02.15.16

"The water's too hot!"

You lifted your foot and looked at me as if I did it on purpose. I stifled a laugh under my face mask.

"Go get the shower head and fill it up with some cold water."

I sat up to change my song playlist because I know you'd freak out upon hearing Justin Bieber. Then I watched you as you positioned yourself opposite me. This is going to be nice, I thought.

"Would you like to try my face mask?" I asked.

"Sure."

I handed you a moist face mask and the two of us just stared at each other with these white cloths on our faces. It was so pathetic yet cute, and I was feeling unexplainably giddy about it. Well, I thought, maybe, this is the most x-rated we can get in a hot tub.

"Come here," you said, "let me give you a back rub."

Oh, maybe we could do so much better then.

You pressed your thumb on my back and I felt all my stress melt away. All of a sudden, my mind was filled with the scent of lavender; the tub slid out of this world and into somewhere gentler, more compassionate.

"I'd choose this moment over any tour, any time," I whispered.

And that was true.

You put your arms around me, took a deep breath as if it, too, was all you'd ever need.

Remember this, I told myself, preserve this moment for those that are yet to come but may not be as beautiful. 

I closed my eyes, so that even though we are not perfect, in many simple moments such as this, I can be certain that we have been nothing short of splendid.

Jai-ho!

Lately, I have been swimming in this sea of negativity. Normally, it only happens on the days of my period, when my hormones are at the peak of their bitchiness. It is so easy to hate, specially when blood is trickling out of you like urine. But most of all, it is so easy to hate if that's been who you are all along. Repulsive. Revengeful. And both these words start with an R which, incidentally, is the first letter of my name. Interesting.

I always try my best to turn a blind eye or even run away from things that will put me on hate mode. However, it always seems to know where I hide.  And believe me, it requires great strength not to transform from a domesticated cat to a lion in the wild.

The thing about hate is that it always starts with the smallest, most mundane events. It does not necessarily calls for murder, abuse, or anything on an evil scale. Sometimes, it can be as simple as seeing a mess in the bathroom that you just cleaned up, a message that was seen but not answered, or someone who thinks you're a cash cow.

I have always struggled to be a good person, and it can be extremely exhausting. I don't even know if I have ever been successful. Why do I try so hard, you ask?

Four years ago, in one of our school seminars, I watched a video of AR Rahman. He won an Oscar for best musical score for the film Slumdog Millionaire in 2009. After accepting his award, this was what he said:



At first, I thought, what does choosing love over hate have to do with success? It sounded like a good Facebook post, but I couldn't make sense of it.

But since then, my mind has always echoed these words. Every time I forgive a friend for making me wait on lunch dates, when I force myself to listen objectively to my superiors when they constructively criticize my work, when I still make an effort to love and accept my husband's family despite knowing that I will forever be under their scrutiny, and when I still greet this person on her birthday even when we're not really in good terms. I would always remember the words of AR Rahman, and in those moments, I would understand.

Choosing love will not make me successful or win an Oscar like Rahman, but it is a success in itself. I think when I choose not to hate, I win over myself. And as it benefits the people around me, it transforms me into a positive force that ripples until it reaches and influences another person to love more and hate less.

It's incredible, when you think of it, but it's true. Our choices have implications that are larger than ourselves. If Rahman chose hate, I wouldn't be inspired to try my best to love. I would wallow in my hatred for this doomed world full of assholes. But here is one man who made a difference, by simply saying what he chose.

I am hoping that one day, I, too, can be a living proof that choosing love does get you somewhere. That this road does not lead to heartaches alone,  but to a life with meaning and purpose.

Insomnia

I think I love you more when you're asleep. 

Because, sometimes, I love you a little bit when you're awake and can make me pancakes. I love you when you volunteer to wash the dishes and when you put the garbage out in the morning. 

I love you when you pay for my stuff and when you tell me we're travelling. My heart flutters slightly when you pull me harshly into a tight hug and when you plant kisses on the hollow part of my back. 

I love you when you're awake, but not beyond enough. 

And then the night falls and you start snoring softly beside me with your warm breath on the side of my neck. I lie awake and I wonder what you're dreaming about. Your dreams are my dreams now. I trace the contours of your face in the dark and I think, "How useless you are to me right now. Unmoving. Undisturbed. Just lying helplessly in my arms."

But I kiss you, and that's when I want to the most. Because when you're asleep, that's when I love you more. 

