I’ll be waiting

I want to reach out and grab his hand and hold it to me, right over my heart, right where it aches the most. I don’t know if doing that would heal me or make my heart break entirely, but either way this constant hungry waiting would be over.”
― Ally Condie, Matched

“Sorry. The number you are calling cannot be reached. Please leave a message after the tone”

This seems to be the only way I can get to you. So I will leave you a message. I miss you. I miss you so bad it hurts. Every time I think of you, and how you could have stepped in in this situation or that, my heart breaks. I have grown accustomed to this kind of pain you know. The kind of pain that only you can take away.

I keep thinking, would my life have turned out differently if you were there more often? I mean, you barely know me. You don’t even know how old I am. I have to remind you every year as I grow older and become a woman. Sometimes I text you and thank you for being my father. But that’s just it. You have been there as a father but not as my dad. Sometimes you text back, but more often than not you don’t say a thing. But I tell myself that it’s okay, that at least I did my part. That at least I reached out and said something after months and months of silence. There are days that I just text you to say hi but you don’t say anything. Could it be that you don’t get my messages or you don’t know what to say? It’s okay, most of the times when I am quiet I feel the same way too.

It’s a wonder though…have you ever sat down and thought about me? I mean, I don’t remember the last or first time that you just called me to check up on me. Do you even know where I stay? If I hadn’t called you to tell you where I work, would you have bothered to find out? Do you know how many heartbreaks I have had to nurse? Do you know how hard it gets at times when I don’t know what is going on in my relationship? Do you know my dreams, fears, failures and successes? When someone asks you what I love, hate, my perceptions, who I really am on the inside, can you tell?

Dad, for so long I have waited for you. You seemed to have left the moment I started primary school. You were there but you weren’t really there. I miss you. I miss the times you would take me out and buy me my favorite things…I am a big girl now, I don’t need money from you. I just want your company. I see how people relate with their fathers out there and it breaks my heart. That I can’t have that kind of a relationship with you. Someone once told me that if I don’t make things right with you, things might never really work out when I have a family of my own. Could that be true? I mean, is that why I have not been able to sustain a relationship? Do I have daddy issues? I find it hard to accept “gifts” or financial aid from male friends, even the few that I have dated. Is it because ours has been a transactional kind of a relationship; where you pay my school fees and rent until I don’t need it anymore and you go silent? Could it be that I am trying so hard not to date men who are exactly like you but still end up doing the exact opposite?

I am hurting right now in ways that I didn’t know were possible. There is so much happening in my life that I want to tell you. There’s a hole in my heart…so deep…so dark…it grows deeper and deeper still. When people ask me how I am doing I say that I am fine. But am I really? I am numb…Behind that smile that everyone loves is a girl sitting in a corner, crying, bleeding, scared, waiting for her father to come and tell her that it’s okay to feel all these things at once. That he is there to make it all go away…perhaps not at once, but progressively. I want you back in my life. I want you back where you belong. Or is it too late for us? Call me when you can…or text…or not…whatever makes you happy dad. Whatever makes you happy.

He is family

She is 5 years old. She wants nothing else than to get through the day without being bullied in school. There’s that guy at the shop who keeps looking at her in a funny way every time she goes home from school. She tells her momma about him but momma says that he is a friend of the family; he can’t do anything to harm her.

She is 10 years old. She has started noticing changes on her body, and so have others. She wants nothing else but to get through the day without being mocked about her small breasts by the other girls in class. There’s that guy at the shop who still looks at her breasts now in a funny way every time she goes to the shop to buy something. She tells momma about it but momma says that he is a friend of the family; he can’t do anything to harm her.

She is 15 years old. She has grown. She is now a woman. She wants nothing else than to get through the day without talking about boys. Most of her friends have boyfriends. There’s that guy at the shop who brushed his hands against her breasts while he was helping her pack up the things momma had sent her to buy. She tells momma about it but she says, it must have been a mistake. He is a friend of the family, he cannot harm her.

