Day 3 - Your parents

Dear Mom and Dad,

I'm sure that, under different circumstances, in a different frame of mind and moment in time, I would write something more positive and substantive and far less abrasive.

But tonight... tonight, I have no other words to say to you, other than the following:

You have been unkind to me these last few months and I still cannot fathom why you refuse to attend my wedding due to "religious" reasons when you have committed some of the biggest sins according to the Bible. I am no longer upset with you, but the distance between us keeps growing and growing, and for some reason, I am okay with that. I am not sad, I am not mad, only deeply disappointed.

I am your daughter, your one and only and oldest one, but there are days where I truly feel like we are complete strangers to each other and I find myself wondering why I still bother.

2046: "Why can't it be like before?"

I'm still not sure if it was the combination of hormones and too much wine that night, but watching Wong Kar-Wai's 2046 not too long ago left me feeling emotionally hollow and melancholic in the best way possible, even long after the credits had finished rolling. 

A bit choppy, a lot moody -- but the film's cinematography and costumes were superb and seductive, heightened by the right amount and timing dialogue and music.  The movie is actually a sequel to In the Mood for Love, which the interwebs tell me is just as beautiful a film as its second sibling, if not moreso.

Lost love and regret are themes that have been chopped up, cooked up, and served to the masses in a different million ways before, but somehow the characters of 2046 and their struggles resonated with me so much more deeply, as if I had never known pain before and their suffering were just as much as my own for the very first time. 

Oh and Zhang Ziyi looked beyond exquisite in each and every outfit.  I am so excited at wearing a qipao during my wedding reception next year.

May I never be.

May I never be complete.
May I never be content.
May I never be perfect.

- Chuck Palahniuk

May we never become complacent or indifferent to all that surrounds us. Happiest Friday.

And the saying goes, "Keep calm, and carry on."

Ghost. I've been a total ghost this past week and a half, as I struggle to make sense of what has happened; to accept that it did happen; to confront the fact that the road ahead, wherever it may lead, is mine and mine alone to start walking down.

Because like all else in life, "this, too, shall pass." Life is impermanent, my mother reminded me tonight, as she held me and I forgave her and let my sobs and tears wet the front of her sweater.

It will be a long and arduous process. Already, nothing has been easy. And already, I've been cruel and unfair and dishonest; needy and desperate and insecure and just basically all sorts of other adjectives most people would avoid. But despite the listless and hapless feelings permeating my being these days, hopeless has never once been one of them at all.

And so, all is therefore not lost. And for that, I have to thank my no-longer-a-teenager brother, closest girlfriends, and new friends for it the most.

Oh, snow.

Trudging through inches upon inches of snow always reminds me of my childhood. Those Canadian winters were harsh and in all of my 14 years growing up there, I can only recall schools closing down once, when I was in the eight grade. Some white powder and ice never stopped anyone. We celebrated it, with winter festivals like Carnaval in Quebec and Winterlude in Ottawa.

We didn't have a car back then, and my mother and I took three different buses and walked miles upon miles once a week to get to my piano teacher's home, located in a far more affluent part of town. The one-hour lesson never seemed worth the amount of time we spent on the road to me. I hated the way I felt inside, watching all those big and beautiful houses silently go by as I blankly stared out the windows. I resented my mother for putting me through it. I slumped down to my knees once, simply because I no longer wanted to go on, and sat like that in the icy cold snow like a statue, refusing to move or even try. I cried and cried and was utterly miserable and repeatedly demanded she flag down a cab to take us home. But she said nothing. She waited and waited and waited until I was too numb to be stubborn and proud anymore and finally got up to quietly follow her. We got home so late I didn't even eat dinner that night.

Tough love. Snow reminds me of tough love.

And then you have to keep on going.

You know, I have moments. A lot of them. All the time.

Moments of regrets. Moments where I can't help second-guessing myself. Moments where I think I could have done more. Said more. Be more.

Moments where I feel utterly small, and completely useless, and left behind.

But then there are those quiet moments, too. The ones where I am grateful for all the lessons learned. For the strength and resilience gained from all those obstacles braved. Moments of pride for all the private battles I've won. Personal victories that some might not, or could not, understand.

Those very moments. They're the ones that keep me going.

I once dated Deceit.

Some information was revealed to me yesterday -- information that made my stomach churn, information that made me want to hurl, while I stood in the middle of a loud and crowded place, with the sounds of rock 'n roll music and the smells of beer and marijuana and sweat and humid, wet pavement floating up towards the vast and empty, never-ending space above me.


Somewhere in the hazy background of that moment's reality, I believe I heard the Stone Temple Pilots perform a song my mind vaguely recognized, but all I kept thinking of -- all I could think of -- was, "My life will officially be a ridiculous sitcom if STP started singing 'Dumb Love' right now."

And here I was, going around telling people I didn't know who the Stone Temple Pilots were, when in fact, I actually knew them all along.

Now if only I could say the same about someone who was once so close to me.

Deceive yourself, you're all alone. Deceive yourself, your secret's known.

Some people disgust me so badly... but in this case, I went to bed later that night, unable to fall asleep, for I was unable to shake this piece of information out of my head, feeling so disgusted with no one else but myself for not knowing better.

Because deceit, whether it is happening then or now, is still deceit in all of its ugly form.

And I find it sad and unfortunate that ugly humans with ugly souls will rarely ever reform.

Can you see me? All of me?

Manfriend knows about my many mistakes.



He knows I'm nowhere near perfect. He knows about the types of sticky situations I've gotten into; the types of men I've used and fucked. He knows I have been no stranger to lies, betrayal, and deceit -- rarely as the silent victim, but oftentimes, as the secret perpetrator. He knows that I have done certain things, have said certain things, have hid certain things, to protect and further my own interests and no one else's.

He knows.

He knows that I am broken. If not a lot, then at least a little, with emotional scars on my soul that seemingly won't heal. Problems and traumas I somehow can't let go of, yet still insist on working through them myself without anyone else's help.

And yet he still wants to love me.

And yet, he loves me, still, he insists.

And, well, maybe it is time I accept that I, indeed, have the capacity to not only love, but to be loved as well, despite my shortcomings and failures, as a human being.



How much of your dirty laundry have you aired to a significant other?

And, after all that's said and done, are you guys still together?