A minute past twelve, of the first day of January, I was drenched cold with tears. The fluid started to gush like an endless river. I cannot muster the courage to deal with it, to face it, for reasons unknown to me, denied to me by my very senses.
I was drenched with my own tears, in spite of the fact that I swore never to rant again, never to let an overpouring of emotion hover over my being. And it was the 2nd day of January, a day after 2006 came into fore.
Again, I find myself in deep consternation. I rebel against myself, against my being. I do not know why? I did not know how it started? It just suddenly dawned on me that I am inexistent. And if ever I do, I am alone. Alone, as I thrive along a journey, I am not totally familar with. Alone, as I amble towards an unknown quest. Alone, as I rekindle my strengths and gather my courage to will upon finishing a journey I did not start neither did I ever want to begin with, in the first place. Alone, as I move my feet forcefully along the miserable road.
A minute past twelve, past the density of 1st January, I found myself on the same spot I swore to depart from. It seems I was trapped, encapsulated in a cauldron without anyone to stand by my side, to hold my hands, and to hug my shoulders - to make me feel what I am supposed to.
A minute past twelve, marking the 2nd day of January, I was staring blankly at the wall across where I am lying, soaked within my tears and drenched in alcohol. I was supposed to be asleep, and dreaming in a faraway land, away from harsh realities.
But a minute past twelve, I was wide awake, sensing and caressing my being alone. There was a total silence, and voices from within were killing me gradually. I was drenched in my own tears, with no one to hold on to. The fact of the matter, I was alone in that cold, lonely night.
And I pitied myself, hoping that tomorrow will forever shun its life against mine.
Monday, January 02, 2006
Sunday, January 01, 2006
Turning Point.
I woke up one day and caught myself entangled within a convoluted labyrinth where each dense wall leads me to nowhere but void, eternal space. All that is visible is a tiny speck of light across the corner where I stood. And as I saunter to follow it, the light hovers away with my direction. I do not know where to go. There seems to be no way out.
The last phase of year 2005 had a great impact upon me. It was, in a sense, revolutionary. It called upon a radical shift from the things I have used dealing with. It left in me a distinctive mark that I would be carrying for the days to come.
Three weeks before December ends, I am faced with a gargantuan task of having to deal with my mom and her “ailing” condition. I am caught unprepared. I fret in consternation as waves of responsibility discretely pour seemingly endless upon my infantile shoulders. I was shrinking in tears and there were neither motivation nor inspiration, just occasional support, which often easily vacillates away. There was no one who held my quivering hands tightly and stood by my side.
My mom was one of the most important persons in my life. Two years ago she was diagnosed of having myelodysplasia anemia, something related to the more familiar aplastic anemia. This was an abnormality in the bone and marrow. It is a haematological condition united by ineffective production of blood cells and varying risks of transformation to acute myelogenous leukemia. Anemia requiring chronic blood transfusion is frequently present (Wikipedia 2005).
When the ailment first appeared, our lives were shattered. We thought it was her end. I though it was the end of every single dream that I envisaged for us. I can vividly recall how hard it was. But she surpassed such a critical moment. Though from that day on, she never let a day passed without taking prednisone (a steroid). She began to recover. She began to get well, relatively. And our lives, her life, went back to normal as if nothing happened.
Then came one Sunday afternoon of December, mom was shivering in pain. She cannot eat. She did not want to. Mom was having gastro-intestinal problem. It became acidic due to her failure to take some antacid concomitantly with prednisone. For a week, she was ill. Mom was very ill to a point that she lose weight and shrink.
A week after she was admitted to the hospital. There she was recovering. I see in her eyes the will of becoming headstrong, though at times extreme pain must have been the cause why I see in the same, wavering tendencies as she became impatient and intolerant. Perhaps, it was also because she cannot withstand the thought that people other than herself would do things that she ought to do for herself, obsessive-compulsive and independent that she is.
That hollow muscular organ pumping blood was pounding so fast, so immense that blood seems wanting to break free from my veins. They were mad. I was panting as I follow that tiny speck light. I was moving in no particular direction inside a hall of sheer darkness and where the only light my vision trampled upon was moving away at a distance. I was running towards it, and trying to get a grasp of it. My attention shifted from getting out of the labyrinth to chasing that tiny speck of light. I positioned to get it thinking it is meant to lead me somewhere out of the labyrinth. But my efforts were all but a failure.
In three weeks time, I forcibly grew up my age or instead, compelled to act upon it. I caught myself reading between the lines, deciphering each moment of trial and transforming it into a rationalized substance. I found myself in tears, at some point, but I never did question any One. I guess I might have already accepted the condition, and the only way to get away with any pain coming from it is to live with it and do whatever is necessary to alleviate such pain.
Instead of moping around in misery like a child, I was amazed that discretely, I was doing things on my own way. At this point, it seems that when I mustered the courage to take this situation as a turning point, I was able to read clearly something that is written illegibly. Each stroke, each curve never denied me any substance worth knowing.
