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Archive for the ‘Inside Enida’ Category
Apalah Erti
Posted in Inside Enida, Songs on April 24, 2011| 1 Comment »
Tanpa Belaimu
Posted in Inside Enida, Songs on April 24, 2011| Leave a Comment »
E-Need-A
Posted in Inside Enida on April 23, 2011| Leave a Comment »
I can complain, kick, scream and cry all day, any day, if I want to. I have so much to do and life is short. The car needs servicing, the paintings need hanging, the washing machine soon – very soon – needs fixing, the stove-top needs replacing, the walls need repainting, the cracks need retouching, the filing cabinet needs ordering, the kids’ clothes need resizing, the bills need settling, my book needs writing, my songs need singing, my movies need watching, my hair needs coloring, my nails need polishing, my back needs rubbing.
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But my heart needs mending and my soul needs searching.
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I am gone for a long walk.
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My Life My Lies
Posted in Inside Enida on April 20, 2011| Leave a Comment »
I consciously lied to you lately. Remember I used to tell you that I don’t say love lots? I lied. I did. I do say love. Lots. Even when you are no longer there to say love to. I say it lots just in case my life is short. And when I am no longer there to say love… I want you to know I have nothing else for you but that.
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Lots of that.
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You’re There
Posted in Hurt, Inside Enida on April 19, 2011| 3 Comments »
I wish you were there with me when I could not find parking at that huge hospital. It was Mom’s second home for over a year before her passing, you know. If you were there, we would be walking hand in hand on the sidewalk from the Soccer Stadium right up to the lobby. It wasn’t hot – so you would be making fun of my silly umbrella. It was, humidity-wise, a beautiful morning. And we could be talking about your perfect ideas of what a sidewalk should be, while I would be challenging every little idea of yours just for the fun of it. And for the fun of walking hand in hand with you on that imperfect sidewalk. I would be thankful for not finding a parking spot on a beautiful morning like yesterday morning. And I would let you know that you could borrow my right hand anytime on any sidewalk. To hold on.
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I wish you were there with me when all I could say to my KaCher was that everything was going to be all right with her and her condition. That Monchies and I were here and we would take care of her. We. Monchies, you, me. We. You would pull us both in your arms and we would have a group hug for a while. People in that medicine-smelling corridor would turn and stare, for all we care. I would be there for her as surely as you would be there for me. And KaCher could count on us for a group hug any day, whether it was a bad-hair day or a get-out-of-my-hair day. I would let her know that she would have an extra shoulder. Yours. To cry on.
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I wish you were there with me when I had to take that long walk back to the car on the same imperfect sidewalk. You would still take my sweaty right hand on that scorching hot afternoon while making wishes for some Banana Split. You wouldn’t be making fun of my silly umbrella anymore by then. Neither would I, of your perfect ideas of what a sidewalk should be. By the time we would get back to the car, you and your Banana-Split wishes would have melted. Just like my heart would, when you would open the door for me. I would tell you then, that your wishes for five Banana Splits would never be too much. To carry through.
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I wish you were there when I shifted to another medical center later in the afternoon to see the dermatologist. A visit for Kitreena and her recurring little bumps on the left arm. She could use a little cheerleader team behind her – you and me – and our little pom-pom dance, perhaps. With your hip-grinding, bum-wiggling, hand-shaking classic move. I could imagine her chuckles. And when it was my turn to get the liquid nitrogen sprayed on my ‘third booby’ skin-tag growing under my left arm, I could use some silly aging jokes from you too. If you were there. To cheer on.
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I wish you were there, yesterday, when things got too much to bear at the end of the day as I hit the home button. There to see that things got done though half as fast. There to see that the face to put on was only the brave and the smiley. There to see that the place to cry was just in the shower. There to pull me out. There to wipe my tears. There for me. There if you dare.
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Whoever you are.
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Blame It On The Rain
Posted in Inside Enida on April 17, 2011| Leave a Comment »
I have written it all. But it was all washed away in the rain when I left. And it did rain all the way. Inside and outside of my black cravy.
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All the way.
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So I will write something new.
Something that is not about you.
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One To Want
Posted in Inside Enida, tagged Whatever Love Is on April 11, 2011| 2 Comments »
It has been way over fifteen years now of knowing what I don’t want. I know it like I know the back of my hand. Veins, scars and all. I know it by touch and I know it by heart, by all means. I can and I have been telling myself what not to want. I have been living my life almost only by the don’t’s rules.