She is 20 years old. Her papa dies in a car crash. She wants nothing else than to get through this pain. She struggles to get through campus but the bills are too high. Momma cannot do it alone. The guy at the shop starts helping momma out with this or that. Soon enough, he moves into the house. He must be her new papa.

She is 21 years old. It is a few minutes after 7pm. Momma hasn’t come home yet. She decides to start preparing supper. The guy from the shop comes home a little after 7:30pm. He looks at her the way he has always looked at her. But he is family, right? She goes to the bathroom to take a shower. He follows her shortly after. She tries to reach for the towel to cover herself but he snatches the towel and throws it aside. He pins her to the wall with his hand on her mouth. Momma comes home at 10pm. He is fast asleep. She is still in the shower, the water is still running, she is pale. When momma walks into the bathroom, she tells her what happened, but momma says, “He is family now, he can’t do anything to harm you. Next time he comes at you like that, just lay still, it will be over before you know it.”

The Deaf, the Dumb and the Mute

When she was a little girl, she was taught many things. Most of which were supposed to help her when she grows up. But no one ever told her why this was bad and that was unacceptable in the society. She would be beaten up when she was found in the presence of the opposite gender. They told her that men were bad, that they were out there fishing…for ladies who were loose… For those that didn’t know their value. She couldn’t believe this because she had met a few good men who wanted nothing to do with her body… Or so she thought. 

The first man she met was her father. The best of them all, he would always give her what she wanted. He loved her and she loved him more than anything. So much that when things became tough at home, she still believed that he was the one on the right side of the moral compass. Even when he left them, she still believed that he was the good one. Maybe it’s because he still provided for her. 

But he hasn’t been there for her the way a father should. He hasn’t been there to teach her how to handle men who approach her. He hasn’t been there to tell her that not every man that says “I love you” really does. He hasn’t been there to tell her that indeed she is far much valuable than all the rubies and diamonds in the world. That she is more than what she sees when she looks at the mirror. That she is beautiful and no one can tell her otherwise. He hasn’t been there. 

Had he been there to teach her all these things, maybe she wouldn’t have done some of the things that she did. She wouldn’t have slept with the men that she did. She wouldn’t have believed them when they told her that she is everything they wanted in a woman. She wouldn’t have sold her dignity. She would still be whole. She would still be everything that a man would want in a woman. Maybe…

She is stuck in her past. She is stuck in the mistakes that she made. She is afraid to talk about the wounds and the scars that run deep in her soul. She is afraid to talk about the things she has lost. Because if she does, she is afraid that society will say that she should have known better. That she should have learnt to say no. 

So now she is deaf, she is dumb and she is mute about it all… 

Worship is personal

Yesterday we were taught about Worship. And the main story was that of the woman with the Alabaster Vial of perfume. Most of us know this story.

Now when Jesus was [back] in Bethany, at the home of Simon the leper, a woman came to Him with an alabaster vial of very expensive perfume and she poured it on Jesus’ head as He reclined at the table. But when the disciples saw it they were indignant and angry, saying, “Why all this waste [of money]? For this perfume might have been sold at a high price and the money given to the poor.” – Matthew 26:6-9

This same gospel can be found in the books of Mark 14 and Luke 7.

Worship is a personal affair, it’s a personal decision. It has to come from the heart. The heart is known to be the organ that holds the feeling of love…we tend to say that I love you with all my heart. Even the Lord commands us to love Him with all our heart, all our soul, all our mind and with all our strength. So, for you to be able to worship, you need to understand the sacrifice on the cross, because that’s where the ultimate gift of love was made known to mankind. “For God so loved the world that He gave…” We need to understand this for us to know the full measure of God’s love. When we accept this gift of love and salvation, then we can begin to walk in that love. This is because you cannot love what you have not seen. You need to see Him, experience Him; then you can worship Him.

