A Lesson Learned. The Hard Way.

I believe that both my husband and I are decent people who take marriage and commitment seriously.  If there was one thing I had always wanted, it was to become a housewife and stay-at-home mother.  So when my husband told me he wanted to get a divorce in May 2011, citing he no longer had any feelings for me other than as a mother to his child, it felt like my whole world had crumbled down before my very eyes.  Not only were my dreams shattered, it was a huge loss to my sense of self—because for the past decade I had seen and defined myself mainly as a wife and a mother.

In the twelve years that we were together, I was always faithful to him, I never so much as looked at another, spending most of my time at home and being a mother to our daughter.  I did not work, had any career or hobbies that required me to be away from home for a long period of time, and I surrounded myself with friends who were similar in values and lifestyles.  I did not nag; my husband could go out and do things that he liked anytime.  I did not expect him to accompany me all the time, I never snooped around his things, and I did not question his coming and goings. 

I thought I was a pretty darn good wife.  It was almost too easy to blame it all on my husband based on those criteria.  And it was not as if he was a perfect husband either—ugh, far from it.  So what gives?

You know how some people need to slam into a brick wall first before changing their course?   I have always been one of them.  In this case, it had taken the end of my marriage, and then some... After the initial shock and disbelief subsided, when the anger had dissipated into sadness and loss... It was only then that I really saw, I too, was to blame for failing my marriage.

If you go a little deeper into what was my marriage, then you would start noticing the little cracks that ran deeper than they seemed.

Sure, the spontaneity and excitement that was present in the beginning of our relationship had long turned into the more stable, comfortable kind characteristic of old, married couple.  But it was not as if I was unhappy with my life, or wished for another kind of life.  I may not lust after my husband the way I used to, but I liked having him around, and found his presence comforting.  I was fine with not having a career, and I was a proud mother of a lovely daughter. I had simply settled into what I would describe as a ‘comfortable’ relationship.

So ‘comfortable,’ that during the past few years, our relationship as a ‘couple’ has deteriorated to a level where we were more like roommates rather than husband and wife.  We never invested on building a stronger bond outside that of being parents to our daughter since her birth seven years ago.  We got caught up in all those craziness that came from being new parents, and I guess we unconsciously allowed those days to lead into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months into years.  My experience with Postpartum Psychosis shortly after giving birth, and my ongoing battle with depression afterwards took precedent over building our intimacy and connection.  The severity of what happened, along with the medications I must take until now made me very wary of sex.

Our communication was also in shambles.  We did not argue much, but we also did not care much. We started living separate lives, with me focusing solely on my daughter, and him throwing himself into his work, hobbies, and ultimately into the arms of other women.  His transgressions in turn made me distance myself farther in order not to get terribly hurt, drawing a deeper wedge between us.  Over and over again we told each other we wanted to make our relationship worked, but while the scratches were adding up, what we did was just adding more bandages to the wounds without really addressing the core problem.  At the end, there was really nothing holding us together other than the fact we had a child together.

While I have always prided my good sense concerning priorities, it actually took my husband’s ending the marriage to open my eyes and admit that in my list of priorities, I had not put my marriage anywhere close to where it should be—at the top.  Being a loving mother... checked. Making sure my daughter grows up confident and enjoys learning... checked.  Keeping in touch with my good friends... checked. Defying premature aging... checked.  Staying fashionably updated... checked.

But if you asked me, when was the last time my husband and I had a dinner date together?  Blank.

 

I am aware that my husband is no saint.  He has certainly committed his share of faults and mistakes too.  But the point is, I have not done my part of the bargain either.  I have not given my marriage my best, and while I cannot change nor control my husband’s behavior, I have no excuse when it comes to myself.  By not prioritizing my relationship with my husband, I too am guilty of failing my marriage.

Going through a marriage break-up is extremely painful, but it has also been an eye-opening experience for me.  I learned this lesson the hard way, but I truly believe that it is indeed better late than never.  Here’s to a better, wiser, ENOUGH me.

To My Sisters

Last Friday Ms. Mouthy and I were invited to our friend Eliza’s party.  She got divorced a few months back, and wanted to have a girls-night-out to celebrate her birthday.  The party was held at this hip restaurant/bar that was turned into a ‘club’ for the night due to a special appearance by a famous singer.  By the time we arrived, the place was packed, the lights were dimmed, and the music was loud.

