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insteadofcrying · 5 months

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Crisis Blurb #1

What is it that I want?

Let’s see with my eyes closed. I can imagine a warm house with beautiful patios. Books would be in every room of the house. It’s snowing outside but the room would be warm enough for me that I’m never afraid when the winter comes. I’d still be a little bit stressed from my work, but this time, what’s at stake would be something that truly matters to me. Something that I truly owe to the people intrinsically, beyond monetary value. By then I would have graduated with a degree that I have always wanted, and this time I didn’t choose the subject to impress people or to just simply survive or just because I can; I have done it before so I know not to. I don’t see anyone there but me and my cat, no partner yet, or maybe ever, but I’m okay. I’d have my own schedule to jog, and I try not to miss it. It’s a simple life in a beautiful house. I no longer see the world in monochrome. Life has splashed its color back to my skin and I’d be witty unapologetically. Mom and dad would visit me often. They’d have their own room with its own patio. Mom would love the smell of the room, and she’d have the prettiest vanity table. The room would be big enough that she can do a little aerobics once in a while. Dad would be able to watch tv on a sofa I bought for him, one that allows him to finally feel the comfort of retirement. No more work for him, no more thinking about how his children could survive without him working tirelessly. I’d give dad his own garden at the back of the house where the fruits will grow as if they cannot wait for him to pick them.

My siblings would have their own rooms, too.

My first brother would have his own room on the second floor. A room of his liking, a room he deserves even when he doesn’t feel like it. He could come over whenever he wants to play games with his siblings. Of course the key would be his, a reminder that he’ll always have other places to go whenever he feels a little too lonely. I’d complain whenever the room gets too messy, I’d still go by the rules of my house: clean up your mess. I’d create a little space for him to work for his business, a little studio to try again and again. I know life owed him that much; Life owed him the chance to try again for breaking him so early.

My second brother would have his room next to his brother. Life has strained so much of their relationship that I think they forget they have each other. I know he’d love to bond with his brother over games, so I’d give my first brother a reason to visit his room once in a while by placing the video game console in his room. In his room, he would have the chance to be a little kid again. A kid where his brother finally looks over at him with a smug smile whenever he wins the game, where his brother is also his friend. This time they’d have so little to fight over. He has found the love of his life, another sister for me, so I’d allow the freedom of having his partner’s things lying around in his room. The bed would be enough for the two of them, and it would always smell like his wife, because of course his wife would smell like his most favorite thing. And just like my first brother, the key would be his.

For my sister, I’d place a cat bed at the foot of her own bed so she could sleep with my cat. On weekends, she’d visit me with her partner, so her bed would be big enough for two. She’d have a window sill to sit by and read her legal papers so she wouldn’t forget that life doesn’t stop even if a case gets too hard to solve or understand. Life continues to be beautiful, especially at fall when she could see the golden leaves falling. She can have anything she wants in that room. She can lock the door when she’s mad at me over a silly joke. She’d know that even when I’m mad at her, the key would still be hers because she’ll always have her own room at my place. I know the rule of my house is to be tidy, but her work would require her to juggle between papers, so I’d give her a big enough desk to work. I’d walk over to her room and smile at her law books on the desk, knowing I’m forever proud of what she becomes-even when the law books turn into cooking books. Even when there’s no book at all.

By then I’d realize that I’m no longer looking for something to complete me. By then I know I’d be able to be there for my family when they need me. I’d be content, because by then they know they’d always have a place to experience the things they love the most, and it would be me who planted them.

All is safe and sound and I’m no longer running.