This woman’s focus was on Jesus. She came into that room which had many people, but her concentration was on Jesus. Your concentration in worship matters. What is your concentration pegged on, because this determines what you receive. When you go to church, do you concentrate on how people are dressed, on how the worship leader is singing, on your issues, or do you concentrate on God? When you go to church, what do you look for? What do you hope to receive or walk away with at the end of the service? This woman was known for her wickedness, but that didn’t stop her from approaching the presence of God. Many a times we go to church and we feel so guilty for what we did that we deem ourselves unworthy to even stand in the presence of God and worship Him. And in all this we forget that when He said that nothing will separate us from His love, He meant it. He has clothed us with His own righteousness – Zechariah 3:3-4. Do not let your past or your issues prevent you from entering into the presence of God. When you feel unworthy, that is the time to go before Him and say, “Father, here I am, as filthy and as wretched…deal with me, make me whole again.” Don’t let your sin take you too far from Him.

Now, when you understand the cost of worship, you won’t need to be told to lift ups your hands or bow down to Him; you will do this all on your own. When the person next to you is crying and rolling on the flour, let them be, don’t judge, because you don’t know what God has done, for them to be that overwhelmed in His presence. And perhaps it’s high time we stop looking at others and started concentrating on ourselves; the personal relationship between us and our Father. The Alabaster vial of perfume was a very expensive commodity but this woman gave it all. Worship has to cost you something. Your service to the Lord has to cost you something.

Don’t play church, don’t play the leader, don’t play the part so much that you forget to take part; when you lead people in worship, when you usher people into the presence of God, don’t do it and forget to usher yourself too to His presence. Simon the leper would have used that gathering to his advantage. The party was at his house, and top on that the man was rich. But it didn’t occur to him to use that opportunity to get the healing that he needed. Most of us in church today are like Simon the leper. Perhaps we are so caught up in our issues or past that we do not see the grace that has been poured on us, the healing, the love, the forgiveness. We refuse to admit that we have a problem. When asked how we are doing, often times we will say that we are okay. But really, are we? Who are we fooling? Because God sees it, and his arms are wide open, willing to embrace you and take all that pain away. Why do we go to church and go back home with the same pain, and sickness and what have you? What is holding us back, what is holding you back?

 

Blame it on the Girl Child

I just read a post on the newspaper about the rotten society that we live in and far much rotten than the society, the campus girl. In that post titled The Campus Girl Is Not A Wife, they have stated the wrong paths that the present girls have taken. The things that they do that cannot be spoken of in the village and the unfortunate circumstances that they put themselves in all in the name of fun. 

Now, I don’t dispute the fact that indeed nowadays ladies don’t  leave much to be desired. Talk of how we dress and how we talk and how we party, not forgetting how we sleep around. These are things that make men shy away from us when they decide to settle down. They always say that when a man wants a wife he will go back to the village because he knows village girls are brought up right, they are sculptured to fit the wife material bracket. Where does that leave the city girls? Someone would ask. To the koinange streets and the brothels and the men old enough to be their fathers, right? 

I have heard so many people talk about girls who are no longer the people that we used to know in the old days. But what about the men in our society today? What about that man with a wife at home who chooses to sleep with this campus girl because she is younger and experienced and all that? What about that man that is old enough to be my father who chooses to “sponsor” these campus girls, just so they can have their way with them? What about that man that takes on a second and third wife because the promise he made to the first one “to love and to hold, in sickness and in health, in riches and in poverty” is no longer something he can fulfill? What about that man that gets a campus girl drunk and sleeps with them just to call this girl loose? What about such men society? What about them? Coz I know for a fact that these campus girls that you talk about in such tones and disgust don’t fornicate alone. The men will always be there by their side. Men, how would you feel if you heard that your daughter is sleeping with your friend, someone as old as you? But that never crosses our minds, does it? 

The man in the society is held in high regard that we tend to look the other way when they fall, not once not twice but countless times. When a girl gets in the family way before her rightful time, who gets a slap on the wrist, the man. But what about the girl, she is shamed. For once, can we also think of what the men in our society are doing wrong and stop pointing fingers on the girls. 