After wishing her a happy birthday, Eliza introduced us to the other guests on her table; some of them I have met before.  I smiled, nodded my head, greeted them by waving my hands back.  Then I took a seat next to Ms. Mouthy, with my back on the wall, sensing that my mind was already retreating somewhere else, my body fusing into the chair as if trying to be invisible.  Typical me.

Eliza started going out more when her marriage ended, so I was not surprised she had friends from different circles, most of them were either divorced or not married yet.  I noticed something common shared by Eliza and friends that was apparent post their divorce: dressing up in more revealing clothes, wearing more make-up, and definitely practiced more flirting.  This change was obvious enough for me to pause, blink twice, and question whether they were the same people as before. 

Who took care of their children at home when they were out all night partying most weekends (and perhaps weekdays too)?  Why did women feel the need to look like skanks upon being single again... to prove they were still desirable?  Instantly, my reaction was to judge them as "trying too hard" or "desperate."  

I realized then that subconsciously, I might have looked down on anybody who did not fit into the ‘perfect housewife’ images I had in mind, because in some ways, I used to feel superior before.  Not in a way that I felt prettier or more successful, but it was more of seeing myself as having better morals and respectability.  I used to judge other women who, even after they were married and became mothers, still flirted, did a lot of clubbing, or wore too-sexy clothes.  I used to have this mental picture of how a married woman and a mother should look like and behave. 

But then who was I to judge?  Who said that the way I was moping around at home, my reluctance to change the way I looked or dressed, my being at home every night when my daughter went to sleep... was better?   As I sat there, taking mental notes of my surroundings, I contemplated my own situation... of my own marriage ending and the impending divorce.

Perhaps Eliza and her friends simply became more efficient in managing their time?  Maybe having fun, partying like there was no tomorrow was a better alternative to feeling lonely at home?  Chances were, those tight, sexy dresses were a good motivation to exercise, one that would finally made me commit to the healthy diet that I have been wanting to do for the last seven years but kept on postponing... Putting on more make-up would most likely force me to pay attention to my skin and start wearing at least a night cream!  And surely, flirting with other guys, holding their attention even for just a few short minutes, seeing desires in their eyes, would do wonders to my current all-time low self-esteem?

Two-and-a half hours later, I had just about enough of the ‘dootz dootz dootz’ music.  My tummy was grumbling, clearly pissed off from having been fed the tiny-portioned dinner served earlier.  My eyes were tearing up, my nostrils were burning from all that second-hand smoking (thanks to all the smoking that took place all around me).  I was eager to call it a night, and luckily Eliza was intoxicated enough this time to let me go home.   

That night, on the ride home, I sat quietly on the back seat of the car.  The digital clock on the dashboard beamed, reminding me that I was not yet home despite the late hour.  I thought about Eliza and her friends again.  About how I used to judge women who looked like them and live their kind of lifestyle.  About how my own life was turned upside down by the death of my marriage, not too different from theirs—I’m sure--when their marriages ended.

Divorce is devastating.  The resulting heartbreak and pain could feel unbearable at times.  But different people dealt with their pain differently.  I’m not here to condone one way of coping over the other.  Clearly, I disagree with coping methods that are potentially hazardous, for example, turning to drugs or alcohols.  But going through my own divorce has opened my eyes and heart to others going through the same experience.  To a degree, I now understand why there were women—like Eliza and her friends—who partied every weekend, dressed-up in sexy clothes, and flirted with different guys after their divorce.  If they felt empowered by doing what they did, and if it could lessen the pain, then good for them!  Some of them did look better anyways (skank factor aside ;) as the result.  You go, girl!

As for me, I still prefer the quietness of my room, the familiar smell of my house, and the comfort of my PJs.  I still think that being home every night when my daughter goes to sleep is one of the best way to spend my nights.  I am not ready to flirt with other men because my heart still belongs to someone.  But that’s alright.  To each her own. 

To all of my sisters out there dealing with divorce or its aftermath... Do what you need to do.  Don’t let others opinions and judgements slow you down.  Be strong, and come out a winner!