In three weeks time, I was able to muster the courage to talk with different people, inquiring without even assuming; to process hefty particulars from hospital bills to bank and check transaction; and to take command over my sibling, the household and financial matters. I have learned how systematic things can get, and how they must remain as such.
I was amazed that while I am doing it, certain phases would arise gradually, even all at the same time, and incrementally I would be able to get out from it. It was as if it was pre-programmed that I would be able to come out from each stage. It was as if I was destined to untangle each knot, and solve each puzzle. Hard as it is, I never regret to have come to such point. It turned me. It moved me systematically.
Suddenly I stopped. I have grown tired and exhausted from the chase. I have grown too weary to continue my quest. I was running along in circles with no particular directions at all. I was moving literally towards nowhere, exhausting my energy to an ideal, I never knew and understood. I was just following the light dimwittedly. And so when I stopped, it dawned on me that it was motioned to move along with me and go along my direction. It was useless following it, much more, desiring to have it.
The last phase of year 2005 had a great impact upon me. It was, in a sense, revolutionary. It called upon a radical shift from the things I have used dealing with. It left in me a distinctive mark that I would be carrying for the days to come.
Three weeks before December ends, I am faced with a gargantuan task of having to deal with my mom and her “ailing” condition. I am caught unprepared. I fret in consternation as waves of responsibility discretely pour seemingly endless upon my infantile shoulders. I was shrinking in tears and there were neither motivation nor inspiration, just occasional support, which often easily vacillates away. There was no one who held my quivering hands tightly and stood by my side.
My mom was one of the most important persons in my life. Two years ago she was diagnosed of having myelodysplasia anemia, something related to the more familiar aplastic anemia. This was an abnormality in the bone and marrow. It is a haematological condition united by ineffective production of blood cells and varying risks of transformation to acute myelogenous leukemia. Anemia requiring chronic blood transfusion is frequently present (Wikipedia 2005).
When the ailment first appeared, our lives were shattered. We thought it was her end. I though it was the end of every single dream that I envisaged for us. I can vividly recall how hard it was. But she surpassed such a critical moment. Though from that day on, she never let a day passed without taking prednisone (a steroid). She began to recover. She began to get well, relatively. And our lives, her life, went back to normal as if nothing happened.
Then came one Sunday afternoon of December, mom was shivering in pain. She cannot eat. She did not want to. Mom was having gastro-intestinal problem. It became acidic due to her failure to take some antacid concomitantly with prednisone. For a week, she was ill. Mom was very ill to a point that she lose weight and shrink.
A week after she was admitted to the hospital. There she was recovering. I see in her eyes the will of becoming headstrong, though at times extreme pain must have been the cause why I see in the same, wavering tendencies as she became impatient and intolerant. Perhaps, it was also because she cannot withstand the thought that people other than herself would do things that she ought to do for herself, obsessive-compulsive and independent that she is.
That hollow muscular organ pumping blood was pounding so fast, so immense that blood seems wanting to break free from my veins. They were mad. I was panting as I follow that tiny speck light. I was moving in no particular direction inside a hall of sheer darkness and where the only light my vision trampled upon was moving away at a distance. I was running towards it, and trying to get a grasp of it. My attention shifted from getting out of the labyrinth to chasing that tiny speck of light. I positioned to get it thinking it is meant to lead me somewhere out of the labyrinth. But my efforts were all but a failure.
In three weeks time, I forcibly grew up my age or instead, compelled to act upon it. I caught myself reading between the lines, deciphering each moment of trial and transforming it into a rationalized substance. I found myself in tears, at some point, but I never did question any One. I guess I might have already accepted the condition, and the only way to get away with any pain coming from it is to live with it and do whatever is necessary to alleviate such pain.
Instead of moping around in misery like a child, I was amazed that discretely, I was doing things on my own way. At this point, it seems that when I mustered the courage to take this situation as a turning point, I was able to read clearly something that is written illegibly. Each stroke, each curve never denied me any substance worth knowing.
In three weeks time, I was able to muster the courage to talk with different people, inquiring without even assuming; to process hefty particulars from hospital bills to bank and check transaction; and to take command over my sibling, the household and financial matters. I have learned how systematic things can get, and how they must remain as such.
I was amazed that while I am doing it, certain phases would arise gradually, even all at the same time, and incrementally I would be able to get out from it. It was as if it was pre-programmed that I would be able to come out from each stage. It was as if I was destined to untangle each knot, and solve each puzzle. Hard as it is, I never regret to have come to such point. It turned me. It moved me systematically.
Suddenly I stopped. I have grown tired and exhausted from the chase. I have grown too weary to continue my quest. I was running along in circles with no particular directions at all. I was moving literally towards nowhere, exhausting my energy to an ideal, I never knew and understood. I was just following the light dimwittedly. And so when I stopped, it dawned on me that it was motioned to move along with me and go along my direction. It was useless following it, much more, desiring to have it.
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