Enough is Enough

I spent almost half an hour trying to recover my password for this account because I badly wanted to write, only to stare blankly at the cursor as soon as I got in, wordless, bored and sleep-deprived.

It's now thirty minutes past midnight and here I am inside an internet cafe on Blue Street, waiting for 6 a.m. Yes, you can sleep in some internet cafes in Japan because they have these private cubicles with a reclining chair or couch where you could stay for up to 12 hours. I know. They're cool that way. I definitely like this country better than the United States.

My husband has shore patrol every 6 days and that means he won't be home for the night. Well, I am not usually a scaredy cat but the thing is we just moved into a new apartment in a newly constructed building where there are no other dwellers besides us. I like being alone, but being the only person in the entire building is a different story. I am, after all, a fan of Criminal Minds.


I do not want to be an inspiration for the next episode.

---

It's funny how some people think this life is perfect. Just because. Just because.

 I acknowledge with gratitude all that God has blessed me with. This life, after all,　has always been between Him and me.  It has always been our work in progress. The happy moments that I am relishing at the moment are nothing but the result of not giving in whenever life tries to uproot me with its storms. I am not lucky. I would like to tell the people, who think that I am, that I had to fight through the darkest moments of my life, with gritted teeth, just to get to where I am. I earned my good days and so I am proud of them.

Seven months ago, I was a ghostly person who had to pretend to be okay most of the time, even when I was really fucked up to the core. That kind of loneliness was beyond words. It was like a thousand wriggling worms that just couldn't wait till you're dead to eat you up.

 I told my husband that if I could be a Disney princess, I wanted to be Snow White or Sleeping Beauty and just sleep off the worst. I wanted to wake up and find myself on the other side.

I remember getting tagged in pictures of my family's weekend dates and thinking that I used to be in them and wondering why I ever gave up that life. I would sob shamelessly, and feel so alone and so trapped in a nightmare of my own doing.

I worked harder, because the busier I got, the better I was able to cope with my depression. I used to walk two miles every day going to work, because I don't know how to drive. By the time I get home, I would reek of weed from those bastards who smoke before they get in the bus. I would climb on the bed, exhausted and fed up.

Those were the moments when I felt that I had nothing. And when you reach that point, that emptiness, that's when you'd know that God is enough. For a while, perhaps in my desperation, I kept asking Him to do something miraculous to get me out of my misery. You know, things like,
speeding up the green card process so I could finally be with my husband. But I guess He doesn't work that way.　I mean, if He did,　there would probably be fewer stations of the cross. What He did, instead, was walk with me in my darkest hours. I knew that I didn't have anything, but somehow, I was carried through. I was taken care of. How would you explain that?　I have no words.

So I say, it has always been Him and me in this life. And I will still be happy if it were just me and Him. It is also for this reason that I will not allow myself to be guilty of being happy.

It is something that God has won for me. I don't mind wearing it for everybody else to see.

Happy Birthday

Today's my husband's birthday in the Japanese side of the world. My usual mushy self, of course, wanted post a heart-wrenching testament of how he is the best husband in the world and how I thank God for him every day.

But then this day turned out to be too acidic for something that sweet. So, no, I am not in the mood for that crap.

I barely got any sleep last night, thinking about how I would tell my boss that I'm leaving. In the middle of an accreditation. I ended up being so stressed out that even my dandruff just ceased to be itchy.

When I finally filed my resignation, sure enough, my boss walked out on me. After repeatedly saying, "You're kidding. Tell me you're kidding."

After she stormed out, I went to bathroom thinking that it wasn't as bad as I thought. I definitely had it worse in my head. You know, scenarios like me getting accidentally hit with a paperweight.

At least now the cat is out of the bag, and I feel so much lighter. I know I still have to endure a couple of weeks being treated like Lindsay Lohan in Mean Girls, but what the hell. I simply have to refuse to care.

I went home slightly feeling bad so I bought a can of beer at the gas station. I was a little desperate for a picker-upper, which I think God answered by sending two black men to the bus stop with me, one of which advised me to smoke weed after a bad day at work. The other, however, recognized that I am a Filipino and expressed how much he would like to have a Filipino wife. No, he wasn't hitting on me. He was telling me about how an average American marriage lasts only five years and how perhaps 95% ends in divorce. Unlike Filipinos like Pacquiao, he said, who's married to his wife for twenty years already.