Linking up with:

How a Heart Breaks

Do you know why they call it ‘heartbreak?’

Let me tell you why.

Because the moment love flees, your heart would harden.  Your chest tightens, until it is difficult to breathe.  Your lungs would then frantically grasp for air, your veins would start to clench, and for a moment it would feel as if you’ve lost your senses.

A few seconds of numbness.

Then if you listen closely, you would hear that first snap.  And feel something close to a kick in the gut.  Pain flows through your blood, its heat rises to the surface, singeing your skin, making you cringe.  Already bruised and battered, the heart knows it doesn’t stand a chance.  The strain has finally exceeded its strength.  With a roar only you could hear, your heart starts to break, piece by piece, into fragments of unrecognizable shards.  

Just when you think it’s over, another fissure splits open.  As it burst into splinters, the pain is fresh each time.  Waves of nausea would assault your insides, your mouth would taste the bitter taste of bile, and tears would pour out from your eyes.

Just as quickly as it hits you, those feelings would disappear.  Their presence is replaced by quiet emptiness that is deceitful in its stillness.  Because as soon as the pain subsides, another piece of your heart would break, and then the whole cycle would begin again.

Until there is nothing left but broken-off scraps... that one day would be all blown away by time.

Divorce Journal Entry #4: Cease-Fire, For Now.

He said he didn't love me anymore.  He's given up on our marriage.  He has even talked about giving me the full custody of our daughter should we proceed with the divorce.  

My husband was also too chickenshit to end the marriage right away.  Yes, you read right.  The dude had the nerve to tell me he no longer loved me, but he's too scared to be the one who ended it.  I knew he wanted me to be the one who took the first steps into making that "divorce" happened, just so that he wouldn't have to feel responsible for having ended our marriage. 

And what did Sweaty do?  Well, what Sweaty DID was different than what Sweaty WANTED to do.  What Sweaty WANTED to do was:

1. Tear off Mr. LA's hair one fistful at a time until there's nothing left.  Or maybe I'd play nice and leave a few strands behind.
2. Shove Mr. LA's shiny golf sticks up his arse.  Elin (Tiger Wood's ex-wife) would be proud.
3. Scream a long string of curses on top of my lungs right in front of his face.  Possibly covering his face with my spits...  after I chewed a handful of garlic.
4. Kick Mr. LA's balls until they're black and blue.  You betcha I'd check.
5. Wrote a huge L with a permanent marker on Mr. LA's forehead while he's asleep.
6. Throw him out of the house and change the keys (ala Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive").
7. Play darts with his face (or his black and blue balls?) as the target.
8. Empty his bank account.  Ha! Who's gonna want you now, Mister?

What Sweaty DID was:

1. Took a really, really deep breath.
2. Count to 65.
3. Told him no, I did NOT want to get a divorce and that I wasn't going to give up on us that easily.    

I know that I don't say this often, nor did I ever write much about it, but I love my husband.  Despite all my rants and ramblings, my sarcasm and my jokes, I could never imagine a life without him.  When I fell in love with him for the first time, I fell in love with him for life.  Lord knows he's far from perfect, and he had done some pretty shitty things, but he's the one I want to spend the rest of my life with.  Always has been, and still is.

Here's what I didn't tell you before.  Four years ago, our marriage was forever altered by a certain life event (which, unfortunately, I cannot disclose).  Since then, I had built a wall so high to protect myself from being hurt, I was emotionally (and physically) absent from my marriage.  I was so ridden by fear, that I had trained myself not to care about my husband "too" much.  I had ceased being a wife; the only role I played in my marriage was that of a mother to our daughter.

We began to lead separate lives.  The thing that attracted us to each other at the beginning--our very different traits and personalities--became the very thing that killed us.  As an extrovert, my husband has many hobbies and interests.  He's also social and has many friends.  On the other hand, I am quite the introvert.  I prefer to stay home because being around many people exhausts me.  I have a group of close friends whom I meet with regularly, but other than that I don't socialize much.  At first, I used to accompany my husband on his many activities.  But it all changed four years ago.  

