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Sudahlah

Enida MarahThe not-so-nice thing about being a cheerful person like me is that, I am expected to not ever be the opposite of cheerful. It is not acceptable to see me in a sad state. And I am definitely banned from entering any sorry state. God forbids if I ever reach out and ask for help. Goodness, that is so not me. So unbecoming.

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It is like being told to wear short white skirt to do a horseback riding for the first time and being expected to not lose balance, fall, get dirty or be embarrassed. Okay, I know the analogy is not quite realistic. But so is the expectation.

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K-bye!

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Didn’t I?

I did. . .

I purposely took some time away for myself and with myself to sit me down so I can write what I have been wanting to say. I really wanted to say how much I treasure this last year especially, for I have stood up for myself. For I have finally stopped letting me be a reserved player. Yes, I wanted to say it. Probably not that way, and not in those words exactly. But I wanted to say it.

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I did.

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I wanted to thank my husband (still is my husband although he has taken up another woman to sleep in our bed – his bed now, not our bed, because I left him – to clean his place top to bottom, to cook him breakfast, lunch and dinner, and to treat him right. Something he claims I never did. Or maybe something I never did right).

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I did.

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I really wanted to thank him profoundly. For all his love and appreciation. And perhaps for his speedy recovery from the pain I inflicted upon him by leaving Moscow. I wanted time and space.  Not a divorce. But since he thinks he doesn’t love me anymore and is not willing to let go of a woman who is standing by him right now – something he claimed I didn’t do – maybe I should agree that a divorce would be the best for both of us.

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I did.

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Written on: March 11th, 2011.

Published on: November 17th, 2014.

The reason for this entry not published on the date it was written:
I had to learn to let time tell the story. Words were inadequate.

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It was just an innocent catching-up conversation between two relatives about their common kampung friends. A very innocent ‘did-you-know-that-so-and-so-is-married’ chat that turned out to be my wake-up call.

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I now re-realize that I am back in this Malaysian society and very much belong to it. As much as I think I am ‘outside’… as I do think outside this proverbial box, I am deep in it. And so, although what I heard should not have bothered me, it surely has woken me up.

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“Eh, si Mat tu dah kawin kan? Tapi tak ada jemput pun.”
“Sebab dia kawin dengan janda.”
“Laa… iye ke? Kenapa lah tak cari yang bujang.”
“Janda tu dengarnya tua daripada dia, anak dua ke tiga, entah.”
“Ishhh! Si Mat tu muda daripada kita. Baru start kerja.”
“Anak dara bersepah, nak jugak kawin dengan janda. Beranak pulak tu.”
“Cari lah yang sebaya. Kot nak janda pun, biar lah yang tak ada anak.”
“Ah kalau janda tu tak melayan, tak jadi jugak.”

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I woke up right there and then, determined to find my people’s cultural definition of jodoh and bodoh.

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At some point in our life, we will all be battling something. Some of us will be battling it in the ward, some in court, and the rest of us… somewhere.

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Some of us will be battling against cancer or thyroid. A few of us will be battling it in nasty divorce when the love is gone. And the rest of us will be battling in and against depression, the loss of our loved ones or just weight, or just loneliness. Just?

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But the point is, at some point…
We will all be battling something in our life. Something. And at that point, we will all be tired of fighting and we will all be willing to just let go of so many things, including our will. Trust me. Winning will be a challenge and losing will look like an option.

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It is at that point in our life when we tend to forget to sit ourselves down to ask, “What is the point?” We will be busy battling that something in our life, we forget what we are fighting for. At the end of it all whether we win or lose, time will have left us.

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But for some reason, in the middle of writing this, somehow… all I want to do when the sun is up, is to go on a little boat on a lake somewhere with a little picnic basket, a blanket and a book.

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Yeah… a boat, a basket, a blanket and a book.

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So much for a battle.

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Bila kah...

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I’ve been to Point of No-Point, Vancouver Island.
It is one of the most beautiful places on earth.

