Out of love, in touch

To be honest, I am scared. I know where my feelings are. Its gonna be a long bumpy road. I feel trapped. Just like you, her, him, they. I know we both know our feelings are not the way they were before. He says he wants to work on us. I say I want us to separate. He says let’s take time and learn to be together again. I say we already took the time we could. He says life has not been fair to him. I say life hasn’t been fair to both of us, but it depends with how we both take those shitty periods and turn it into positive. He says nothing is wrong with him. That everything is my fault. That I carry darkness within me. That my face is a face of death. I am confused. I keep quiet. I realize that it will never be his fault. I realize that it will always be my fault. I realize that it has always been a defense mechanism. I wonder how you can claim to love someone so much and completely do the opposite – hate, abuse, neglect…

He will never be wrong. He is never wrong. It’s always the other’s fault. He will never face the issues that deeply trouble him. We both know this. But of course, the love remains. I get stuck. I get scared. I say this will be it finally. I get cold feet. I swear at one point I must have felt weird even to sleep together on the same bed. 

                

Our backs turned against each other. It’s been a week. Should I feel guilty for feeling this? I am not sure. I feel the urge to say the truth. To say I am not in love any more. All of it, but again that would destroy him. Completely. I do love him, yes, its so easy to be together, but still there are many things that pull me back.  Things I cannot talk about. Things I will one day talk about. Things that are deeply troubling. Yet, here I am, free bird, free spirit, free soul. But who’s afraid to say the words. I know we talked about a girl, she texts him all the time, she makes him happy I guess, and I am okay with that. He feels someone else who makes me happy though far away from my reach emotionally. He knows and senses. He asks. I say there was someone. I don’t say the details.

Yet here we are. I will support him through these next critical steps of his life. Through worst and good times. Hoping that there will be light at the end of the tunnel. I know what we have in common is friends who love us deeply. I don’t know what I would do without them. Whatever it is in our lives they fulfill, love, sexual satisfaction, being together.

For now, I sit in the library to write my papers. I have no strength anymore. I feel like in a deep dark hole. It’s easy, they say. It’s not, I say. Never will I be in such a trap again. But I know myself really well. This will pass, quickly. I’ll get on with my usual life without a fuss. Like nothing ever happened, nothing is happening and something will happen.

Out of love, in touch. 

Be present

I learnt something over the weekend

About being present 

It doesn’t take much energy

It doesn’t need a clear mind

Doesn’t demand for courage

Just be there for someone

Talk, laugh and feel alive

Loneliness creeps in many ways

But when you are present

With someone who understands you

It makes it easy to go through

It ain’t me or you that makes it possible

It is the positive energy around

Listen to the sacred noises

They all want to see us happy

Black, white, green or yellow

Christian, Muslim or Atheist
It doesn’t matter at all in the end

What are we fighting for?

Just live, laugh and make love

Be present

Now and forever

Breakdown

Be calm… Be sure… Be you…

Those days when nothing seems alive

Crouched on my couch butt naked

Legs on the table scared to leave my door

Sinking into this unknown space and time

Plenty of noises in my head

Why think I am the only one different

Why think I deserve him, her, them

Oh they might call it self pity

Or self criticism they say

I cannot separate one from the other

My heart seeks to be at the right place

It is just the wrong time

Week away to being a year older

There used to be much more in life

The hearty laughter and smiles

The look in the eyes and through those eyes

Much more than starked memories of sadness and torture

But here I am, laying on the couch getting the sun

Thinking it is time to nurture someone else

I just do not know how and when

I am scared of the possibilities

I am scared when there are no words

When I have no more words

And when all is said and done

I yarn for the longing of true peace

True love sweet and pure

Yes, the strong hearted also loves deeply

I care more about her pain

She tells me not to worry about others

That if I wasn’t there life would still go on

She says I have to detach myself from this

I don’t know how anymore

I am truly scared but a little voice in me says…

Be calm. Be sure. Be you.