I stopped going with him, whether it was to have dinner with his friends, to visit some art galleries, or to just have a nice Sunday brunch at some new restaurant.  Always opting to stay home, I immersed myself in raising my daughter, in my books, in my own little world.  His hobbies no longer interest me, and after a while I've lost touch with what he likes and what he doesn't.  With nothing else in common other than being parents to our daughter, we found ourselves unable to connect or communicate.  We've become strangers living in the same house.

So what happens now?  

For me, it has been hell to be living in such a limbo on a daily basis.  It hurt every time I remembered what he said, about no longer loving me.  At the same time, I reminded myself that when I married him it was for better or worse, in sickness and in health, and if this was what it meant, than so be it!  Despite my bruised ego and pride, it is time for me to step up and fight for my marriage.  I owe it to myself, to my husband, to my daughter, and most importantly, to God.  It's an uphill battle that I must struggle with, not only day to day, but minute to minute of each day.  But I am a wife, one half of the marriage equation.  I have just as much power to build or to destroy my marriage as my husband, and I choose the first.

And what about my husband?  His response was a no response.  I honestly don't know what will happen in the days ahead.  

All I can say is that it's cease-fire.  For now.

  

In a Matter of Seconds

This week's RemembeRed writing prompt is by Natalie of Mama Track.  The assignment this week is based on rhythm, how we can use it to entertain and engage readers, and if the writer can convey that rhythm using her writing.

In a Matter of Seconds

I watched the hand of seconds go by

Clicking sounds that echoed between four walls.

And remembered the “please oh God, please…”

Click-a-ti-click, click-a-ti…

Breathe in, breathe out

Is it real, is it not?

Don’t say that word I can’t accede

Click-a-ti-click, click-a-ti…

I blinked once, and then twice

Is that hardness in your eyes?

How could things have turned to ice

When fires are scalding me alive?

Click…

I felt my eyes welled up

Click…

I felt my lungs collapsed

I watched the hands of seconds go by

Dull thumps that delivered pounding in my skull

And rendered me impaired with, oh such ease

Click-a-ti-click, click-a-ti…

The slight shake of your head

The shape your mouth makes

No.  Please…

Oh God, please…

I questioned you why; please reply

Did you answer me with a sigh?

We didn’t see eye to eye

You wouldn’t give it another try

Click…

We have to say good bye

Click…

Gone in the blink of an eye

Most Likely To... Marry a Rich Guy (Part 2)

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Sh*t, I looked like SH*T!

If I sounded like I've been such a tough cookie lately, it's because you couldn't see me.  I cried, like, all the time.  I cried while typing on my computer, I cried myself to sleep, I cried in the middle of a conversation with my daughter's dance teacher, I cried while reading Joyce Meyer's Never Give Up, I cried watching my daughter played, I cried seeing the door to my old bedroom, and just the other day, I've even managed to cry while I was taking a dump.  Amazing how I was suddenly able to multi-task.  That coming from someone who thought she couldn't breathe and blink at the same time.

I looked just as bad.  I hardly looked at myself in the mirror these days, I didn't comb my hair (sometimes having really short hair did help), I was in my pajamas until it's time to take a shower and put on another pajamas, and I haven't gone out of the house for days...  I did notice, though, that going bra-less for days  really felt kick-ass liberating!

Another thing I've been doing of late was lying.  I've lied so much, I could go to hell just for this week alone.  I lied when Ms. Lips and Ms. Mouthy texted me and asked me how I was doing (I'm doing great! Uh, one big fat lie), I lied to my daughter when she asked me why my eyes were teary (Mommy's sleepy, so Mommy's been yawning), I lied to myself the most, every single time I told myself that I was alright.

So no, I'm really not a tough cookie at all.  I feel like sh*t, look like sh*t, thought about a lot of sh*tty things, and basically have been doing sh*t (read: nothing) so far.

But I allow myself that.  I have to, or I'd go insane.  I've never been good at pretending.  My face is like one of those lighted billboards in the middle of Times Square: there's now way you'd miss seeing what's written there.  One look at me, and you'd know I've got a lot of sh*t in my mind.  Add to that my tendency to look bitchy without even trying.  Not a good combination, really.  It's the kind that might scare little children away and give them nightmares.  Maybe it's a good thing I've been staying away from public places.

