agitated, aggressive.. I try to stay calm. Don’t you know this is exhausting? It exhausts me. I’m.. I am being a mom, I am being your wife. I am juggling these roles. It’s just that, right now, I’m tired, Patrick. I’m sorry, I’m tired.”

“Okay. What’s happening right now is.. you are mad. I annoy you, okay.. but now you are crying. Wha – oh no, no.” His sarcastic face is there again, he knows how much I hated it. “Let me guess. You don’t know why? You just feel like crying?”

“Don’t look at me like that. I am trying, god knows, I’m trying.” I am shaking now. Living with you is very tiring. I’m tired. I’m already tired. I fucking hate you and I am fucking exhausted. I wanted to add, but I know, its.. it is something someone gone cuckoo would say. He already sees me as one, but I cannot.. Of course I cannot say it.

He just shook his head. Oh, and that sneer.  He walked off in a huff.  Wish granted.

But, he’s right. It has always been like this. How pathetic am I in his eyes? He’s been with me for six years, he had seen it all. I have seen it all. Six years, is that enough to drive each other insane?

Then there goes the narrator of my life, the inner bully. He talks with the same arrogance as my husband.

This is what happens when you live with someone who crushes your thoughts, your belief system, the way you look at yourself, all the while, being loving and caring and responsible husband and father to your kids. A trophy partner you can show off to your relatives and friends, the trophy partner you secretly hate. Oh, you wanted to break free? How can you reason to his realism? You are a depressed, delusional. His logic is nothing compared to the fucked up yours. This is what happens when you merge yourself into marriage without fucking thinking, now, let your freedom fly and your soul rot, idiot. 

Have you ever felt this kind of hate? You’ve cut your own wings and now you are being mean, mostly to yourself. But you don’t want to show it, so it’s just deeply buried inside you. You don’t know when will all this stop. You thought, this hate will pass. It’s a part of every marriage. But no, it’s a downfall without a crash.

You can’t even describe it anymore, you can only feel it. There is this strong anger living inside your chest that you always suppress. You don’t understand it either, you can’t use your words right anymore. You try to reason to yourself, nothing is coming out. You just wanted to scream, to runaway, to stay still, to move, to sit, to dive…  You don’t even know what you want to do anymore. You don’t know what to do to make it go away. Hate, rage, temper, anger, you don’t know what to call it. You don’t know what it is, but you know it is planted inside you. A bad seed. It seeps, it stays, you can feel its roots, it is becoming you.

Truth is, you are a bad wife, a bad mother, and a bad person. Added the narrator.


How Can a Photograph Capture the Image of a Person Falling Apart?

I stared at the black and white photograph, “Is this how unhappy I look like?” I hadn’t realized it before. I was never beautiful, but looking at this picture.. This is not me. This can’t be me. This is far from the remark of “Oh. I look so ugly”

I took the photograph, studied a bit more closely. Is this how people see me? Since when did I look this empty?

Day by day, for years, I’ve watched confidence fade away. I’ve cut my hair short. I’ve given up on any pity attempt to look pretty. I neglected myself for a very long time. I look so dull and wasted, tired and drained. This hopeless face can never be covered up. This depressing, decaying body cannot be dressed up. Look a little more closely, you’ll cringe. You’ll cringe at the person beneath this veneer body.

Hate reflects. I didn’t know it reflects. People can actually see through me. How can I not know? I’ve been hiding all of this. I’ve been hiding. I’ve been hiding all this time.

How can a decent photograph capture the image of a person falling apart?

How farther can I descent?

What will I look like next year?

Where will shame and insecurities lead me to?

Is this photograph my cry for help?

Look at what you’ve done.

What have you done to yourself?

“When you photograph people in color, you photograph their clothes. But when you photograph people in Black and white, you photograph their souls!”― Ted Grant

Actual photograph

The photograph was taken by our Photojournalism professor. It will be shown at our university’s photo exhibit next week. It is a black and white portrait of me. I have seen the photograph just a few minutes before writing this. It is like meeting my self for the very first time. A revelation of how I’ve let myself down. A potential wake-up call to pull myself up.