I sat on a thirty-minute bus ride thinking about the way this generation sees marriage. It is mostly a piece of paper that you can dispose of once you feel that it no longer serves its purpose in your life.  Who cares about those vows you tearfully uttered to each other in your wedding? Or those nights of lovemaking that were surely orchestrated by the universe because, on those moments, it felt so damn right? Or those lazy weekends that made you feel you can lie down on your husband's hairy arms forever? It's hard to imagine that all these will simply cease to matter in five years.

Because I've always thought that marriage is becoming the earth and the sun. To each other. Keeping each other afloat, alive and pulsing in this infinite fabric of space and time. I know God would've put it that way. Yet we try so hard to squeeze it in an 8'11 paper, justified with 1.5 line spacing. And wonder why it never works out.

So here's my birthday greeting to my husband,  sans all the bullshit every wife feels propelled to say. Today, I chose you. And always I will.

I know that for some people, it may seem like I'm sacrificing my career for you. But being a teacher is more than just a job title. Like our marriage, it is not justified by any contract or position.

And true love, they say, will never keep you from your life's purpose.

So cheers to more adventures together. More bumpy rides and rough patches. More homecooked meals and indoor dates. And just simply being together.

I hope you like my gift.

Happy Anniversary

"I've spent half my life loving the woman who's now my wife. I've loved her since she was eighteen, still very clingy and demanding. She used to get mad at me for not texting and for not exerting effort in showing my love for her. Even then she was already very complicated. But I loved her.

When we migrated to the States, things got ugly between us. She broke up with me. She fell in love with other men. I suffered all throughout the whole thing. But even as I lost hope, I waited. Because right then, at the worst time of my life, that's when I loved her best.

Most incredibly, after four long years of waiting, she came back. I couldn't bear to lose her again so I did not waste any time. I asked her to marry me and she said yes. That was the happiest I've felt in years. It took a while for all of it to sink in. Until now, I still get those moments when it seems surreal.

Unfortunately, after our wedding, I needed to go back to work. I had to leave my wife even if God knows I didn't want to. I want to give her a good life. A life she deserves. Now she feels stuck in a place without the things that used to make her feel alive. Every day, she cries about how unhappy she is, how her situation is sucking the life out of her. And I feel really really guilty because I feel like I've ripped her off the very thing I've promised to give her all days of our married life--happiness. Worse, I couldn't do anything about it.

I immediately took a ten-day leave for the holidays, because I know my wife will be very happy if I got to spend Christmas with her. But that was all I could give her for now. Ten days. It felt great to see my wife smiling again and laughing. That's how I always want her to be whenever she's with me. That's my happiness right there.

She still has not received her green card until now, so she couldn't come to Japan with me. As much as it breaks my heart, I had to leave her again. I told her to just hang in there for a few months more, because after that, we'd be able to start a normal life as a married couple.

A few days after I left, my wife started to feel miserable again. She's becoming even more sensitive.
She told me she got frustrated when none of the temporary jobs she applied for has called her yet. My wife is the kind of woman who feels useless without a job. She hates having to depend on me financially, even if I tell her that my money is also her money. She only ever shuts up when I say she can pay me back later on. She promised she will. My pathetic, stubborn wife. Her ego surely is bigger than a man's.

Now she's crying again, and I'm going crazy. I think she sort of blames me for what's happening with her life right now, even if she says she doesn't. If she only knows how painful it is for me, too, to see her wilting away like that and I feel responsible for it. I feel like I've failed her as a husband even though I've tried my hardest make her feel better. I wish I could do more. I really wish I could.

I told her she can go home for a while when she gets her green card. I know she's dying to spend time with her family. She talked me out of it because she said it's too costly. I told her I don't mind going bankrupt if that's what it takes to put her out of her misery. I'd do anything to make her happy. Heck, I'd do anything for my wife.

I just hope she knows this."

You know I'm not even sure if this is close to what my husband is really thinking. For all we know, the only thing in his mind right now might be that he married an egotistic bitch who's a more of a potential lifetime pain in the ass than a reliable partner in life.

But even though I can't validate his thoughts, I surely can prove mine. So in my point of view, let me tell you about what my husband is like.

At night, when we're already under the sheets, he would nudge me and say, "Honey, let's pray. You lead the prayer." I will pray like I used to pray at night but audibly. Then we'd look up at each other and both our eyes are glassy. We know we're together because God willed it.

