I can love blindly and fiercely. I can give recklessly but people around me just want and want and want and now I’m left with nothing but remorse and pity for myself. I know that I’m naive. I trust too easily, give too eagerly but just once in a while, I’d like to remind people that without giving, there’s no receiving.
Man, my eyes are bleeding and brain is crying from studying ;( two finals in one day should be outlawed. (Taken with instagram)
happy mother’s day
Growing up, I spent far too much time hating my mother.
I’m not a very smart student. I always got shiz for it in school and sometimes at home too. You have to be born a friggin genius from where I come from to be socially accepted (or at least that’s how it was for me) otherwise, you were a downright looser. For six years I studied at a very competitive school in my country. How I got through the entrance exam is still a puzzle to me. All my friends and classmates were super duper brainy and the teachers loved them. Then there was me, a brainless twat, who teachers couldn’t spare a glance to. It often made me very angry, to the point where I promised myself that I would try my absolute best to obtain a high score. Much to my disappointment, it never worked out the way I imagined.
I can see now that having relatives and neighbors whose daughters were such perfect, little Einsteins, why my mother’s relenting shouts and yells of ‘why can’t you be as good as them’ can be considered reasonable. Can you imagine your daughter going to a prestigious school and yet not striving hard enough to be on top whereas kids with fewer opportunities than your daughter flying from one building to another like it’s a piece of cake? Oh, the disgrace!
But it was the way she would say the words that would make me think something was seriously impaired within me. Why the other kids can do it and I can’t? The amount of pressure from both family and society I received still has me traumatized.
Over the years, I have seen (and still see) how some mothers and daughter are close to each other. In fact, one of my best friends’ mom is quite hilarious and she’s not afraid of occasionally cracking up a dirty, bad worded joke with her. I always wanted to have that with my mom. I would think that maybe, if I was a good student, she would like me and give words of encouragement.
The words never came. But I had been too narrow-minded to not realize that it didn’t matter. She has travelled halfway across the world, left her families, friends, home—all for her children, so they can have a better education here. She continues to sacrifice her health, money and everything else for us. At the end of each day it dawns me, how terribly I treat her. I recall some horrible moments of disrespecting her, thinking badly of her and I realize what a selfish brat I’ve been all along.
Despite her cynical, overprotective attitude, I love my mother. I love that we watch primetime tv shows and movies and are able to laugh over their jokes. I love that she never mouths a word about my disinterest in make-up and clothes. I love that she gives me advices at the most unpredictable time of the day. And the more time I spend with her, the more I understand and admire why she is the way she is.
Two days ago, she saw a commercial about “Mother’s Day” on tv and asked me what was I going to give her since I’ve been working and can now spend money of my own. I just smiled and said nothing. Internally, I had been thinking, ‘take all the money and buy yourself something ‘cause I couldn’t care less.’ I know I can never pay her back with all the money and worldly possessions in life for all the things she has done and endured. That’s the part that makes me sad. Knowing I’ll always be in debt and no matter how I repay her, it would never be enough.
Our Prophet said, “Your heaven lies under the feet of your mother.” People think heaven is such an incredulous, unreachable place, and everyday I thank Allah because for me, heaven has never been so close and right along with me every step of the way of life.
Going on a hiatus because I have finals coming up in two weeks and need to concentrate on school and not drool all over the words of beautiful people here. Stay lovely all of you.
I know you like I know the alphabets
I can sense your ache when you breath ‘cause it’s ragged and a strangled cry, striving to blend into a whisper. I can sense your restlessness when you drum your fingers on your bruised knees and sigh. I can sense your tears when you press your lips together while clasping fingers tight to your hair. I can sense your lies when you dart your eyes and then link and unlink your fingers. I can sense your fear and love in your heartbeat for they often correspond together. And it is funny that I know of such details about you yet when they ask what you mean to me in terms of relation, I don’t have a definite answer.
License and registration, please.
Social security number, please.
Phone number, please.
Is that all I am? A number?
Wooden Hearts
We have build wooden hearts for each other because our heartbeats are screams echoing through pores and people stare when we pass by. The resounding silence questions our humanity but we still promenade among city lights, parade our incongruent bodies to the world. We believe in emotions, not questions. I mean, how can you have the time to feel love when you constantly probe your thoughts. So we don’t hide our flaws, our bruises or our tears from each other. We let them keep us anchored and honest ‘cause after all, they are the map to one another’s home and being us, we look after our homes and so darling, close your eyes. Take my hand as though I own your life. As though we’re on fire and we need words to extinguish the blisters. Let us dance to our song as we walk down the alley to our death bed. Our wooden hearts can stand on its own two feet once we sleep. I can’t guarantee that poems will keep us warm during winter but if you fall into my hands right now, I can try. Come off your red dress, darling. We can go around the world and see if our love really rests in the sea.