#crisisblurb

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insteadofcrying · 5 months

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Inside My Body

#2 Fast Cuts – Slow Heal

For as long as I can remember, my mother does as she pleases. She plays the piano, she reads books, she hangs out with her friends, and at the end of the day, she’d come home to her kids, sleeping soundly after they were lulled by a hired nanny. I surely couldn’t pinpoint the moment I realized whether the idea was liberating or selfish, but when I saw my friends being picked up on time from school by their mothers, I decided it was selfishness. It only added the fuel to the fire when I began realizing that my mother never attended report card days at school. My dad had to juggle between work and attending the meeting with my teacher. At first, I thought it was because I got bad grades. Often times, I’d imagine a conversation with my mom about my grades and in it, she’d at least have something more important other than saying that she’s ashamed of my grades. Your grandmother is sick, she’d say-or I’m finally enrolling at a university, again! She’d exclaim. But none of it was ever something cutthroat or even remotely excusable. It was the same reason all over again.

It was always my fault.

Harry was not the first name that came to mind when someone had asked anyone who’s the least studious student in our class. He was not the worst, but he was the second lesser worst. Regardless, he was a fun person to be around and I could only say that out of all the high school guys that I was surrounded with, he was the most tolerable one. We both hated report card days, so we bonded over the hatred among other nerdy stuffs. The class has ended for the day and most of the kids went home quickly, afraid to waste more hours from their Friday. I didn’t mind taking my time since my walk from school would only take 10 minutes. I got time to spare. Besides, Harry was still playing around with his laptop after all. All the more reasons I could relax a bit. I was collecting my books into my bag when a thought suddenly popped up.

“Do you want to bet if my mom will attend it next week?” I giggled.

“To the report card meeting? Don’t commit to something you’d lose, Luisa” he rose from his seat and grabbed a chair over to sit nearby, a grin decorating his freckled face.

“Maybe this time she would?”

“We can bet, but I wouldn’t put any money on it”

“Wow, you have grown soft” I mocked, knowing very well he might be right.

The day finally came. The school hall was bustling with parents and their kids. From this scenery alone I could grasp which parents were ambitious and which ones were more lenient about potentially getting bad grades. I could just look at some of the kids’ faces and start from there. Do they look like they were constipated? Do they smile at their parents like they need to head start a compensation scheme in case their grades weren’t satisfactory? It somehow made me feel lonely. Sure, I look just as anxious, but my anxiety came from the fact that the parents’ seats next to me remained empty. Harry came over and sat next to me. His presence alone felt like he was trying his best to convince me that everything was going to be okay. That maybe he’d lose this bet. “They’re not here yet?” he shot the question quickly as if he was ripping a band-aid. “No, but my dad told me he was already on his way” I looked over at him nonchalantly as if the absence of my parents had no impact on me. “And your mom?” I think this is where I dropped the nonchalant act and he picked it up just as fast. “Doesn’t really matter if she doesn’t come. Your dad will be here anyway, right?” he said. Ugh, he sounded so desperate to comfort me. I couldn’t look at him now. I had no energy to put the strongheaded girl act anymore.

“It’s bullshit.” I scoffed to hide my disappointment.

“No, it’s not.”

“Just go back to sitting with your parents, Harry. I’m fine”

am I?

I really appreciated him trying to comfort me, but it would all be a waste soon. My dad approached us minutes later. I could tell he was trying to hide the briskness of him trying to make it in time before my turn to be called from the way he rushed to us. Harry stood up and greeted him briefly, looked at me with a hint of guilt, and then he left. Dad was sitting beside me, it all felt too familiar. I lost the bet.

“Hey, honey. Sorry, mom couldn’t make it last minute”

“It’s fine. I’m in high school, I don’t need her anymore”

I still did. I just don’t know how else to beg for her to care anymore.

My turn ended after 15 minutes of discussion with Mrs. Walters. In conclusion-my dad had nothing to worry about. Instead, he walked out with a little smile. His daughter was ranked 7th in class so I was sure all he wanted to talk about was “how?” and “how to maintain or to improve it”, but I was wrong.

“Did you tell your mom about it? About being the 7th in class?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Just my prerogative”

I lied. Harry’s mom would still attend the meeting knowing that Harry hasn’t always been the best student. His dad, too. Why do I need to be bright in order to get mom’s attention? Wasn’t being her daughter enough? When I asked my dad about whether I was a bright kid, he said of course you are, and you have always been. On the other hand, my mom would never even ask about my grades. She just assumed it’s not worth seeing.

