My mama

I stood in front of the pantry, filled with food, stomach grinding and needed something to fill it up, yet the thought of food also made me queasy. Such contradictory. Situations like this always bring me to the brim of tears. And then I would think of my mama. Did she go through the same thing? Did she long for her own home and her own mother when she had me in her? Did she feel lonely and helpless with the mountains of work waiting for her to get done and the little ones to be fed and guided and to sort out every little arguments they had? Did she collapsed in her bed and cried, because of the discomfort and because no one would understand?

Very often I thought of her. I had never understood the meaning of being a mother until I became one. Being a mother myself cast a very different light on my own mother. Suddenly I began to see how she sees us and understood the meaning of her action. I began to understand her more and I learn to appreciate her more. I have never thought of it, but the journey of motherhood actually bind my mother and me stronger, together, than before. I realized now our lives are forever entwined and linked, started from the beginning of how I was linked from my navel to her uterus, absorbing every nutrient she could give me. The only difference now is that, she keeps on giving and I keep on receiving her love, the never ending love that comforts me and empowers me, and even my own children.

When I am at my weakness moment, I often thought of her. What would she do? Moment such as you had two newborns crying and screaming and you were the only one around to care for them. You were exhausted from feeding them every 3 hours and changing and holding or rocking them. You could not figure out why they would not stop crying or why they simply would not let you sleep. Moment such as you curled up in your bed and wept your heart out. Moments such as these I prayed and cried my heart out to God, and then I thought of my own mama. Did I give her such troubles when I was young? Did I make her doubt herself and lost confidence in herself in being a mother? I called her once and talked about the babies, how one of the girl when she first came back from the hospital, she would not sleep and would kept screaming until we held her. She shared that when I was first born, I was having some stomach problem and would not stop crying. I would not stop unless she held me. So she held me and sat in some sort of reclining chair and slept. She could not really sleep much because my urine or feces would soak through the cloth diapers and woke her up, then she had to change me. There were times she was so tired she did not wake up, and when she did, her clothes would be completely soaked through with my urine or feces. She was laughing when she was telling me this, but on this end of the phone, I was crying quietly and tears were streaming down my cheeks. I could not understand what she went through. I know she had an unsupportive mother-in-law who lived with her and also my father who never thought child rearing was part of a man’s business. I could not bear to think how lonely and helpless she felt. I could see now how the seed of bitterness and coldness being planted in her heart in her feelings toward my father and his family. It would sprout and grow and got so strong later in the years, completely out of her control. In my moments of weakness I thought of her, with greater love and respect but also with sympathy and sadness. I often tell myself, if my mother can do it, so can I. She gives me strength from thousand miles away. But very often too when I thought of her loneliness and bitterness, I very much want to stroke her face and whisper, here, mama. It is OK. I love you. We love you.  Let it go. Forget it. Your hard work has paid off, we are all grown now and healthy. Come here, mama, don’t go there. Don’t go into the past. There is greater things out here. There is love. I very much long to say this and hold her in my arms. I very much long to chop down that giant tree of bitterness and hatred. Yet it is not within my power. I can only dump love on it. More and more love. If I feed love, maybe the fruit of bitterness and hatred will die and it will grow love instead. I pray hard and love hard. It is OK, mama, come here. I understand now. I am a mother now too. I understand.

I understand now.

Grief lives on, but so does Hope.

I finally realized that you can never overcome the grief of losing someone. Especially someone you lost over death. A perished soul.
You just learned to live with it. You live your life as usual, fussing over little things, you laugh, you live.
But when the name is mentioned, there comes tear, there comes grief.
For you know a perished soul, is a perished soul. There is no reincarnation. There is no second chance.
There is only eternal damnation.
And the sorrow came.

But there is Hope!

There is Hope for those who are living! This is what brings me comfort! This is where my thought and my heart rest, by day and night!