Breathe, run and escape

The only beginning

The only ending

The rains stopped

The wind starts to gush

Hush…I tell myself

I have another place to be

But my body doesn’t want to

My legs take me off the train

My heart troubled

So far from the river

Even though I need the water

To cool me off

I want to drink, I want to swim

I want to dive deep and explore

Why am I so upset and nervous

As I sink deep into my thoughts

Wreckless and desperate

I remember warm thoughts

I smile when I think of him

The instinct to make me smile

Out of crazy situation and sorrow

He gets a way to make me lay back

To breathe, to run and to escape…

Scary scars

I lay in my bed awake

I tell myself that I should be sleeping

But sleep wants me no more

Sleep deserted me and got bored of me

I would have asked why but I hesitate

Because sleep doesn’t really know why

The scary scars still visible

Some from afar

I cry at night for some covers

Neck to stiff to feel the fur

Why? Why? Why?

A question I can never answer myself

Seems to me questions become the new norm

Justification become the new direction

I cannot close the gap

I see the deep scars of hurt and pain

I touch them with bloody fingers

I squeeze the remaining kindness out

It is my fault but not entirely

Pain wakes my numb legs

Sensation is what I try to feel

But I keep on trying

This has to end

I close my eyes for a moment

Sleep crawls to my bed and wants to cuddle

Slowly I stop writing this note

I tag it and publish it

Thirty seconds later

I am in dreamland

Sleep overtook my mind

And for a moment

Numbed my scary scars

Finding myself

When do you begin to find yourself?

When others moving on too quickly or find their happiness.

When your turn comes, you’ll let go all that made you sad and desperate

You let go all that makes you insecure

I knew and felt the rush of fever

Draining and sweating all needs

I am no different, we are not that different

Salvation comes to those who try

Desperation and attempts to salvage

Leaves us in despair

Far too subtle to feel, far too hard to grasp

Yet with devotion and love

I hear the sacred call

And turn my eyes to the other side

How do I find myself amidst all the madness?

institutionalized sex abuse

This morning I read the story of a father whose kids were abused in the catholic church. Anthony Foster had died today after tirelessly fighting against Catholic sex abuse – http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-australia-40081172

Having lost his daughter from a drug overdose and the other daughter from an accident caused by a drunk driver, I can’t help but think of the pain he went through.

Child abuse by institutions supposedly to keep them safe and protected happens all the time. We just never get to know when it happens because we are sometimes too busy to pay attention to our children. Some people obviously so blinded by religion that they do not seem to believe when their child has been molested.

I looked back today at my childhood years in church. I am disgusted to the core because noone would ever believe me that I was abused in many ways. Maybe I was a little lucky not to have been extremely sexually abused because my chest was so flat. I understand you must be asking why I am even ranking sexual abuse. Of course all forms of sexual abuse is bad. But for me, all I know is there were those that were slightly okay and others were really awful. Yes, I do still rank and categorize them. 

I saw the other kids being abused too. I don’t remember much because somehow my brain decided to shut the other horrible parts out, but for sure some youth pastor had touched my private parts during those nights that we would gather to pray for some sort of miracle for my sick father.

Even now, I know there are plenty of kids who are being abused and their parents do not know or have the slightest idea. They blindly send them to church or religious gatherings. They do not explain to them what sexual abuse is and how to protect themselves. Those kind of parents make me wonder until now how cold they can be. My father was one of those kind of parents. 

I guess he never really believed that a man of God would do such stuff to young kids. Even after telling him what he did to me and other kids, he never did anything. When Sunday came, we all marched to church. 

Yet he did it again. That ugly fucking bastard. He did it again and again and again. And nobody stopped him. Nobody talked about it. Nobody brought him to justice. Because nobody saw it. Only kids saw it and noone believed the kids.

Now that I am older, I still remember these little instances. If my father had believed me, if he only wasn’t blinded by religion, he would have fought for me and put that evil pastor in jail.

I hope someday these institutions will start talking about these things openly. I would suggest a bill that requires these religious institutions to talk about abuse of all forms and sorts. And for those sexual offenders to be hunted down and jailed.

May you rest in peace. Anthony. 

Mama

Mother’s day recently passed and was well celebrated. I saw and read posts from friends with pictures of theirthe mothers together. I also saw posts of my friends with their daughters or sons celebrating this day. 
I never once thought I’d be able to write this. But my mother went through hell to raise me and my siblings up. Even though I did and still do admire my father, for all the other reasons, he was still abusive towards my mother.