If you ask me, anyone can be a husband or a wife. You only need to mould your partner to the kind of spouse you want. Let us stop the blame game. 

My Kind of OCD

We’re all a little weird. And life is a little weird. And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness—and call it love—true love.                                     – Robert Fulghum

I’ve been trying to figure out what I should write about this time round. And every time I start something, it doesn’t turn out the way I wanted. So I’m gonna borrow an idea from a one Shoba Gatimu Harrison on a recent post he did on Facebook. Bad Habits, or as I would like to call it, My Kind of OCD. I thought I’m a piece of work until I read the comments on FB. So I’m gonna do my own. Here goes.

1. I can’t finish beverages. I will always leave some tea or porridge in my cup. I always feel like there are segments at the bottom of the cup that I might just swallow by mistake. But my soda knows me. I down everything.
2. I am a slow eater. It’s not by choice. No matter how good the food is, I will just take it slow. No matter how hungry I am. So, when everyone around me finishes their food, I will feel the need to stop eating mine. And I will. Even if I had only eaten half of it. If it’s supper, I’ll go cover it then I’ll wake up at around 2am to finish it off or immediately I wake up I’ll finish my supper. Some people who know this about me normally try to eat with my pace. And I can tell, it’s normally torture for them.
3. I have to walk on the left side of someone. I don’t know why, but it normally feels weird for me to walk on the right side. Maybe it’s because when I’m on your left side, it means that most of the time you are the one who will be on the “danger” side while crossing the road. Call me selfish.
4. My utensils and clothes have to be washed in a certain order. For the utensils, I’ll start with the spoons, knives and forks. Make sure all of them are clean. Then I’ll go to the cups, then the plates, then any dishes, then their lids, and finally the sufurias. Any other order doesn’t work for me. As for my laundry, I will group my clothes according to color and make sure I wash them starting with the light colored to the darkest of them all, that being the black ones. And I will hang them like that.
5. Then comes the pegs. They have to be color coded. I always use the Rainbow color pattern. Will start with Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, Violet then any other color that doesn’t fall in the above. It irritates me when they are shagalabagalad just like that.
6. My obsession with numbers. For example, at my place of work I have to put sweets on a small bowl-like plate for any visitor who might come into our offices. I do this every morning. Since we always have two different packets, I’ll make sure that I chuck 8 sweets one packet and 8 from the other. No more, no less. There’s a day my colleague did that for me, I had to pour them on my table and count them. Then I returned the extras.
7. Birthdays and anniversaries. I kinda know almost all my friends’ birthdays. I also remember anniversaries and/or small events. This goes from the first time we met, to the types of clothes my colleagues at work wear. Like I can tell when they wear the same clothes in the same month. Something I don’t like. I can’t also wear the same clothes in a span of two days and allow myself to be seen in public. If I had blue jeans and a white T-shirt last night, in the morning when I wake up to go to the shop, I can’t put on the same. Showered or not. I can’t.
8. I can’t squeeze my toothpaste in the middle. I have to start from the bottom.
9. My clothes are arranged in a certain order in my suitcase. I have partitioned it into six cubes. Top left is trousers and shorts, top middle is dresses, top left is sweater tops and sweaters. Bottom left is tops, bottom middle is t-shirts and night dresses, bottom right is skirts. Then those that are hanged have to face the same direction. Those ones too have an order. All checked shirts on one hanger, the plain ones together, the flowered then the striped.