Rage and Hibernation

I can’t believe someone could be that colorless. You’re right. I’d use the word pale. But that seems like an understatement. When you see her, you might as well grab a TV remote and ramp up the color intensity. Yes, that girl. Have you noticed how her skin glows? No, not that kind of glow. Her skin is so white, it glows.  You know why we don’t see her that much? We don’t see her around that much. Yes, so I’ve heard. Did you see the slashes on her wrist? I can’t take it off my mind. The scars are even paler than her skinny wrists. It’s not a good sight. Do you know why we don’t see her that much? Well, seems like I know something you don’t know.

So listen closely. I’ve met her old friend, Anna. They were pretty close. Yes. Were. But I’ve got to warn you, this Anna is crazy. There is definitely wrong with her, but she’s fun to talk to. And when she talks, I can’t seem to look away from her.. nose ring. Don’t laugh at me. You won’t help it. It’s gleaming. And her eyes.. her eyes are hypnotic. Oh, right! Anna. I was talking to her when she passed by. Anna just stared at her old friend. “She should’ve just killed herself.” Yes, that’s what Anna said. “She’s walking around dragging everyone down, she’s painful to watch. She knows it herself, so she kept herself away, locked up in her house. Not getting out, until she’s better.” She even added.

Do you know what happened to her? She’s once filled with confidence. Almost proud. Her mom, is as kind as any moms get  but she can’t control her daughter. They always argue. The way she talks to her mom, she’s going to be wait-listed in hell. She’s having problems with her rage back then. By the time she wakes up, she feels so angry to no particular person, no particular reason. Anger just fills her up. Her mom is still so kind to her that anger is often mixed with guilt. It is driving her even more crazy.

One night, when she’s having her usual argument with her mom,some misunderstanding. Anna was there, hanging out upstairs, inside her old friend’s room. She can hear her friend from the dining room. The argument went into halt. This girl, she walked up the stairs, stomping at every step, screaming on top of her lungs. She was so mad, she went straight to her bathroom. She didn’t bother looking at her friend waiting for her. She went straight to the bathroom door and slammed it. A few moments have passed and all there is is silence. Anna couldn’t take the ringing peace, and decided to check on her old friend. There, sitting on the floor, her right wrist were slashed, multiple times. Like she never stopped slashing it until she calmed down. Anna called 911. She thought her friend died during her watch.

She didn’t tell me how she felt, if she’s shocked or.. She just told the story like it is something factual, you know? I don’t know how she managed to tell the tale with a hollowed voice. She knew her friend had died. I think, Anna kind of did, too. They never talked after that night.

First Date

And here I am, two years later, approaching August in a rainy afternoon. We’re supposed to be celebrating our second year anniversary in a few days, if I hadn’t do the things I did.

The things we wish we didn’t do usually are the same things that would mark us and push us to be a better person, a better version of ourselves. As professor Dumbledore would say, “Scars can come in useful, too”.

I spent around eight years in college, the first reason why I can’t go to school when I was in freshman year was because we didn’t have enough money then. My dad almost used up all the money so he can fly to US. And, I finally got to go to school but then I got pregnant. Eventually, I have to skip again to be a mom and find a job. A year after, I went back to school. But then again, I got pregnant with baby number two. A lot of things happened. I got separated with my children’s father, twice, and I finally get to finish school. It was a whirlwind span of 8 years. I’ve lived. I was lucky enough to have my parents’s back through it all. My sanity, on the other hand, withers.

It started a few years back, it was 2015, I think. I just got back to school after skipping a few semesters. You were there. You annoy me. And I don’t know, but in some ways, you got my attention. Maybe its your boyish demeanor, oozing confidence and.. no, I dont want to make you blush. It was the first week of class, I headed towards the last room down the hall. The room’s wall was all corked-up, its an audio-visual room but it’s been there for a few decades, I think, that all the cork on the walls has done was not to muffle the noise but to give off a scent of an air-conditioned cabin. And the “visual” experience is not that tight as well. You can’t properly see the visuals flashing on the board, the white thing won’t go all the down. Student’s vandals filled the room as well. Its a room packed with history, and it kept its secrets. That room was our witness.