How much sh*t can a person endure, I wonder?  I figure must be a whole lotta because it certainly felt like I've been buried to the hilt two months ago, and yet the sh*t just kept on coming and... holy f*cking SH*T! it looks like I've got to make room for some more! 

I've been looking at the requirements for medical schools in the UK, and I felt ancient!  I didn't know they actually have a term for prospective students like me (those whose last time in school was at least a decade ago) and it's called "mature."  Mature, ha!  And it looked like I would have to take the full 6 year-course at the very least, and that is if I manage to score high on UKCAT exam and complete my applications by October 15th, 2011.  Oh, and that is for those who have a science degree.  Mine is arts.

Sooo 2011 2012 it is! But seriously, am gonna make it there, dammit! 

In the meantime, I just have to get my sh*t together. 

    

Divorce Journal Entry #3: a Lesson in Humility

A cousin of mine who is in the restaurant business just opened another branch at one of the big malls in the city.  Her mother invited my mother, me, my husband, and my daughter to come and try the new restaurant.  She of course didn't know of the impending divorce yet.  My mother, who is still fuming in the tradition of "hell hath no fury like a woman scorned" didn't want to see my husband, so I came alone to accompany her.

Clearly my aunt was proud of her daughter's accomplishment.  The restaurant was full even though it has only opened for a few days.  Other than me and my mother, she also invited several other relatives.  Many of them were my cousins from my other aunts or uncles, who came with their families.  Family *being*: wife, husband, and child/children.  One cousin was pregnant with her second child, and we were talking about how time flies because it seemed only a while ago that I visited her in the hospital for the birth of her first child.

It all hit me at once without warning.  The fact that soon news of my divorce would be known by all these people.  Concern over my mom and of having disappointed her with my failed marriage.  Fear of my daughter being perceived differently, either pitied or ostracized because she comes from a "broken home."  The loss of control over my present situation and the uncertainties looming in my near future.  Anger at my husband for "taking" all of my life and dreams away.  Feeling guilty over things I could no longer change.  Jealous at how unaffectedly life passes by, at the unfairness of it all, at my cousins and random strangers I didn't know for having their families intact.   And to top it all, I was hormonal, irritable, and in the middle of my period. Could things be any worse???

But, this is the new reality for me.  One I must face whether I want it or not.  I learned one thing sitting there, amidst my relatives and all those thoughts bombarding me. I learned a lesson in humility.

It wasn't that I had anything against people who experienced divorce.  My parents were divorced when I was three years-old.  A lot of my aunts and uncles got divorced.  I have friends who've had divorce.  I thought it was sad, and I felt bad that they had to go through such an experience, and I would never wish it on anybody.

Now that I'm facing the dissolution of my own marriage, I realized that even though I had always exhibited appropriate responses when it came to the topic of divorce, I had never felt real compassion on the subject.  Pity yes, judgment yes, but real honest compassion?  Maybe not.

Looking back, many of my fears now (a few of which I mentioned above) must be based on my own prejudice and preconception, many of them unconscious until now, about those who were divorced.  It's a modern world, divorce is no longer news, and yet there is still a certain stigma attached to those who has been touched by it.  I'm not sure if this applies equally everywhere, but in the society I grew up and now live in, there's an invisible line that separates those who are divorced from those who are married.  It's all hush-hush, but it's there.  The details don't matter--you could be the victim of a very unfortunate circumstances, or on the flip side, you could be the one having mini affairs in an open-marriage.  But those belonging to the divorce community would always be "second-class citizens" to those who are married. 

Predictably, the rule applies twice as hard for divorced women than men. 

Now that I'm on the other side of the invisible fence, my eyes are truly open.  For the first time, I really understand why my mother chose to leave me under the care of my dad for the first three years of their divorce to pursue her studies 9000 miles away.  I understand why some of my divorced friends slowly "disappeared" from social gatherings and events.  Those who didn't were often gossiped about, their every moves judged and condemned.  We the (un)happily married people didn't mind being friends with those who were divorced, but um, it's probably better to keep them away from occasions where our spouses were around, shall we?  We wouldn't want them to (whisper) steal (God forbids!) our spouses, would we now?  Besides, it's not constructive to socialize too often with those who are divorced... different values and morales and all that...