From emotional to physical abuse. All this time, he had plenty of other hot looking girlfriends working in high offices with heels while my mother  tilled the land, worked her ass off and paid for every tiny thing in the house with her meagre salary. She even took a loan to build our house. t that time, my dear father was flying high, wasting money and leaving us in debts. From hospital bills to unpaid debts.

I remember my mum’s hair was always short. She had pretty long hair and super beautiful when they were dating and even when they had me. But somehow after the third child, my father changed his attutude towards my mum and my siblings. He had another woman. He made my mama cut her hair, made me cut my hair too. He became much more angry and aggressive.

This was not the guy who at many occasions had saved our neighbours from domestic battering, had threatened to destroy another man for beating his wife or even rushed another woman suffering from celebral malaria to the hospital. Countless things he did for other people, countless offerings he poured to the church and countless children he welcomed home to watch our television – which was the village’s only TV at that time. 

Back to my mom, her job was to look awful and work hard. Shaggy with baggy clothes. Because that was how wives of people like my dad should look like in that tiny village. Moreso, if you happen to be a woman who the church says you should be a model to other women.

 I remember my mother miscarrying after my dad beat the hell out of her. I saw her bleed, ran to the neighbour to ask for help to drive her to hospital. I did not know it was what it was until later in life when I asked my mother for details of that fateful night. 

Or the other time when my mother would watch and cryI helplessly when my father beat the hell out of me for breaking a plate while washing it. She came in between us and he slapped the hell out of her as she fell on the hard floor. 

Or when she came home late from too much work in school and found my father angrily waiting for her to make him his dinner.

Ouch. These memories have a way of getting to me. 

Yet my mother stayed. She stayed for the sake of us. Also she was ashamed and embarassed that she could not leave and stay a single mother with four kids to take care of. She thought it was necessary to have a father figure for us. If she knew that he’d die later on and leave her agonizing, maybe she would have left.

My mother, she was thrown out of her fathers will for marrying my father. Her parents never agreed with her choice. She was already pregnant with me. She was cut out completely. Her parents refused to take her to college, telling her to go to her poor boyfriend and never contact them again. 

My mother, she survived the stigma and society cultural traditions which sometimes would tear her apart. She protected us from those horrible things they would say to her. She told me they were outdated.

My mother, one of the first women in my village to wear a trouser and walk down the city center, while being shouted at by village boys to leave her trouser and home for her male kids.

My mother, who loves me to death and always believed in me, even when she knew I was making a wrong turn. She never scolded me nor lack faith in me. 

My mother, my dear mother, whom now is so hard to reach because I am in another country studying to have a better life and her connection is so poor that we cannot speak even for two minutes.

My mother who gives all of herself to every kid she teaches and to their parents and to her teachers.

If ever I feel low for some reason, I remember all the strong women, like my mother who show that life is what you make out of it. Noone is responsible for your happiness. Sometimes we choose to stay in broken lives, broken families, broken relationships or marriages and we have all the reason to. One day, the pain will go away and we will be happy again. 

Mom, you made me who I am today. I am proud to be your daughter. And one day, if ever I have them kids, I hope to pass the grace, charisma, love and the strength to them. 

With love and affection.

Love policy cycle

Touch me so I can touch you

Feel me so I can feel you

Kiss me so I can kiss you

Breathe to me so I can make my breath worth it

The feeling of being so alone and scared of my thoughts

Trouble in paradise they say

But I don’t know if I ever had paradise in the first place

I ate good food though, good thoughts, good talks, good friendships

After all cycles of love is what I think of

Some rush and gut feelings and flirting

Then you set the agenda

Decide the problems to solve

Decide what solutions you’ll undertake

Decide whether to undertake those solutions or not

Check to see whether those solutions met your original expectations

If they didn’t, decide on a new set of love agenda and reformulate

If they do meet the targets, continue with the love agenda

Only this time round, reinforce it so that it is formal and stays for better or worse

Then make or not make multiple policies

Happens 

Love policy cycle…