It was English 101 and our professor had us roam around and get to know people by asking different questions and writing them on a paper. You have to move around the room and meet people. That’s how we properly exchanged our names. You said your name’s Hez. I told you, “It sounds like Fez.” I was currently hooked with That 70s Show that time and one of my favorite characters is Fez. Your name got embedded in my memory right away.

From then on, we exchanged nods, hi-fives and hellos, in the hallway, at the cafeteria, in front of the library. But you still annoy me. You seem loud and and just full of it. I even muttered to Shan, the girl who sits beside me during English class, “I hate this guy” but few weeks after, I would also get involve when youre reporting in class. And yes, you were reporting about Cannabis.

Then 2017 came. After two years, I dont know what happened. We exchanged messages. We agreed to meet a school. I am not fond of answering phone calls back then. But when you called me as I was leaving the house, I’m like an eight-year-old girl phoning her first crush. I could still remember how you chuckled. That made me giddy during the 2-hour drive.

First date. We met at school. I was nervous. I just got out of a very long relationship and I wasn’t used to dating yet. You were wearing your green flannel polo, you still have that same boyish demeanor. I was wearing a pretty plain shirt and wrapped my hips with a high-waist blue denim skirt.  We ran a few errands at school and I was too nervous to meet my old professors, same professors who saw me with a big belly, twice. The same professors who saw me and the dad of my babies, dating, way back when we were still fooling around — no babies. It was pile after pile of anxiousness but you somehow made me at ease. After school we went to a shirt supplier, my personal errand, then we went to a Pho house and got some noodles. Then drank a few beers at TK, just a floor above.

Its this strange feeling when youre with someone you want to be with, you just cant find it easy to leave. I would still want to spend the night with you so I asked you out for a coffee. Would that count as date number two?

And so we went for a coffee. It was raining, there were drizzles. You were quiet the whole time which I would have find unnerving. I would always fill the silences with non-sense sentences but with your silence, I just find it comforting, calming.  I was wearing my green hoodie at that time. We walked and walked. We brushed our hands accidentally a few times but no one dared to hold the others hand. When its time to go, I pecked your cheek and said goodbye.

On my way home, I sent you a message. Thanking you for the night.

Nothing much really happened there, it was the most wholesome. But trust me, that first date is the most perfect first date on my mind. Thank you for that night.


Instant Feelings

We live in a world of instant ramens from some fancy, aesthetically pleasing Korean mart and when we eat it, it gives us a false feeling of being cultured and having in-depth personality. That instant.

We live in a world of instant messages. We’ll start off exchanging messages, see if we could last way past midnight. Let’s tell each other the food we’re getting or what we have been doing, and lets all build-up that vibe. The vibe we can build with with five other people we also ‘vibe’ and chat with.

We live in a world of speedy dates and…. long term commitments. Just because we are all afraid to be this lonely.

The world of romance is moving a bit too fast. And I cannot catch up. I’ve been trying to put the romance aside, but I can’t help it. I can sense the fear of being this way, way too long.

In this constant stream of conversations, I feel most lonely.

Hopeless Romantics

There are two types of people: the hopeless romantics and the realists. Hopeless romantics think they only get to fall hard once, and once they do, they’d do everything just to cling on. They could be sleepwalking inside their own bubble filled with romantic books, movies and sad songs and all there is. You’ll usually see them doing the most stupid things you’d ever imagine – and you might want to shake, them slap them–whatever you could to wake them up. Realists, an army of logical species, on the other hand, think that relationships come with rationality and chemistry. Its about the ideals; its either working or not. They see every face as potential partners. Lucky bastards. For hopeless romantics, in a sea of people, there can only be one. Now, you know you’re in it for a hell when you’re a hopeless romantic and you stumble upon a realist. You can wait all you want for the wave of people to crash over you, but you’d still stay there, staring at one.

Cost of Freedom

 what-does-it-takes-to-be-human“I just cant imagine myself in shackles, following his lead, his guidance, his eyes trained on me. I wanted to be wrong again, I wanted to make some mistakes, I wanted to learn, I wanted to rise, I wanted to live.”

What does it really mean to be free? What does it really take to be yourself when you already have two kids and individuality is something you should scrap from your list? They say, get yourself a good husband, form a happy family, get a stable job and you will live in peace, you’ll be truly happy. What if life itself is more than that? What if you cant wrap your head with that construct?