What a bunch of bulls*t and bollocks! 

Still, it's a reality that I must face.  A reality that those before me had to and are facing every single day of their divorced life.  I know of those who have come out a winner and become the better because of their experience because they didn't give a damn about what other people think and fought to pursue their dreams.  But that's not what I'm talking about here.  I'm talking about embracing this ugly reality and being at peace with that.  To be a humbler person, one who has learned to have compassion, to have a heart big enough to accept all the ugly and negative realities surrounding divorce, and still come out a winner.

A lesson in humility.  That was what I learned as I was sitting there, surrounded by my relatives not yet aware that my marriage was over.  To have a big enough heart to take it all in, the good and the bad that comes with my imminent divorce, and still move forward. 

Divorce Journal: Entry #2 - My *New* Bachelor Pad

As of right now, my husband and I are still living in the same house.  We have not talked in details yet about what will happen to our living arrangements etc. once the divorce procedure is underway.  So we're sort of stuck living under the same roof, trying to avoid one another as best we could.  At times when we had to interact, we kept our conversation to a minimum--that way *I* wouldn't get too emotional.

That doesn't mean I didn't feel like slapping the bejeezuz out of him, or kicking his ass all the way to Mars every time I see his face.  I do have a black belt in crazy after all.  So you betcha my mind's been brewing with all kinds of ways to hurt the bloody arsehole back, but with the divorce in such an early stage, maybe I should wait and see.

I know this sounds crazy, but we still tried to eat dinner together whenever he's home to do so, for the sake of our daughter.  This of course was the last thing I wanted to do; the longer the minutes past, the angrier I felt, just looking at him sitting across the dinner table.  I was in the middle of my very satisfying imagination, which involved poking him over and over again with the dinner fork, ala voodoo doll, when my daughter suddenly said, "Why am I the only one talking on this table?  Why aren't you talking to each other?  Mommy?  Daddy?"  And my damn heart broke again.

I've moved out of the bedroom my husband and I used to share into what used to be the nursery.  He didn't ask me to, but I just couldn't go on sleeping next to him at nights knowing he doesn't have any feelings for me anymore.  And I prefer not to wait until he's the one who moves out when he couldn't stand it anymore.   

So moved I did, next door to what used to be the nursery. 

Ever since my daughter outgrew her crib and moved to her "big girl" bedroom, the nursery's been converted into a playroom/storage for my daughters' toys and knick-knacks.  We had taken down the baby crib a long time ago, but had replaced it with one of those Little Tikes bed so that my daughter could take a nap there during the day if she wants to. 

Who knew after all these years, I'm back to having a bachelor's pad, eh?  It does have a few resemblances to my old bedroom... Here's a few takes on what it looks like:

Back to sleeping alone on a single bed!  No more arguments over room temperature, ha!  And I have the blanket all to myself.  I can wake up in the middle night, jump around on the bed, and nobody would know!  So without further ado, this is where I've been sleeping for the last few weeks...  on a Little Tikes bed that looks exactly like this:

Because I had the walls painted with murals, my 'new bachelor pad's wallpaper' looks very similar to this:

Although I'm thinking of changing it soon to something like this:

Then add the margharitas, some mojitos, a few beers... 

Back in the days, I used to have 'cool' posters in my room.  Now I have these:

My own personal library?  No problem, my new room has an extensive collection:

Among my favorites are: "The Specky, Pecky Egg," "Tina Ballerina's Ballet Class," and "The Never-Bored Kid Book" (very insightful, especially for those ghostly hours in the early morning when I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep)

And it also came equipped with the latest gadgets:

It even has unopened boxes, most probably full of junk from years ago, on the corner:

And yes, that is my DIY waxing kit stashed away together with old baby clothes and some Christmas lights from last December.

Oh, did I mention that my new bachelor pad resembled my old bedroom, as in, my bedroom when I was 6 years old? 