10. My pants are like numbered. I will start at one go up to the last and start back at one. So that normally determines the types of clothes I wear at times. Like today morning I couldn’t wear a dress coz it didn’t match with my pants. My sister was puzzled. She couldn’t understand why I couldn’t just change my pants.
11. I never throw away paper-bags. I always fold them and keep them together in  a safe place. Maybe one day we will run out of them then people will be coming to buy them from me. #thinkinglikeamillionaire.
12. I can’t write with a pen that doesn’t have a lid. That being said, I don’t chew the lids. And I can’t use a pen that has a chewed lid. It’s incomplete.
13. I have to play a game for me to fall asleep. Mostly Candy Crush, Gardenscapes, Little Big City 2 or Riddles. If not, I’ll just toss and turn in bed.
14. I have to sleep next to the door. No matter where I am. Even those once in a lifetime moments when I sleep with my mum when it’s just the two of us in the house, I still guard the door. And I can’t sleep with my back to the door. And I can’t sleep on my back. It makes me feel as though I’ll wake up and find that I’m dead. (I know how wrong that sentence is). I can’t also sleep with any doors open. Be it the closet, the drawers, the bathroom door, the kitchen door, they all have to be shut, or I’ll be haunted throughout the night. I can’t sleep with the lights on. I hate sleeping inside a net. Claustrophobic much. I can’t sleep naked. What if my house catches fire? No way I’m letting people see me naked when I run out. I can’t sleep with my head covered. I can’t sleep face to face with someone. It’s creepy. Pillow talk, fine. Sleeping, no.
15. Anywhere I go, I have to sit in the same exact position. Even in church. If I sit elsewhere I’ll be restless. And if someone has my “seat”, I’d rather stand or find something else to do that doesn’t involve sitting down.
16. I can’t take milk tea in a hotel. I can’t eat boiled maize in the streets. The water they use, I don’t know where it came from.
17. I suffer from Misophonia. I can’t stand people who chew and swallow loudly. I will find myself telling you to swallow gracefully. When it comes to chewing, I prefer eating from a noisy place. That tends to solve the problem. Please note, I also don’t like to hear myself chew.
18. All my sufurias have their function. I have one for starch, one for veges, one for proteins.
19. All my songs are renamed. In my phone there’s a folder called Music. Inside it are 5 folders namely; English, Extras, Others, Swahili and Westlife. The Westlife folder contains all my favorite songs by them. The Swahili folder contains all songs sang in Swahili. The Others folder contains all songs some in other languages. The Extras folder contains all songs that all “secular”. The English folder has 4 folders again. One for Benjamin Dube’s songs, Hillsong, Sinach then the other one is for other songs. An artist qualifies to get a folder if I have more than 10 of their songs. So the songs are named in this manner…Artist space hyphen space name of the song. E.g Benjamin Dube – Bless The Lord.mp3
20. I can’t tear a paper from a book. It makes it incomplete and really bugs me.
21. Everything in my house has to be in the exact same spot. Any other way bugs me. And crooked things bug me too.
22. I can’t drink water from a cup/bottle that I used to take medicine. It normally smells funny.
23. I find myself correcting people in my head when they speak broken English or mispronounce some words.
24. I can’t take hot tea or hot food. I can’t also have ugali or chapati touching soup. Won’t eat it. Like you put my ugali and stew in the same plate. I’ll cut off the part that touched soup then eat the dry part.
25. I don’t like it when people talk when we’re watching something. Like they comment on stuff. I’d rather we pause, you say your thing then we continue watching.

