It was good for the soul

I am in Tagaytay for the weekend. To do a research report still unwritten way past its deadline. It wasn't easy getting here. Gathering people together on a common time and a willingness to go out of town just to complete this task met some barriers. When it was finally decided that  Jay and I would go this weekend, Kara got sick. Symptoms of the dreaded swine flu scared the household and that promptly led me to cancel the plan. When her fever subsided after a day, I thought working in my office or in a rented room in a nearby hotel would suffice. Tried going to at least 4 places but they were nowhere near my expectations in terms of cost and security considerations.

But typical of me, I would not, could not let go of the idea of working away from my everyday distractions. I knew that I could write in a day what it would take a week if I did it in my home or office. It was not out of whimsy that I wanted to do this. I just knew what I had to do to meet this urgency.

So I pursued Tagaytay once  again. My favorite place for working couldn't accommodate me this time. They had a death in their community and were too busy to attend to me. So I opted for the next best place, counting on the generosity of a friend who arranged for it. Puede naman! Yay!

There was no available vehicle to bring me up as two cars were not roadworthy. But no, I could take the bus with Jay. No problem! Then on the morning of the departure, Jay called to say he couldn't  join me as he was being asked to go home because his father was sick. Haay! 

That didn't stop me though. And because I would be alone, Tito decided to ask the driver to bring me up using the Innova. And he promised to pick me up the next day. Transportation glitch solved!

On the way there, it dawned upon me that there was in all probability one more reason I persisted in doing this despite all the stumbling blocks. In the car, still along EDSA, I put on the iPod to listen to my fave tunes in it. When "Lullabye" by Billy Joel came on, the tears started to fall and they wouldn't stop. I was shamelessly shedding tears every few minutes. This was not the first time this song had this effect on me. The first time was when Papa died and now that both of them were gone, it was not hard to imagine both Mama and Papa singing the song for me.   

The tears continued on the SLEX, in Tapa King in Sta. Rosa, in SVD while in the privacy of my room. Anywhere. It mattered little now if anyone would notice. There was no stopping the dam unleashed.

Yes, I was brought to Tagaytay because I needed to cry, to purge myself of all the hurt,  and to admit my shortcomings.  I think I will still cry some more for Mama and Papa in the future but hopefully, for joyous reasons.

I listened to my soul, against all odds, and I'm glad I did!

 

Any of my former Psych 118 students want to do some short-term research work for me?

The sky is crying for me

Do not be fooled
By the facade of strength
and Zen calmness

Inside me dwells
A well of grief
For things that couldn't be
And for someone
I will never again see.

Rain is pouring, steady, strong
Then it stops, only to come back again
And again...and again
Challenging my child-like faith
That the sun would light her way Home.

But no, the sky is in mourning too

Shedding the tears

That I do not care to show

Slowly washing away

Regrets and resentments

Till they be no more

 

The garden she loved is green

The leaves glisten

The flowers are in bloom

They have been watered

By memories of one who loved us

Above all.

 

I am at peace.

For Mama (December 12, 1922 - June 11, 2009)
 

I Am My Father's Daughter... My Mother's, Too

My nightly ritual with Mama of praying the rosary while she is asleep in ICU doesn't become easier with each day. Somehow, before the rosary is finished my voice breaks and tears fall. I control the breaking of my voice because I don't want Mama to hear the despair arising from it. I don't want anyone else to see this moment of weakness.

I have learned to control the demonstration of my emotions. At times, you can even say I am stoic. This, I learned from Papa. I thought it was the height of cool that one could stay calm and collected in the face of a crisis. When Mama would be in hysterics, he would be seemingly detached from it all. He would just look as if there was nothing happening that was out of the ordinary. He would almost always send me to fix things up. I would of course do it but with much resistance and resentment. I wondered why I had to be the one to calm her down and soothe her nerves just as I also pondered why Mama had to resort to histrionics to make her point in their countless arguments.

So I strove NOT to be like her. During any crises, I could be counted upon to be unfeeling and therefore could think through a tense situation. Even if deep inside me, my nerves were in a turmoil, I was not one to make this known. I try to maintain that poise no matter what (even during childbirth labor pains, I've been told)!

But twice in my adult life, when getting caught in their fights had proven to be too much, to my horror I have acted out like Mama. I have surprised myself by screaming and crying with all of my being. I have always regretted my behavior on these two occasions but looking back, I excuse myself by saying that Mama and Papa got what they deserved. I was just replaying events to which they subjected me on a regular basis from childhood till my middle adulthood. (I would only get a respite from the fights when they ceased during their years of infirmity.)

Can we escape from having the images and our reactions to them being implanted during our childhood? Can we choose whom we want to become but inevitably play out hurtful scenes once again even when we don't want to?

Am I more my father's daughter? Or my mother's? Hmmmm... Both, I guess but Neither, too.
I am complicated, befuddled, but always trying to be no one but ME! 

Saturday, 6 June 2009
Outside the ICU