This time around, I had given myself some answers. That mom might have never cared. That even if she cared, it wasn’t because I was her daughter-it was because I was a bright kid. But being bright is a quality that you could lose, and If I’d ever fail to be bright, I’d fail to make her care for me. So instead of running after for her love, I’d turn away from it. Because whatever I’m doing right to make her care might go wrong-and I'd quickly revert to the old me again. I'd go back to being the little kid who would have wait for her mother to get her report card, again.

And she would never come.

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insteadofcrying · 5 months

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In My Body

#1 The Memory Lane

The biggest mistake of my life is living as if I were to leave the earth like I had never lived. Like I was never a part of anyone’s happiest memories. Like what I dreamt of never really mattered. Like I’d leave the earth with no consequence or no one to mourn me when they look through pictures of us. Luisa Gillman-What a waste, I’d say in the afterlife.

******

I had to stay over at Penny’s apartment after a girls’ night out since I was too afraid to order an uber alone and it was way too late for my own liking. Penny and I were reminiscing about our college years. Well, it was actually only Penny that seemed to enjoy the walk down the memory lane. I, like usual, have blurred bits of memories about it. “Luisa, do you remember that time when I cleaned your dorm? You didn’t attend the class for 3 days that week and I had grown too worried. I’m glad I visited you.” Penny said as she was rummaging her wardrobe for a guest towel. “Huh…yeah. I think you had bought me an ice cream?” my tone unsure. She smiled and I couldn’t help see a little sadness in it. Penny was talking about the time I had fallen too deep into my depression that I couldn’t even bother to clean my room. Again, the best I could remember was how dark it was for me. How my body hated the idea of separating from my bed that I laid still in it from morning to evening. “You looked like a ghost. I was so scared that I had told our closest friends to keep an eye on you. I was also told by Dee that you asked about the campus’ mental health consulting Centre a week before. So, I suspected it was something serious.” She said, handing over a gray towel to me. I couldn’t remember if any of my friend was keeping an eye on me besides her. “Yeah. I guess it was” I let out a faint chuckle, hiding my once again unsureness. Were my friends really keeping an eye on me? It felt like my memory not only betrayed me, but also my friends. I could remember Judy and Janine coming over to give me some Chinese takeout for breakfast one morning, but was it really that time I was depressed? I don’t quite remember. But I am sure that I hate myself not remembering. I looked over to Penny who had taken a seat on her study desk, her finger used as a bookmark as she was playing with her phone.

“Penny?”

“Yeah?” she looked at me with a kind smile.

“I thought nobody would even notice me that time.”

Just when I thought her smile couldn’t be any kinder, it did.

“If you had seen the look on Janine and Judy when I told them about the state you were in, you might have thought otherwise sooner.”

I smiled and thanked her for the guest towel.

*****

I had forgotten most of my childhood memories. There were only bits and pieces of it I could remember-but it all felt like a memory I’ve summarized for myself-something I’ve exercised to explain to someone else. It makes a lot of sense since the only exercise I have in recollecting those memories were in the many therapy sessions where I had to dissect my childhood in search of the source of my trauma. When I tried to remember getting picked up from school as an elementary student, I could only remember that mom would pick me up late or, rather, she’d say she would, but then she wouldn’t appear and someone else would take her place. For that memory alone, I could guess that it was a recurring reason for me to never trust what my mom says. Another one would be that mom and dad fought a lot in front of me and my brother, Michael. I wouldn’t exactly remember what the fights were about, or how many times they had fought, but I could remember Michael-who hated lending me stuffs-would place his headphone gently on my ears. Michael would only be a kid himself as he was only 3 years older than me. I’m afraid I have learned from such an early age to suppress my memories like it was something too intense and painful-but more than that, like it was something not worth remembering.

Like it never really mattered.

******

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