These are just but a few of my kind of OCDs. Hit me up on the comment section and lemme know your kind of OCDs. Let’s be weirdos together.

Till next time, keep smiling.

 

A Blessing in Disguise

Two possibilities exist: either we are alone in the universe or we are not. Both are equally terrifying.                                                                                                  – Arthur C. Clarke

She looked across the room and for just a moment, panicked. She didn’t know why but the feeling consumed her so much. She needed air, she needed to breath. Everything had thickened. She was swallowed, lost in a brutal haze, shrouded in a sea of nothingness. Between her and what she should have felt was a gap. But even then she could feel a crushing urge to cry, and the tears came, the sobs hurting her throat. She didn’t really know why she was crying. Or maybe she did but didn’t want to admit it to herself. She needed someone to come after her and tell her that things would be okay. But no one really understood her pain. No one saw her tears. All they saw was a pretty face, smiling and laughing to their jokes.

She looked around once again. Everyone was happy, a luxury she couldn’t afford. She tried so hard to summon the happy memories she had made over time. To focus on them so that she too could have something delightful to talk about. The loop that instead played in her head was that of pain, the type of pain that breaks you till you forget yourself, you lose your soul and all that is left even the devil cannot prey on. She didn’t have the will to live anymore.

She looked across the room yet again. She could see her reflection on the far east where a mirror was mounted on the wall next to the sink where people washed their hands. She saw the scars. “You are very beautiful, at times I feel intimidated to walk with you.” They couldn’t see the scars that ran deep into the core of her being. They didn’t know that her scars would never heal. That she would always bleed every time she remembered. Every time she saw him. They didn’t know that this marriage was a sacrifice to the devil himself.

She looked across the room and she could see him, the devil; wearing a halo on his head. Giving her a warning look every now and then. Her mother had told her that it was a blessing in disguise. That her pain took her siblings to school, that her pain put food on the table, that her pain paid the hospital bills. But her pain took away her freedom, her voice, her future. She was a book to the “haloed” devil. Whenever he wanted, he could write on her, pluck out a piece of paper, leave the book near the fire. Whatever pleased him…

She looked across the room, she was alone; but then again she wasn’t.

Happy Birthday Mum

A mother is the truest friend we have, when trials heavy and sudden fall upon us; when adversity takes the place of prosperity; when friends desert us; when trouble thickens around us, still will she cling to us, and endeavor by her kind precepts and counsels to dissipate the clouds of darkness, and cause peace to return to our hearts.

Today I celebrate my mother. I don’t know where to begin. All I know is that this special gift I have that is her is one that I am thankful for everyday.

There are so many memories that we have made together as mother and daughter. Some made me cry others made me laugh. But at the end of it all, I would go through the same journey with you mum if I had to do it all over again. I remember the times you’d make us dance for you…those times you’d ask us to lift up our hands so that you tickle us.

There were the tough moments when I got sick. And we would walk all the way to the hospital very late in the night. You would carry me at times, as heavy as I was. You never complained. You knew how hard it was but you always told me that things would get better. I remember the times when you would literally get sick because I was sick. It was as though you wanted to switch places with me.

I know I haven’t been the easiest daughter to raise. I have had my stubborn moments, my rude moments, the moments that you made a decision for me and I thought you were being unfair. I know there have been times that I have hurt you. I know there are times that I let you down. But in all theses moments, I still knew that I had a mother in you. That even when we weren’t on talking terms, I knew that you loved me anyway.

They say “God could not be everywhere, and therefore he made mothers” and I see the truth in that daily. I know I don’t say it much, but I’m thankful for everything. I cannot count them all one at a time. Because  I know I will run out of numbers. But I am grateful. Today I am not writing this post for the views. I’m writing this for you. To wish you a happy birthday and all the mothers out there too. We may not say it much, but we love you.

 

I will leave this song here by Backstreet Boys..

“The Perfect Fan”

It takes a lot to know what is love
It’s not the big things, but the little things
That can mean enough
A lot of prayers to get me through
And there is never a day that passes by
I don’t think of you
You were always there for me
Pushing me and guiding me
Always to succeed

[Chorus:]
You showed me
When I was young just how to grow
You showed me
Everything that I should know
You showed me
Just how to walk without your hands
Cuz mom you always were
The perfect fan

God has been so good
Blessing me with a family
Who did all they could
And I’ve had many years of grace
And it flatters me when I see a smile on your face
I wanna thank you for what you’ve done
In hopes I can give back to you
And be the perfect daughter

[Chorus]

You showed me how to love
You showed me how to care
And you showed me that you would always be there
I wanna thank you for that time
And I’m proud to say you’re mine

[Chorus]

Cuz mom you always were,
Mom you always were
Mom you always were,
You know you always were
Cuz mom you always were… the perfect fan

I love you Mom

Happy Birthday Mum.

PS: I’ll call you to sing you a happy birthday song just the way you like it.