Divorce Journal: Entry No.1

It's amazing what could happen in a blink of an eye.  That pretty much summed up the recent events in my life.  I still find it too difficult to write/talk about, I hope you'd understand.  So please forgive me if my writing goes all over the place, or if it's disorganized, not really having a theme, title, or even making any sense.  In truth, if one were to take a glimpse into my mind right now, that's exactly what my mind would've looked like--like a bomb had exploded, obliterating everything into unrecognizable pieces.  It definitely felt like it.  Indescribable pain that seared you into an almost-numb state, but not quite.  Leaving you suspended, unable to escape--your own personal hell on earth, if there's one.

Having said that, life goes on and waits for no one.  So here's what I've been doing in the meantime:

• I decided to keep my hair short, after having grown it a bit longer than usual in the last few months.  What is it about bad endings and the need to chop off one's hair?  I know I've done it more than once in the past, and I know of friends who cut their hair, consciously or not, following an unfortunate incidence in their lives.  Maybe it's like some sort of a rite of passage.  Get rid of some bad luck and cut off your losses.  Or maybe it's emotionally therapeutic--unless you managed to end up with a really bad haircut, in which case, you probably have to look elsewhere and try more extreme cathartic measures.  Like shaving your head, for example.  That's very rare though, I hope.
• Bloody effin hell, my monthly period just started.  Enough said on the subject.
• Trying to calm my mother down.  I had to finally tell her about "the end."  This was just as painful for me to do as accepting the fact.  My mom just decided to semi-retire, having worked her butt off most of her life.  She had just learned not to get too paranoid over the future.  I wanted to keep the news away from her until the very last moment, but it had come to that point.  Predictably, she freaked out... in the usual pattern of increasing stages.  Here's an example:  (3 days ago) "I'm sad for both you and your husband..." vs. (yesterday) "That jerk! I don't want to see his face ever again!"  Yes, I'm sure you get the picture.
• Telling those who are closest to me.  My best friend, Ms. Lips has known for quite some time, but yesterday I finally told Ms. Mouthy.  I wanted her to hear it straight from my mouth, before rumors had a chance to distort whatever truth there is.  I hurted to have to tell her while she's on vacation and going through her first few weeks of pregnancy.
• Praying.  I think praying is the only thing that keeps me standing right now.  I pray for God's peace and strength, and for His Will to be done.
• Oh, back to my hair.  So I had a haircut.  Same hairstylist, same request.  But now I ended up with hair like Justin Bieber.  F*ck.
• Thinking of going to school again.  Pre-Med. I know, am I nuts or what?  I'd probably be the only one above the legal age in class, but what the hell.  At least I know I'd be voted as the class' official drinks and beverages organizer, even making some serious bucks doing it.  Wink, wink.
• Making sure my daughter comes out a winner, no matter what happens.  This is work in progress.  I don't have a clue as to how I'm gonna achieve this, but I'll update you as I go.

It's gonna sound like a f*cking speech, but I've gotta say it.  To all of you who's emailed me, showing me your concern as well as support, thank you so, so much.  Really, from the bottom of my heart.  I thought about "meeting" some great people when I started my blog, but the truth is, you've proved me way beyond my expectations.  Truly, you've been real friends to me, even if we've never met.  I hope I can be just as much a friend to you whenever you need me.

OK, there's enough of this sentimental sh*t here to last me a few lifetimes over.

Do Sweat, Over and Out.

The Confession

Remember my friend, Ms. Mouthy from Mouthy, Lips, and Sweaty's Karaoke-O-Rama?  Just as I have been a mother to an only daughter, for the last 4.5 years, Ms. Mouthy has been a mother to an only son.  Most of our friends whose first child was born around the same time as my 6.5 year-old daughter, has had their second, third, and for some, fourth child by now.  

Among our group of close friends, Ms. Mouthy and I were the only mothers with one child.  While our friends whined and complained about dealing with endless bouts of flu being passed around their chldren, or about having to keep their flock from clawing each others' eyes out, Ms. Mouthy and I were silently giving thanks to the Lord Almighty that we weren't in their shoes.  Or when the price of the airline tickets kept on going up, we were secretly glad that having only one child, we could still afford a little more luxury of going on vacations and some extra money to spend.

