Unconditional Love

“I know love is unconditional. … My heart… It feels like my chest can barely contain it. Like it’s trying to escape because it doesn’t belong to me anymore. It belongs to you. And if you wanted it, I’d wish for nothing in exchange - no gifts. No goods. No demonstrations of devotion. Nothing but knowing you loved me too. Just your heart, in exchange for mine.”

“The quote from Stardust is so beautiful, so touching. I wondered, when would I feel like that?” There was a wistful note to his voice.

It was a beautiful quote, she remembered.

“I guess you’ll never know when love comes. I’ve fallen in love three times. And every time I fall in love again, I’m surprised at how much more I am able to love, how much more intense it is compared to the last time.”

“That’s surprising. I never knew it would feel different, that you could love more.”

“Maybe some people have different capacities to love. I love deeply, and when I love I give myself fully. I cannot hold back. I always give my heart.”

“I don’t think I could do that. I always hold back.”

“Maybe you haven’t found the right person. Sometimes people hold back because they’re afraid of getting hurt. That’s the problem with love. When you love someone so much, you’re vulnerable. There’s a bigger chance of letting yourself get hurt.

“True.”

“Perhaps that’s why it hurt so much for me. Falling out of love.”

“Don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying.” She surreptitiously blinked the tears out of her eyes and smiled.

“Love is universal. Sometimes I sit there and it feels like my heart could burst from all the happiness. Not just with a romantic partner, but there are times when I sit with friends and I feel so blessed from having so much love and support, that I wonder if it’s almost sinful for someone to be so happy.”

They were quiet before she spoke again.

“You know, if I had to go through all the pain I’ve had in the past five months, I would. I wouldn’t have traded those memories of love for anything. I wouldn’t erase any of it.”

“Then again, at the end of the day, we are just humans, and love is fleeting for us, which is why we are not meant to anchor ourselves fully to the ideals of love, and love for God is meant to be a priority over everything else.”

Blood Letting

Taking blood the first time is scary.

I prepare the trolley, picking out the things I need for the process as the nurse shows me what I need.

Cotton wool. Check.

Alcohol swab. Check.

Tubes. Check.

Tape. Check.

Sharps bin. Check.

Syringe. Check.

Needle. Check.

Light glints off the metal of the needle and I cannot take my eyes off it. I am morbidly fascinated with the metal, with its sharp tapered edge. The thought that I will soon be piercing someone’s skin with that very needle makes my skin crawl.

I smile reassuringly at the patient, but little does she know that my heart is pounding in my ears, that I am as nervous as a teenager on her first date. But she doesn’t need to know, and I put on my most professional face.

I slip on my gloves and slowly attach the needle to the syringe, praying that my hands don’t shake.

I then put the tourniquet on the patient, tentatively feeling for her vein, wondering if I have done things in order. There is is. Strong and steady, and I can feel the pulse bounding strongly under my fingers. I can feel the warmth.

Alcohol swab.

I angle the needle, with the nurse hovering over my back, and slowly slide it in. The patient winces for a second, and I apologize. I can see blood rush into the needle and I quickly lie it flat, and slowly advance it. The nurse hands me a tube and I attach it at the vacuum adapter.

The nurse is chatting to the patient but I tune out as I watch the tube fill with blood.

Blood.

Flowing freely into the tube, red and warm and bright. It is something that some people cannot look at, that some individuals turn away from. It reminds me of life, of passion, and I marvel at how bright it seems, and how alive it makes me feel. It is the life force within us that keeps us going where we go, and I watch it flow into the tube with a rush of satisfaction.

It feels almost vampiric.

High School Stories

High school seemed so long ago. I always think back with fondness. 

The misty watercoloured days of simpler worries. 

It was a preview of days to come, but we were still untouched, bathed in the golden light of youth. We had our lives stretched out in front of us. There were possibilities, and dreams and ideas of things to come, of things that would be. 

That was the beauty about high school. 

We were still learning to walk, we had yet to soar. We had only had previews of life so far, our innocence was still mostly intact. 

For some reason our grade seemed to be float in our own little bubble. There wasn’t much in the way of cliques. Everyone was pretty laidback, there were few major affections, and we were a grade, not our separate groups. 

Life hit after high school. 

It’s always a shock. 

We realize that things may not always go the way we want them to. Our hopes and dreams are sometimes put on hold, or deemed unrealistic. We lose touch, we keep in touch. Some of us drifted apart, and some bonded closer. Some, regardless of time and distance, stayed exactly the same. 

There was the first marriage from our grade, and I rejoiced for them. It made it seem so real, the fact that we were finally labeled as ‘grown up’. I never thought it would be him, the laughing, naïve boy of a thousand jokes, but it was, and I was happy for him. 

There was the mass shift from studies into the working world, and everyone seems successful, and busy, with career in their eyes and business in their smile, and work seems to have scattered us throughout the countries in the world, from China to the States, Singapore to Russia to Australia. 

