Questa è Enida

After supper last night, I was writing a sensational story to share with you. The story morning glory about an affair between a married woman and a married man. (Yeah nothing new to many of us, just a glorified gossip some share over a teh tarik or kopi o’beng at mamaks or kopitiams.) But then my moods changed after tucking me Monchies in bed.

Kitreena was asking if I was going back downstairs to work on my netbook. When I said yes, she curiously asked “What is it that you are always busy working on the computer, Mom?” Boy oh boy! I ended up spending half an hour answering that supposedly simple question.

We had a long talk about how books are made and published. And more importantly about how one works hard to earn a living – no matter what one does, one has to do it well. And we talked about money that can be made from writing. (The second 15 minutes was just me actually, trying to convince myself that I should become a writer with my own books selling at MPH and Popular bookstores! I wasn’t all that convincing… naaah.)

Then I came downstairs. Scrounged for Josh Groban CD for a feel-good music and I, the Enida of Questa è Enida,  instead of working on that sensational story of an affair between a married man and a married woman, did dishes! Forget about the affair. Forget about writing a best-seller. Doing dishes, just like ironing… is way therapeutic than what it looks. Josh didn’t have to try too hard to help send me back to August 2008 when I faced the biggest stumble in my life as a married woman myself, and a daughter.

My love of then 10 years was leaving. And so was my mother. Hubby, for a new lover. And Mom, in a coma, for her Creator. As much as keeping my head towards the sky almost a year ago when everything else failed, Josh’s songs reminded me of my struggle. Then and now. Yes, I am still struggling, climbing, and am nowhere near a plateau of bliss. But if I ever learned anything from a year of stumbling and struggling, I do know that there is nothing as precious as my now.

So my Little Russian Ballerina and my Little Man Pocoyo…
For all that worth stumbling, struggling, and climbing… my now is for you.

Dishes done. I am off to bed now so we can take that morning walk to the pond to feed the ducks and down to the Pokrovsky Convenient Store to get Mommy’s coffee milk. (I heard that when we go to heaven, sleeping is like going to yet another heaven. So I suppose there’s no Espresso there either. Si?)