When I’m gone

People say you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone. Truth is, you knew what you had, you just never thought you’d lose it.

“Why is this so hard?” She asked me.

“Why am I trying so hard? I thought all this was supposed to be easy. I thought I’d be happier. I thought that I’d never have to shed another tear. I thought that I’d never have to compromise anything anymore. I thought that I’d never have to deal with some issues in my life ever again. Because I thought that when you finally move on, things will be okay. That you’d be able to go through the harshness of life and still come out the other end smiling. I thought so many things. Why is this so hard?

Could it be that I’m expecting too much? Could it be that I’m pushing too hard? Could it be that I am the source of this feeling that I have right now and I just don’t see it? This feeling of wanting to cry every time I think about what could have been had I made different decisions. This feeling that’s creating a void in my heart and I just don’t know how to fill it. This feeling that is eating up the little pieces of happiness that I had put together. This feeling that’s darkening my world a day at a time. This feeling of gloom and worry and sadness that keeps tagging at the hem of my dress. This feeling that stays closer than my own shadow and talks to me even in my sleep. This feeling that I just can’t shake off no matter how hard I try. Why is this so hard?

I knew he was going to leave soon. Maybe he was already gone and I didn’t see it. Things had changed. I knew they had changed a while back but this time something just didn’t feel okay. I could feel the rift growing between us. That night I knew that I was going to lose him. There was something about his eyes that looked as though he’d been crying. He said he was okay. He then smiled…that smile that I knew all too well. The smile he always wore when things were not okay. I knew that this time he was leaving, and there was nothing I could tell him to make him stay. He had already made up his mind. I still didn’t know how we had gotten there. Could it be that I took him for granted?

I thought that with time things would be okay. That I would heal and move on. That I would finally sleep at night. That I’d stop crying every time I thought about him. That I’d stop missing him. That things wouldn’t be so hard.

But why is this so hard?”

All I could say to her was, “Listen to God with a broken heart. He is not only the doctor who mends it, but also the Father who wipes away the tears.”

Amnesia

The worst part of holding the memories is not the pain. It’s the loneliness of it. Memories need to be shared.

The other day I found out that my cat had died. I couldn’t understand why I cried so much for a pet that I had only been with for five months. But I still cried myself to sleep. Maybe it was because of how we related the last time that we did. The realization that the last time I saw, kissed and hugged her was truly the last time. Maybe it was because I knew that I had to explain to my friends how she had died that hurt so much. Maybe it was the loneliness that I would feel that really hurt. The next day it was less painful. I didn’t shed a tear. I even managed to talk about Bobby (my cat) to friends. It was painful but not enough to bring me to tears again. And I couldn’t help but wonder why I had cried the other day. All this time I was at my friend’s place.

The next day I went home and then the true grasp of why I cried hit me. It was the way she always waited for me at the gate when I got home and rushed to the house hoping that I had brought her something nice to eat. It was the way her eyes would grow so big and adorable in those moments that I took so long to give her her share of the meat. It was the way she would curl up next to me as I fell asleep or the way she would curl up on my laps as I watched something on my computer; the way she would wake me up at 4 in the morning thinking that I wanted to play with her; or the way she followed me all the way to the gate when I left the house. It was these stupid little things that had made me cry. Now the house is just empty and silent.

They say that time heals all wounds. But that’s not true. These wounds know how to hide deep down there, where the mind only knows. The mind in itself has buried these wounds so that it can maintain its sanity. I keep wishing that somehow I would wake up one day and find the cat next to me, sleeping so peacefully; like all that has happened is just a dream. The says that the death of a loved one is a curious thing. Like, we all know our time in this world is limited, and that eventually all of us will end up underneath, never to wake up. And yet it always is a surprise when it happens to someone we know. You find that you cared so much for this person or cat in my case, that you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it. And that’s the moment you wish you’d wake up with amnesia the next day and the day after that.

PS: This is for all those that have lost someone or something important to them. My sincerest condolences.