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.

America is Not Everything

I would like to think of a good introduction for this, but the title says it all. Well, at least for me.

I know a lot of people who dream of coming here to start their lives anew. There's nothing wrong with that. Just some words of caution: If you can't find happiness where you are, you won't find it elsewhere. If  you see happiness as a treasure chest buried somehere, then you're in for a never-ending chase. Good luck with the adventure.

My fascination for this place lasted until my husband left for work barely a week after we got married. By then I came to realize that places can only mean as much as the people you share it with, the way we like to differentiate a house from a home.

America is a far cry from the third-world country I was born and raised in. But not more beautiful.

Sure, I could buy the biggest bottle of Cetaphil here, drown myself in gallons and gallons of fresh milk, Starbucks and Coke, and maybe even be able to own a car in the near future, but something tells me that even after I've acquired all of these, I'd still be sitting on my carpeted living room floor asking myself, "Now what?"

In this country, it's so easy to believe that you need the things that they offer. Hand creams, ass wipes, apple-flavored M&Ms and Chewy Chips Ahoy. Things that you've lived without all your life. They're being sold here for a few dollars or just a swipe. And you feel good, you fall into the illusion that your life is getting better, just because you can afford the things that you wouldn't dare put in your cart back then.

You slide into what I call the American bullshit. My mind suddenly gave birth to this term in one of my many encounters with fellow Filipinos who I would mentally laugh at (and not guiltily so) for being so Donya Victorina. If you're Pinoy and you don't know her, I pity you.

I find it really funny--how some Filipino immigrants can be so unaware of how stupid they look when they try to be so high and mighty in front of others and act as if their lungs never knew the smog in Manila.

They would immediately strut with their Michael Kors bags and daunt me with their slang upon learning that I'm a newcomer. I, in turn, would happily play along, hoping to death that they can now tell the difference between you're and your.

I remember when I was a teenager and my parents would talk about relatives or family friends who were already abroad and say, "Maganda na buhay nila ngayon, asa Australia (or America or Canada) na sila."

It's not a lie, but it may not also be the truth. The same way America can give you a good life, but not necessarily a happy one.

Money comes easily around here, but goes just the same. People work their asses off to pay all the bills that come from both necessities and vanities. And with all there is to have, sometimes, it's not even enough. My father-in-law would always tell me whenever he comes home from work, "Eto Chang ang buhay sa Amerika, mas masarap pa buhay ko sa Pilipinas."

I couldn't agree more.

I would trade all that I have now for a Sunday morning at home. Anytime. Life was so simple then, but so happy. I miss waking up to the sound of my mother coming home from the market with the best breakfast in the world: tuyo, mais, kalamay, taho and hot pandesal. All three of us would rush to be the first to get Mama's basket because that way you get to choose the biggest portion.

Always as I eat breakfast and we play whatever song we like on the computer, I'd tell myself, "I have my parents, Nanay, my sisters, and we even have a dog. This is enough. Everything I need to live is inside this home."

Sometimes I wish I could bottle up those moments, so I could immerse myself in them whenever I feel the need. All I'm saying is that you don't need more in life. And you'd eventually figure it out.

So why am I here? I went here to be with my husband. Although I do not regret getting married, I do know that I can't live here. It just sounds so sosyal, where I'm at. Best background for instagram pics. But like I said, it's not everything.

And that thing you learned from Wizard of Oz? It's true.

There's no place like home.

There is a thing or two to be said when you've hit rock bottom. First is that when you've reached your lowest of lows, you always have two options: vanish completely or fight your way back up.

Another is that rock bottom, I've learned, is like a deep well in the midst of a desert. Some people, in their desperation for water, just dive straight in and then worry about how to climb back up later. The same goes for people who let themselves drown in sadness and then reach a point wherein they no longer know how to find their way out, so they choose to either die or save themselves at the last minute.

And then there are some who are gifted enough to endure their thirst for a few minutes more, just to give themselves enough time to look for a bucket, tie it up and let it go down the well to fetch water. I guess these are the people who, at their loneliest, part the curtains and let the sun in, knowing that a little warmth is what a cold day really needs.

You can choose to be any of these, and no one can blame you for it. Because to those who have come across rock bottom, and have really known how devastating it can be, strength will always be a matter of choice. You choose how to deal with your pain. There's no means better than the other.

It's just that whatever your choice is defines who you are.