And I want to make sure, all those whom I love and care dearly, know and have this same Hope!
Do you know this comfort, my love? Do you know this Hope? Do you have this Hope to lean on and to rest in, when grief comes to live in your heart and you have to trudge alongside it?
I pray that you will never know grief, but I know it will come, just as death. So my love, I pray that you will know and have the Hope, for out from the Hope comes peace.
And peace, my love, overthrows grief.

John 16:33
“These things I have spoken to you, that in Me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.”

Revelation 7:17
“For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd;
he will lead them to springs of living water.
And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”

When Death Comes, Sorrow Follows.

Was death not the only thing life has promised us the moment we were born?

It did not promise us wealth. It did not promise us success. It did not promise us health, and it certainly did not promise us happiness.
Death, is the only thing this fallen life on earth has, and can promise us the moment we are born into it.
So, why do we act surprise when death approaches and strikes?
Are our days on this earth not numbered?
Do you not know Death has been waiting patiently alongside you all this time, its reaper on your neck, ready for its chance to draw it and to claim you?
Why do we ignore him as if he is wearing an invisible cloak?

Why do you refuse to think about or talk about death?
What about what comes next?

What comes next, my beloved, do you have no concern?

A stroll into the Park in Fall

Women and Men

How do you spell women?

E-m-o-t-i-o-n-a-l.

Sometimes I can’t even stand myself when the hormones are coursing through my system and my emotions are on a roller coaster ride.

I can only say, buckle up and hang tight!  Not to myself, but to Jeff.  Bless his soul for going through the course with me.  But again maybe, most of the time he was in the nothing-box and had no idea what was going on 🙂

Deseo

Desire. In Spanish is deseo.

Even though I don’t really know Spanish. I looked this up in the Spanish dictionary I lugged along with my other belongings when I left behind my country. I lived for 24 years and I was only allowed to bring two suitcases, in certain sizes, no more than 32kg with me when I left. What should I bring? I had all the love I needed then, married to the man of my life, moving to his country. Both without a job. I wasn’t afraid at all. With him, I had the whole world.

Yet I had tosses this 4″x6″ Spanish dictionary that cost 39.90 Ringgit Malaysia into my luggage when I left. The dictionary that I bought when I was in university. The dictionary that I have used for less than 10 times since 2004. I took two semesters of Spanish class during the last year of my college, even though what I really desired was learning French. But that’s always me – lack of courage and lack of confidence. We had 3 total Spanish teachers. All female. 2 from Spain and 1 from Mexico. Sonia, Ana, Lidia were their names. We had fun but the language never really stayed with me. It might be the lack of passion. My heart was with Japanese, and French. The third semester my best friend and I went to Ana’s room and told her we had to drop her class, with her face dropped sadly after she heard what we said. We were too busy. We had too many translation projects to do. We had so many excuses she just said O.K and let us go. The truth is, we did have many projects and so much to do before we finishing up the last semester in school, but I was just not willing to put my effort into learning the language. That might be me again. I never work as hard as I should in school, or work, or anything.

But I have this desire, deseo (if I got it right). When I laugh or especially when the sadness envelop me, I have this desire. When I lay sleeplessly at night or when I awoke abruptly in the quietness of night, I have this desire.

To write.

To write about my life. My love. About the dog that was trapped lonely in the backyard across the street. About the woman I don’t know. To write something real I want to remember, to write something fake that I simply make up. I write in Chinese, and how I got this desire to write in English now I do not know. I have read so many books in English since I came into this country, that sometimes I think in English now. How sad. At first I thought. But it’s the both language that twine together now which shapes and forms my thought.

So I started to write, to better understand this language and to learn more about the only language my husband speaks. To open up my heart so he can read it too. To reconnect with my English speaking and reading friends. I might write something trivial, something boring, something which are just solely my humble opinions, if you were patient and could bear my writing, stay with me. Here you can steal glimpses of my life and my heart. To know me, is to read me. That’s what I always said in Chinese.

Oh, and my husband is still the love of my life 🙂