For Christmas, my husband bought the books that I requested, the makeup set of the cosmetic brand I follow on Instagram, my favorite chocolate in the world, the clothes that I secretly wanted but wouldn't buy because I don't want him to spend. I bet he lost a grand on the roundtrip ticket going here to spend the holidays with me. When I tell him to stop spoiling me, he'd turn to me and squeal, "I'm rich, beach!" in a "break it down, yo" tone. And we'd both laugh out loud. In turn, I'd tell him, "Then I'm gonna make you so broke, beach!" Then we'd laugh some more.

I told him I'll take care of our grocery expenses in Japan when I get a job and he just says, "Sure." Because he knows I need it to stroke my pride. My husband's cool that way. He doesn't mind that his wife is crazy.

I remember when my parents were not able to attend my wedding. I was so mad and I blamed him a lot for not doing more. It was me at my worst evil witch mode. Even my sisters were apalled when they learned about the mean things I said to him. But then my husband? I'm not sure if any kind of hate ever grows in his heart. He never threw any word to hurt me back. There must be a thousand things going on in his mind at that point, but he never let them out. That's how my husband is. Inside him, there is more goodness than anything.

I can't even understand how he can tolerate this child I am annoyed with. Or this girl who I couldn't stand. He sees the good in everyone and I can only be amazed. Don't know how he does it, really.

I know my husband feels that he constantly fails me. But what he doesn't know is that with him, I have already found what others could only dream about: a man who puts his woman first before himself. How often do you encounter such a man? I honestly thought they went extinct, like the dinosaurs.

He's an answered prayer, I know it. Because when I prayed to God in that prayer house in Tagaytay, I had been specific. I haven't told my husband this, but when I was walking down the aisle on our wedding, I had a deja vu moment. I felt like I was meant to do it all along, like I was finally doing my part in the story. I even imagined hundreds of angels behind me, pushing me forward, telling me not to worry even when my family was not with me, because I was doing what God has planned for us a long time ago. I felt at that moment, just this once I had it right.

So I would like to tell my husband that I married a great man, that I sometimes think he doesn't deserve a wench like me, so I am very thankful. I know he's going to be a good father someday, maybe even a better parent than I will ever be. He's a very patient and loving person. I hope our children get his brains, be Math wizards when they grow up. And his eyes, too.

Maybe he has no idea, but beneath this rubble of pride and ego, I love him more than anything else.

100 Days

Someone asked me this question out of the blue: Between the one who has to leave and the one who's left behind, who suffers more?

She asked me this as if it's a contest and there should be a winner. I did not answer. In my silence she concluded that maybe both parties hurt just the same.

If I had replied, I knew my answer would be one-sided. The latter would hurt more.

It is the one who's left behind who has to deal with every scent that lingers on the sheets days after the other took off. It is she who has to live with the emptiness that hangs in the air, when all the noise had died down. There's no escaping it.

Nostalgic sadness is like having bags and bags of blood sucked out of you. It makes you so weak, you can't even cry. You can choose to be happy, of course. But there's always something about winter nights that just make you not want to.

It's been a day since my husband left. You see, this is why I'm partial to the latter. Until now, I still haven't broken into tears. What I do is stare at the ceiling and feel this hollow pain making waves of all sizes on my chest. And then I sleep, sandwiched between pillows and with the comforter over my face. I sleep before it hits me real hard that I'm alone again, I know that it will start to make me cry and I just extremely hate the part when snot starts to come out and interfere with my breathing.

My husband's presence is a baffling thing. His nearness is enough to make me happy, even when he does nothing special. Actually, my favorite moment with him was when he was in the bathroom, brushing his teeth and I was sitting on the bed, staring at the TV, but not really watching because I was half-listening to the sound he was making. And I just suddenly felt happy. It was spreading all throughout my being, the way the sun soaks you in its warmth in the morning and you close your eyes and let your soul respond. Yes, that's right. I found the right words, thank God. That was exactly how I felt when I realized that he was finally near me.

But now, he's left again. As if those ten days were a short trip to the toilet to shit and then that's it. Time moves too fast when you're loving every minute of it. I guess you just have to fight for the good days. You do this by not letting the bad days defeat you, because good days keep on coming. You just have to wait again for that ultimate return that makes his presence in your life more meaningful. Otherwise, watching him brush his teeth would simply be fucking annoying.

My husband and I have started a countdown. "100 days," he told me, "I'll be seeing you in 100 days."
He's always like that. Positive. Good-natured. So unlike me. He even reminds me to pray every night. "You lead the prayer," he'd say.

When he does that, it's as if the Lord also reminds me, "He's always worth the wait."

True. Always has been.