In this case, my weapon of choice is solitude. You know, there's something very frightening about having everything you want. It is the fact once you've learned to hold on to it, like your body parts, it becomes essential to your way of life. And once they're gone, you will find yourself unable to do anything. Worthless. Useless. Not even Dumbledore's quotable quotes can save you. Especially when, come to think of it, he killed himself in the story.

You lose hope, but then you learn one thing and that's all you ever need to know. No matter how bad it is, you live. You shrink so small but you live. And in your tiny self, you realize the small things are enough to make you want to be alive.

That is what solitude does. It tells you it's ok to be your fucked-up self because that is part of who you are.  It makes you notice how the carpet is really soft on your feet, or how the ticking of the clock sounds like the beating of your heart when you're calm and at peace. It makes you appreciate the smell of freshly-brewed coffee until it dawns on you that it's the aroma and not the taste that makes it so addictive. Heck, it makes you even thankful for a rainy day because it's the perfect time for a cup of hot chocolate.

It's funny, how when you allow yourself to be small, you see things in a bigger perspective. How being in a dark place makes you see the silver lining.

The Ring

No, this isn't about the Ring of Middle Earth, nor is this about an Asian horror flick. It's about my engagement ring. 

Whenever a woman gets engaged, she, without fail, would have to be ready to do two important things: tell people how the guy proposed to her and show them her ring. You can cue in the collective gasp, giggles and 'congratulations' after these are done. Well, this is for women with boring lives. Mine was different.

Did I go through the two-step post-engagement evaluation process? Yes. Did I get the same response? No. My fiancee was supposed to propose to me in a restaurant, that he told me days later. But it was a stormy September evening and we couldn't get a ride to the resto. The water was starting to rise and we both knew that we'd be stuck if we pushed through. We decided to go home. Nobody else was there but the two of us. We were so hungry that we heartily ate what was on the table,which was ginisang ampalaya. How's that for fine dining?

Halfway through dinner, he asked me to read a "blog" that he said he made. He's not really the kind of guy who would write you poems or love letters. I read it, anyway. It must have been five paragraphs long. Not bad for an amateur blogger, huh? And at the end of it was the "question". Of course, I said yes. I gave him a tight hug and a kiss. And then that was it. No crying. No music. No flash mob. No crowd. Nobody was even there to capture the moment. It was just us. 

When I told this to my friends, I saw their excitements shoot from the moon and the stars down to the dusty ground. They still put up a happy face though. They said, "ay, sweet pa din." With a retarted smile. I wanted to laugh out loud. I think I actually did. Maybe people just have a lot of expectations when it comes to wedding proposals. Well, it's a life-changing event. It has to be done with grandeur.

The funny thing is that, I think mine was perfect. No shit about that. For one, I was on my right mind. There was no sunset, no starry sky or city lights that could have stirred up intense romantic emotions in me. When I said yes, it was a decision made both by my clear head and calm heart. It was a yes that came from every ounce of me. 

This is why I am proud of the way my man proposed to me. Nobody could have ever thought of that! So simple yet so meaningful.

And then there's the second task. Show them your ring. 

Rewind to a few days before the proposal. We were strolling at this mall. He was about to go back to where they were stationed. Out of the blue, I told him, "Buy me a ring. I don't care how it looks like. It could be just a simple ring. But you have to buy me a ring." 

He was thinking deeply and then he looked at me like maybe I was nuts. 

That moment I was thinking of the many times this guy and my exes have tried to put a ring on my finger as a gift. I managed to lose those rings. Maybe because I never actually took them as my own. I never really cared for them as much as I cared about my books.

Weeks later, he gave me this ring with a tiny diamond. I did task number two and proudly showed it to the world. I got mixed reactions. Some took a second look and woke up to the reality that it's really small. Others asked me to ask my fiancee if he was serious about the engagement. His relatives even laughed at it and told me, "Naku, tinipid ka! Ilocano talaga!" 

My only allies were his mother and my mother. The latter told me, "Mabuti nga binigyan ka ng singsing, si Papa mo nga walang binigay!"

So what makes my ring different from the sea of brick-sized, 18-c diamond rings? 

It was my choice. 

And the things you choose? You cherish them, protect them, love them with all your heart. No matter how small. 

Sometimes, when I feel very tired, stressed or downright wrecked, I look at the tiny diamond on my ring. It sparkles and I marvel at how beautiful it is. It was like a child I chose to conceive. And my heart swells with pride.

Before we parted ways the day I kind of proposed to him, I erased the confusion on his face. I said the ring was a reminder of my decision. And remember, what you choose, you cherish. 

This ring is my promise.