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But of late, I have been asking myself the opposite questions.
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What do I want? If I really know what I don’t want, do I know what I do want? And I discovered that the answers are not as simple as the opposite of what I don’t want. If I don’t want a man with long messy hair, it doesn’t mean that I want a bald guy. It is more complicated than that. Black is not always the opposite of white. It could be brown.
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So, yeah. I want one whose nails are neatly trimmed and cleaned. I know how it feels to be touched by a dirty hand. Or hands. I know that I can die if I am to be kissed by one who just had garlic bread with blue cheese. Or in a more Asian setting, by one who just had jengkol dipped in sambal tempoyak. Pardon me! I have nothing against jengkol, and I love sambal tempoyak to death. But kissing is a whole different dish, no matter what you just ate.
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And so, yeah. I want one whose eyes are on mine when I speak. Not on his iPhone, or Blackberry or even on my berries (love them berry earrings!) Eyes can go wonder and I can see that. But mind can do wonders, and I can see that too. I read a lot through body language. Especially now, after over fifteen years of reading, I can almost read the next page without even turning it.
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I want to be spoken to in a language not many have mastered. The language of which the grammar is tenderness, and the vocabulary is respect. The accent is, of course, love. But it is not always about love. Even those I don’t love, I speak to with respect. I would not imagine, then, that one who claims to love me would speak to me like an uninvited guest in his house. So speak to me tenderly.
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I want the one who loves me to want me like there is no one else he would ever want. While I can never be perfect or be everything that he wants, he must know, neither can he. The empty place between him and I in time and space is where God shall sit. Love is only lust if it is governed only by our ‘excuse’ for being human. If I love him and want nobody else (no buddy no buddy but Choo), then so shall he.
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I want to be with someone who knows himself well. For only those who do will be comfortable being alone with themselves. Only those who can reach into the abyssal depth of their soul are able to forgive themselves when they err. And don’t we all err? Unfortunately not all of us can forgive ourselves. Many of us kick our poor little selves. Some even kill. And the rest just make more or repeat the same mistakes. So I want to be with Tom as long as he knows he is Tom when he is with me and when he is alone. And not to confuse himself with Dick, or Harry at any given time.
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I want the one who loves me, most of all, to love me enough to make me his priority. While I know the difference between practicality and absurdity, and I know when to want what I want, I also know how it feels to feel important. And needed. And loved.
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The thing is… I don’t really want to want anyone right now.
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Uh… really?
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Older The Bolder
Posted in Inside Enida, Sense on April 6, 2011| Leave a Comment »
Getting older is a privilege, not a curse. And I am enjoying it every other month now taking myself to the salon to color my hair. I never had the chance to do this when I was younger. And now that I kinda have to do it, I am liking it. What a luxury!
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It’s not my birthday today. But I am pampering my feet tonight by surrendering them to Mr. iSqueeze. He’s always ready for me. All I have to do is turn him on. He’ll take me as I am. Yes, even when I am 81. You’ll see.
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🙂 This is a tribute to Ruth Johnson who gets a little older every April 6th. While she might not agree that getting older is (always) a privilege… I think she is the perfect picture of Graceful Aging. She gets older little by little, but she doesn’t get old.
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But I
Posted in Inside Enida on April 5, 2011| 2 Comments »
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I can love you far and long.
I can give you all that I have and more.
I can do anything, and when I can’t, I’ll learn how to.
I can be anyone, anywhere and anyhow you want me to be.
I can love you more than much, more than enough and more than most.
Yes I can.
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But I can teach myself not to.
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Diagnostically Speaking
Posted in Inside Enida, Write On on March 30, 2011| Leave a Comment »
Dear family, friends, foes and foie gras…
As many are aware, I have not been well. Yes, I have not been well. No, I haven’t. Though I did not feel that I was expected to explain anything here or update my Facebook status every hour or every time I had a little throat-itch attack, there is one thing I have decided to share with you.
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I have been diagnosed. Yes, finally. I have been diagnosed with AIS, or better known as Acute Involuntary Speechlessness. I am undergoing an intense treatment trying to overcome all symptoms and contraindications. All I am asking is for you to bear with me without any attemp to bare anything. Please?
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