In my opinion, you still need your individuality, you still have to claim yourself even when you are journeying motherhood. Especially when you are journeying motherhood. Every values, every care, every happiness, every love that you will give to your kids and to everyone who surrounds you will come from within yourself. When you are truly free and happy, that is the only time that you are capable to give the quality of love that you can truly give. It will radiate from you, its glow will touch your kids. Quality of life you aspire will grow from there. Happiness in its utmost authenticity.

Right now, for almost a year… I’ve tried my best to settle down and be happy. Be happy with the blessings that I have, with the husband that I have. But that’s not the case, I am not happy and I wanted to break free. Pushing this thought aside every single day for a span of a year is draining me, driving me crazy, turning me into a bad person filled with guilt and silent rage, one who cant give anyone a genuine smile, a genuine love and genuine care, including her self. I tried several ways to overcome, I tweaked my emotions, my way of living, I’ve been depressed, I shut myself, I tried to open myself, I tried to eat healthy,. I even blame the pills I am taking, but I remained depressed. Is this an act of selfishness? Yes, I suppose. But I am not truly happy. I have to grant myself the freedom to find that happiness and to realize the person in me, my individuality in order to be a productive mom, in my own way. In my own way.

But what will that cost me?

What do I have to give up for my own freedom?

What do I get in exchange?

I have to leave my husband, my ever loving, supportive husband. My husband who has nothing in mind but to love his family and plan the future with me. My husband who’s been with me for 7 long years, and hasn’t given up on me, during difficult times, during extreme mood-swings, during my breakdowns. My husband so perfect and yet I still couldn’t love him.

Whats wrong with me? I do not know. One thing is for sure. I have to break free from it and start from scrap. I just cant imagine myself in shackles, following his lead, his guidance, his eyes trained on me. I wanted to be wrong again, I wanted to make some mistakes, I wanted to learn, I wanted to rise, I wanted to live.

With him, I just cannot do it. Everything is carefully planned, which is a good sign, right? That’s parenthood all about. “But I am not happy. I dont want to be a wife anymore, I still wanted to be a mom of course, but I want to be truly myself. ” These thoughts are killing me.

All I ever wanted to do is live and see myself finally happy. Taking care of my kids. I cant be a mom in this kind of state. Overwhelming guilt and sadness is eating me alive. I’d like to picture seeing him happy and being loved by someone better. Him, treating the way he should be treated, and me continuously learning my lessons, through good or bad.

Is it that bad for me to choose the way I wanted to live?

I know, everything is not logical. This is wrong. This is wrong. This is what I tell myself.

Come on, frown upon me. I will get used to that.


Jump Back Into Where You Learned How To Swim

Go back. You were once there, you have conquered your mind. Go back to peace and quiet, light and calm. If you think this chaos in your mind is what’s ordinary, let your mind swim back to its most quiet state. Everything has its right place, the mind knows the right time to think about the right things and how to set aside the wrong ones. 

Go back to consistency in doing all the things that you think is what’s good for you. Invest in time. Do whatever it is that makes you look around and think, “I love this life. I love living this kind of life.” Dress up, decorate your room, treat yourself nicely, bring kindess to everybody, be more tender to your mom, bring warmth to your kids, restore romance with your husband. 

This phase in your life is the most challenging, and the most exciting. Exert all your effort in doing what you think is what’s best for the life you are living in. Collect more friends, new memories. Let go of the past, let go of past misunderstandings, arguements. Forgive those people who treated you badly. Apologize to yourself. Take time to apologize to all the versions of you that you have destroyed, to create a worse one. 

Go back to reading books, go back to the light feeling of being on your own world. 
Go back to walking down the street with no judgement in mind. Go back. 
Go back. Jump in. 

Wake up. 

You have gone too far. 

I’ve been gone for a long time. Ny last post was in December. I apologize for not responding to any of the comments, I’ve gone “GONE” this past few months and I am patching up myself one step at a time. I’ll go back to writing, to speaking what’s on my mind, to reading what’s on your minds, to reading. 

Hi! Hi again! I am back. And gah! It feels so good 🙂