There was the first death, unfortunately the first of many. There were four that I could count after high school, and it reminded me that life was fleeting and God could choose to take our lives at any point of time, if it was His wish. Snatched, in the prime of youth, or to see things in a more positive way, returned to our Maker. 

Another one of us passed away yesterday. A soldier, and the news reached me hours after it had happened. I barely knew him, and yet, I felt that sense of loss. It’s strange, that I feel connected to total strangers just because we shared a particular phase in our lives. 

But I do. 

Inna lillah.

Journey

Reflection.

My mistakes, myself. My principles, skewed and strange. My friendships, trust broken, issues raised, questions unanswered, hurt caused, rallied around, surprise support.

So much happened that sometimes I look back and wonder how I coped with it all.

Some people question how I moved on so fast, how I can ignore the mistakes I’ve made. Only I can answer that, and I cannot explain to anyone else, because I don’t fully comprehend myself. Six, seven weeks is a long time in my world, and if I had to grieve and question and second guess everything that happened in those weeks I would be so confused I wouldn’t know where to start and where to stop.

I know my mistakes, and they were huge by any standards, much more my own. There are the what-if’s and why’s, and another round of me second guessing my own lapse in nature, but I’ve repented and put it behind me. My how’s and why’s are my own, and I’ve come to terms that my mistakes will haunt me again and again, for people never forget, especially my dear mother, and just as my sister suffered for so many years, I think karma will come full circle. But those are challenges that I must face, and I believe that God will not throw anything at me that I cannot handle, and it will change me, and the person I will become.

To the person who I kept hurting, unintentionally, I really am sorry.

Sorry for my ignorance, and my insensitivity, because I chose to view both of you as two different entities, and not take into consideration that your issues between the two were still not sorted out. Sorry because I assumed that things were okay, because it was the mask you showed me to spare my hurt, and you expected me to know otherwise, but I did not pick up your pain. Sorry because we differed so much on the crux of the issue, and I did not know, and made a choice to not become involved, but I never expected it would hurt you, never thought you would care, but it did and you did.

Selfishness.

My sister once accused me of the same thing.

Yes, it is a time for me to be as selfish as I can be, because it is the only way I can cope with things. I am focusing on myself, and a journey of self-improvement. It is only by finding that change within myself, to find that peace once again, that I can come to terms with everything and I think I’m getting to that point. I can lean on my faith, and I’m thankful for that, and for the people who have helped me through those times.

This is my reflection, for myself, because things always seem more logical put down in words, and it is almost like a promise for me.

One must understand pain to appreciate pleasure.

I think I finally have.

It was never a new start, but a struggle to get back to the point where I was happiest with myself, and respected myself still, and I have a long road to travel. But in the least I am on that road, and happier for it.

Recently I thought this would be the worst birthday in my life, with drama unfolding one after another, and my past sins coming back to haunt me despite my regret and wanting to put things behind me. Now I believe it will be the best, because these are reminders to me about my challenges, and it will build my character and reinforce the principles I once held so dearly, for I woke up this morning and realized that God works in mysterious ways but I am happier today than I was yesterday, and it is a journey of self-discovery.

And it is the best present I can give myself.

Behind the Mask

“I want a boyfriend!”

We both laughed, and I knew exactly what she meant. It surprised me, somewhat, because she had always been so independent. I remember both of us, single and having the time of our lives back in Melbourne, when she was still here, as was Miss A.

Young, free and fearless.

“I admire how strong you’re being about the situation.”

Am I strong? Am I really?

“I guess our time together didn’t mean that much to you. You look like you’re not affected at all, that you’ve moved on and forgotten about it.”

Do you think it was easy for me?

It was never easy, never easy to make that break. Just because I choose not to show the world my pain doesn’t mean that I’m not affected. I had my week of mourning, and then I had to pick up the pieces of my life and move on.

Two and a half years was a long time, and I cherish every moment, the good and bad. I cannot turn back time, but even if I could, I wouldn’t, despite the pain I went through, and despite the pain I put you through.

Do you really think it’s easy?

There are times when I walk down the street, and the memory of us, walking hand in hand comes back to haunt me, like scenes from misty watercoloured movies, oh so heart-wrenchingly clichéd, and yet, so true to life sometimes.

No one knows the late nights when I curl up alone in bed and the aloneness hits me, and all I want to do is find someone and ask for a hug, all I want is some physical comfort.

I don’t need to show the world my insecurity, my fear of leaving the relationship, the thought that things may never be the same again – and not for the better. I don’t need to entertain thoughts that I may never find love again, that I am oh so afraid of continuing on with my life. Without you.

You can only fathom part of my guilt everytime I see you, you can only see what I cannot control, and what you see is only a small part of my agony at putting you pain that you did not deserve.

I don’t need to show people that I suffer everytime I think of the situation. There is only so much sadness my body can take, only so many tears I can cry. I have grieved, and part of me will be sad for a long time to come, but I cannot keep myself in isolation, in sadness, in agony.

So no.

It’s not easy.

I am afraid. Very much so.

And I’m not strong.

But I can only try.