About three weeks ago, Ms. Mouthy bought a pregnancy-test kit following an atypical delay in her punctual monthly courses.  Turned out Ms. Mouthy is pregnant! Other than her husband, I was the first person to whom she passed the news to.  Initially, Ms. Mouthy had mixed feelings about this "surprise" pregnancy.  Having just gotten off birth-control very recently, she wasn't expecting to get pregnant right away.  And having been a mom to an only child for the last four-and-a-half years, she voiced her worries about all the changes this new pregnancy would bring.  

News of pregnancy, especially when it's not mine (LOL), always brings me such an indescribable joy.  I revel in knowing that a new, wonderful life has been created; that there exists something pure and good amidst all the craziness in the world today.  When I was pregnant with my daughter, I was (typically) too busy worrying and panicking over my capabilities to be a mother.  But when it's someone's else's, I was free to simply appreciate the miracle of creation, to pay my respects to a woman's ability to nurture a growing life within her womb.

Plus, I love holding a baby in my arms: the smell of their skin, the way their fingers curled around mine so trustingly, the oh-so-soft layers of their hair.  It's been years since my own daughter was a baby, and there were times when I wished she didn't grown up so fast!

The moment's gaiety, however, slowly yielded to feelings of desolation, as stark reality that has been my life for the last few months came crashing in.  For a fleeing second I wished this happy news came at a better time.  It seemed sinful to taint something so positive and pure with sadness coming from what's happening in my life right now.

For the last one month and a half, my life has been hell.  My marriage is falling apart, and despite efforts to the contrary, divorce has become a likely option.  One moment I was living what I thought was my 'real' life, and the next, I found out that it was all just an illusion.  Marriage is hard-work, I know that.  Mine has had its share of ups and downs, but I've always thought--until now that is--that I've married for life, for better for worse, in sickness and in health.  I never thought it would end with my husband saying that he's lost bits and pieces of his feelings for me throughout the past ten years... and that in essence, he's fallen out of love for me.

What does one do when the person you've chosen to spend the rest of your life with, the person who had promised to love and cherish you until the day you die, told you that he no longer has feelings for you?  I wish this is some nightmare I can wake up from, or some flashbacks to some of my high-school relationships.  But it's not.  It's spoken by my husband.  I married this man.  I have a child with this man.  I've spent the last ten years of my life with this man.

Another marriage bites the dust...

It wasn't too long ago a friend of mine told me, over a few shots of tequila and B52s, that she was getting a divorce.  Ah, the D word.  I personally think that there are four main reasons couples get a divorce (especially where I live): Infidelity, Money, Abuse (physical/emotional), In laws.
All around me, fellow couples are getting divorced.  Back in the days when I was a small kid, divorce were rarely heard of, my parents' being one of the rare cases.  Oh, infidelity happens too, it's just that it didn't seem to be considered a ground strong enough for a divorce.  My society didn't condone it, but we've definitely tolerated male infidelities more often than not, judging from the low number of divorce back then.

Today, however, is a different story.  Young couples with 3-5 years of marriage divorce as easily as breaking up a date.  Not to mention the 2 or 3 young 'uns trapped in between.  Products of love turns sour.  Reason #1?  Hubby having affair(s).
Now, given those facts, I naturally assumed that the reason for my said friend for divorce was because her husband's having an affair (or two) with another woman.  I'm pretty sure the problem didn't lie on money issues, cos her husband's known to be quite well-to-do and obliging on her spending.  Definitely not because of physical abuse, cos I'm sure we would've seen it if it were.  As far as her in-laws are concerned, the coast is clear.  Must be another woman, I thought.  And so did everybody else think also, once she told her story to a couple more eager ears.

Turns out there's more to the story than I originally thought.  The latest rumor has it that the husband is gay.  Rumor being rumors, it could just be that.  But it did wake me up to that possibility, one that until now I never consider as a cause for divorce.  Call me glib, but hey, they got married, right?  Bride and groom?  Know what I mean?  So don't blame me if I didn't see any ex or future boyfriend for the groom in the picture, alright??

So, the million-dollar question: what do you do (when your husband turns out gay)?  Throw in two or three kids into the picture to the mix also please; then what do you get?  How does it all fit into a picture?  Will a divorce settle the problem the same way as when the problem was another woman?  Could we even argue that one seems to be better than the other?  There, let's call it our daily sweat for today, shall we?