Friday, October 17, 2008

I had a cut between my fingers. I don't even remember when I got that cut between my fingers.

Life is just full with surprises.


It felt terrible. A cut; shallow but poisonously sharp, penetrating far past the skin layer deep into the reddish flesh. Adrenaline rushes, gushing through the blood stream, pushing tears of maroon fluid through the fine opening. And the beating pain keeps on.

Looking at the trail of blood flowing slowly down my arm towards gravity calms me down. I feel closer to God. I feel His presence.

There were not many days I happened to lose my confidence.

I was thinking: How do you fulfill the needs of your loved ones, when all that you have are old crumbs and dusts in your empty pockets?

How do you fulfill the needs of your loved ones, when all your daily doings are working your ass out for a cheap bowl of cold, overcooked rice?

How do you fulfill the needs of your loved ones, when you cannot even buy them chocolate and roses?

How do you fulfill the needs of your loved ones, when all that you could offer is your endless love but nothing of shelter, of pretty ride, and of comfortable life?

How do you fulfill the needs of your loved ones, when your daily work only make you a penny or two, just enough to survive till dawn appears, when you need to work again?

How do you fulfill the needs of your loved ones, when you look at your money jar you have been saving for better future can hardly buy anything your loved one wants?

How do you deal with the frustrations, when you cannot fulfill the needs of your loved ones?

When I thought of all these, they got to my manly tears that conveyed my frustrations, my disappointments, my sadness and my anger towards life. About how life has treated me so far. About how sickening life has been since the last time I gave it my respect. About how fucked up life has turned over. Of me being upset over myself for not being able to make ready a lot of things I am pretty sure that many men out there will prepare for the ones they love.

Have you ever been up all night in sadness because you just don't have enough to buy your loved ones some happiness? How fucked up it is, inside of you, the anger banging on each side from within your skull; the frustrations that bite into your liver that you swear you can feel every time the sharp teeth sink into the flesh; the confidence attack that as if life slaps you flat on the ground so flat that you can never ever rise anymore, not in a thousand years or so?

And despite the sweetest thing, I suddenly realize that in this world, love is price-tagged. Sometimes it's presents and roses. Sometimes it is cars. Houses. Luxurious life. Vacations. Posh jeweleries. But if you notice carefully, they all chase down to only one root: money.

All but all that I could have imagined was me starting on living a life with my wife, climbing the mountain together, aiming for the tip of the mountain to look at how beautiful the view of the land from top. Falling rain and crumbling stones; harsh weather at extreme conditions; starvation with no shelter to be safe under, but in the end the sweetest fruit of effort tastes never better. I long for that experience. At least that was how my parents started their move - they climbed together and they fall together.

But I guess the time has changed. It is men who climb the mountain alone and the wife comes in between or at the end of the journey - with a helicopter. Worst, men have to climb to reach them who already are at the peak.

Wives, girlfriend, female lovers: appreciate what your men are. He might not be a rich man to start naming, but he works his ass off every fucking gawd damn day just so you can eat your dinner comfortably while your ass stays put on that expensive couch he bought you on his savings.


I am looking at the wound. It still bleeds. And i feel calmer. Never better.

Monday, October 13, 2008

It has been quite surprising to me when it comes to caring a patient.

She fell sick today out of a sudden and I couldn't help but to take all the precautions and initializing methods to healing a viral fever and flu.

235 sheets of laboratory reports to be marked and keyed-in are not something I do fancy to finish in a short while, but work is work and one after another I had to finish them by tonight. She insisted to accompany despite my resistance, and so she did.

But nothing could really tremble a man's heart than to see his loved ones being strictly unhealthy. Beneath three layers of cloth she was still shivering, and still sitting toughly and patiently as i marked them reports. Seeing her in such condition hurt me quite a bit; with crooked eyebrows and running nose she looked as if she's a melting snowman. Wise thing to do is to bring her home, far from those freezing breeze of cold night and flying insects under the neon lights.

"Not until you finish marking." Fine.

She sat next to me, sleepy as ever, keeping on bumping onto my arm every time she leaped as her sleepiness took over. But I was not even half way done yet. Looking into her tired eyes and gleaming sweet cherry lips as she hovered around trying to find a place to land her heavy head, I took the court; a lap to lay her head on. And she did not hesitate.

Hours went passed as I was finishing the reports until eventually I ended up at the last one. Upon completion i took a glance into her face beneath the weak lighting just to realize how peaceful she looked when she's asleep.

Resting brows and tight lips; she looked like a baby. And deep inside I felt warm. I felt the cheers. I felt peaceful too.

I completed the last report and then slowly i rested my head against the wood bench, so slow and careful in order not to wake her up. I moved some of her hair that covered her face, and i enjoyed what was right in front of me; a lovely view i could never really see everyday. I put a hand slowly on her forehead and I could feel how warm her head was; the fever was still at large but at least the temperature had gone drastically low enough to indicate that she was recovering.

Time seemed to freeze. It was as if a very long dream to end.

I didn't notice when she opened her eyes. She lifted her hand with all effort and held mine in it, and she kissed it slowly. Her eyes looked tired, but I know those glances meant something. As if they go harmonically, she closed her eyes shut and curved a slight smile on her dry lips, lifting those rosy cheeks. It did not stay long until she fell asleep again.

I felt peaceful. I felt love. And gawd, I felt relieved.

If I am to write today, I will write for myself.

There were times in life where I found myself completely clueless; looking out through the age-stained mirror on the wall and wonder about many things, but most of the time, nothing at all.

There were times in the past where I found myself cutting my own memories into pieces, only to find that in the end they rearranged themselves back into what they were before perfectly, sometimes beyond perfection. Worst, they improve to be what we used to describe as a tiny burning coal in a silo of haystack. It might burn slowly, but point is in the end the haystack is gone without you knowing. And until it does, per se, you will never realize what you could have missed.

As hard as it is said to be, love could never be as merciful.

How would you feel when the only reason for you to live is the only reason for you to die? What do you do when all you have wanted to see all these times, and you did, but inside an indestructible glass box? You swear you could have seen it shines, could have tasted it and smelled it but point being you can never go beyond that thick glass wall that divides the both of you into two different worlds. All you can do is just looking at it painfully - like watching a stripper from outside her glass cage while she dances her curves around - you can see but you can never hold.

What do you do when the only thing you could have always wanted gives you series of false hopes and intimidating sacrifices as the price? The thing that provokes you to move forward, pushing everything that crosses your way aside, putting an end to every chance of failure only to see that at last never you could have reached it.

Does it matter, or not, to know everything that you have ever wanted, is everything you could never have? Does it matter, or not, to accept every failure en route to a neverending smile, if ever you could reach for one? Does it matter, or not, to love consecutively, unconditionally?

Years. Solid years since I have become a cripple - emotionwise. Years have passed since my heart was unconditionally broken over my unconditional love. Never could i have forgotten nor I could have ever forgiven of what one might describe as sensational torment. Years I have worked myself out in order to face my only mistake and my agony - to fall intimidately in words I swore I would have never believed; into the eyes I swore I would never have trusted; in the woman so demonic I swore I would have never met.

What else would you feel when the only reason for you to let stay, is the only reason for you to let go? Worst, what do you do when the only reason for you to forgive, is the only reason for you to condemn? Even worst, what do you do when the only one that can fix your heart, is the one who broke it?

And to condemn you, I shall do,
For all the pain you’ve walked me through,
Stop telling him your love is on fire
Because you were nothing but just a liar.