I’m still freaking curious.
There was a spark, I know there was a spark and I’m missing that spark.
I’ve been digging inside my head since that Thursday and I still can’t find you and your words and that smile.
I’ve no memory.
I did not dream of having kids. It was never part of the plan.
I wanted to write and live in different places, experience this diverse, expansive earth everyone keeps talking about.
At some point, I even wanted to go to outer space, discover aliens, leave footprints on the moon, trek Mars, name stars.
But you see, life has a sick sense of humor and who would have imagined I’d end up birthing 3 boys instead.
I wasn’t ready.
Stuck in the mundane.
I think I’ll never be ready.
Fine, joke’s on me.
But I kept on, even when my mind was in total chaos. I still keep on.
I had the choice to get away, to run away as I always do, but I stayed.
And trying to be a mother, keeping up a facade of this supposedly strong person and parenting alone while my heart shattered into infinite pieces, was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to endure.
But oh, the laughter of children, the sweetest songs, such beautiful music to my ears, I could listen to for a lifetime.
The course of our lives sometimes do not play out like how we pictured it in our heads but somehow, we always end up where we should be.
And most times, much happier.
When everyone is used to running towards you, expecting you to fix their cracks and you try to seal it, feigning wit and refreshing humor, to somehow complete whatever it is that they lack.
You have this way of making things better after you, it’s hard to explain. The sponge so they say.
But who extracts the water from the sponge when it is full?
The glass is overflowing but they still continue to pour, fumbling for your lifeboat as they drown in the turbulent seas they ceaselessly create. You also give away your life jacket.
When you are gagged to even feel broken and muted so as not to be judged, the words bleed out of your mouth and drain you empty.
The silence is almost, always deafening, amplified by the sickening reflection you see when you stare at yourself in the mirror and find that there is no one around but you.
The world could seem like a complete nightmare sometimes.
I asked if you were okay and you laughed a little too loud, smiled a little to hard and held a little too tight when you said “I’m perfectly fine.”
Life is full of sporadic facades and intermittent moments, bits and pieces tattered with every flip of a page. And sometimes the struggles forge you into this impetuous cynic, averted by the water that you keep to hydrate. They leave you shriveled, bare and almost dying. Almost.
I cannot even begin to describe the pain that burn from the weight that you suffer, from the little left sanity strapped hanging on your skin. But you see, everything is pulled to inspire your spirit, to overwhelm your soul, to post a some sort of peace that allows a moment of quiet in this otherwise indulged and over stimulated space.
I keep walking.
Damp hair smear my cheeks;
sweat trickle down my eyes;
soles sore and heavy neath a crumbling fantasy;
toes numb, lurching me to trip on scarred tracks;
dirt stain my face.
I wait for an audience to stare down at me, a smirk, stifled laughter,
but there is no one.
I am alone.
And I realize, how inconsequential I am in a world full of blank faces.
That the sun will continue to set and the moon will continue to rise, that the earth will continue to spin and the birds will continue to sing, that storms will continue to surge and flowers will continue to bloom.
And it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with me.
What a comfort to know how I am nothing but free.
If there is one thing I have learned from the past four years, is that pain inspires me more than anything. I could never really write about love or happiness, I just normally suck at it. But pain–oh pain is the ink that fuels the rambling chaos inside my head which randomly spill onto blank pages and they make such beautiful unconventional art. So to everyone who has caused me pain or shared with me their pain, thank you so much for injecting feelings and emotions to this numb heart.
This — because October’s almost over.
It has always been a challenge (not a struggle) to raise a child with Asperger’s. They see a world so much different from ours, understand differently from what we can normally comprehend, grasp unrealistic ideas and view it as normal. They see color in black and whites and grays in color. They give a solid meaning to the word unique. So somewhere in between, you know you’d both clash and disagree.
But also in between you learn about patience (lots and lots and lots of patience), about perseverance, about compromise, about appreciation and amazement and unconditional love.
This kid, when he was younger, he could name all the flags of the world. When he got older, he could name all the car brands and their model types. Recently he’s into constellations and he’s been telling me about what he sees when he looks up the sky at night. It’s amazing how they could pour all concentration and focus and passion into that one thing that interests them and be scattered with all the rest.
There are days that I feel exhausted and helpless especially during the times when he is being unreasonable and throws a tantrum and no matter what I do he just completely shuts down and I can’t get through. There are days that I panic and overthink things, like how will he be able to live normally when I’ve gone. There are days when I feel like a failure and think that I am not doing enough despite all the medication and doctors and therapy.
Then there are days when he is overly sweet, does his chores, surprises me with I love you balloons and letters, talks to me about his day like what he did with his friends at school, jokes about random things, looks after his youngest brother and somehow, it assures me that somewhere, I am doing things right.
This kid, he’s taught me a lot about living. How to appreciate the little things, how to pay attention to detail, how to strive harder and never give up, how to dream. When he is shattered, I need to focus. When he is unnerved, I need to encourage. When he is irrational, I have to be patient. When he is being stubborn, I have to pour more love.
And yes he is extraordinary and atypical and awesome and I’m very very grateful.