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The story needs no introduction. I started seeing his pictures the morning of June 21st. I started reading and looking for more news on him on the very same day. But it wasn’t until the midnight of June 22nd that I cried my heart out when I saw a video on how he was found… abandoned.

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My very first thought was on what I could do to help the poor child. And my second thought was that there must have been a reason for the abandonment. The third thought was, I wasn’t there when whatever happened, happened. I didn’t help. I didn’t know. I didn’t care for what I didn’t know. So I shut my mouth up and kept on weeping.

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Now that I know there are people who do need help, what do I do? What do I want to do? I dare not tell Monchies this heart-wrenching story yet, for I have no answer if they asked, “What do we do, Mom?”

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For all single-mothers out there, may God grant us the wisdom to know what to do and the strength to do it.

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"Every child has feelings." ~ Genius Aulad

“Every child has feelings. ”
~ Genius Aulad
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Speak and Span

I have been thinking. And that, the thinking thing, is always a good thing.

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I have been thinking about the way I speak. Well, not just the way I speak. But about what I speak of and how I speak about the things I know and the things I don’t. And I have been thinking and wondering how it would feel like to be watching myself speaking. Of course not to myself. That would be surreal even though I do that in my head and in my closet all the time. But really, how do I speak?

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Do I speak humbly? Do I speak clearly? Do I express wordless stories in the way I blink my eyes, or the way I touch your arm whenever words fail me? Do I smile when I speak, or do I smile more when I listen? Do I breathe in every word I hear, or do I search for words in your eyes? Do I make faces when I speak? Do I make sounds as well? Am I rhythmic in my speech, or do I shoot my syllables?

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But then again, since I am down to writing my thoughts… do my words speak to you? Do you almost hear my voice when you see my written words? Do you see me speaking to you in these sentences?

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Do you feel me?

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Still Got The Blues

What I miss most every Valentine’s Day is making a card for my Mom. She was the very first person I ever sent a Valentine’s Day card to. The year was 1991. She never really knew what Valentine’s Day was, and she never really cared. All she knew was she would get a card from me in February. A card made with, full of, and sent with love.

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I never took notice where the cards went until one day after a few years of NOT sending her Valentine’s Day cards anymore. I was looking for a nail-clipper in her old closet and saw a card slipped between her batik sarongs. I pulled the card out and then I saw another. And another. And another. But staying true to Mom’s house rule, I put the cards back where they belonged.

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Last night when Edrick wished me ‘Happy ALMOST Valentine’s Day’ before bed and told me that he would be making a Valentine’s card at school on the real Valentine’s Day, I thought of my Mom and all my handmade Valentine’s cards she kept in her closet. Maybe this year I’ll start making Valentine’s card again. For Monchies. And for myself.

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Perhaps a blue heart would be a good start.

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Blue Valentine's Heart

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Because I Can

If tomorrow comes....

Today, I just want to love you
because I want to love you.
And because I can.

Tomorrow will only matter tomorrow.

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The Danger of Anger

Listen to the Silent...

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The ultimate level of anger for me is not when I go silent.
It is when I no longer want to listen.

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I was sitting at the round dining table, listening to Deja Vu by Shila Amzah when Edrick stopped by on his way upstairs. It was just before bedtime, 1930hrs.

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Edrick: Mom… *he looks at my face looking for words*

Mommy: What is it sweetheart?

Edrick: Mom, is it okay if you don’t listen to sad songs?

Mommy: Ohhh? Oh okay.

Edrick: I think it’s making me feel uncomfortable.

Mommy: Oh I’m sorry about that, sayang. All right, I’ll listen to something else.

Edrick: And Mom, I think sad songs make YOU feel uncomfortable too.

Mommy: Oh don’t worry about me, I’m okay. I’ll be okay.

Edrick: Okay, but I think you should keep sad songs away, Mom.

Mommy: Yes, sir! I sure will.

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He pulled me into his arms, hugged me longer than usual, said his goodnight, his I-love-you, his don’t-let-the-big-bug-bite routine and went to bed.

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I was left feeling so loved, and I knew… it wasn’t the sad song that made me cry.

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My Little Big Man who has the biggest heart.

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