Journal

The Pains of Being Lonely

| kirstenebv

I cry.

You say, “Be strong”.

I cry some more because you don’t seem to understand.

You say, “Be strong for him”.

I cry even more because you really don’t get it.

I cry because I’m lonely, not because I’m weak.

I cry because I’ve been trying to be strong. Not for anyone, not for him, but for me. Because first and foremost, I need me to survive — every day, every hour, every minute.

I cry because sometimes the loneliness just creeps in and some days, you really don’t have full control over it.

I cry because I will never get over it.

I cry not because I’m weak, but because I’m lonely.

And it’s sad that you can’t seem to understand.

It’s sad that you might never get it.

On Getting Older

| kirstenebv

“WHITE HAIR!”, I exclaimed rather too enthusiastically while checking my reflection in the elevator mirror.

“Why are you so excited?”, the puzzled husband asked.

“It means I’m getting old”, I answered.

“Then why are you so happy?”, he asked still puzzled.

“Because not everyone gets to be old”, I quipped.

Which is true when you think about it. We’ve all been conditioned that getting old is a bad thing, especially the ladies. White hairs, wrinkles, sagging skin, freckles, and (gasp!) expiring egg cells are some of the things that we should fight against all odds. Or just try to prolong from happening as much as we can, no biggie.

But please hear me out. Getting old is a blessing.

Every waking day that we get is every chance that we get to live our lives the way we want to – go to places we’ve never been, hug and kiss the people we love, have a good laugh with friends, read that book that’s been collecting dust in the shelf.

So rejoice if you start seeing white hairs, wrinkles, or sagging skin. These are testament of life lived.

Dial 8-Delivery

| kirstenebv

I’ve been thinking: What is it with people asking me about babies and weight gain that really, really bothers me?

This due to the fact that I attended several reunions (forced and not) over the holidays and got into the usual roast with people.

Reunions that made me realise why I’m starting to hate reunions. It’s like looking at a cracked fucked-up mirror held up straight to your face by that someone.

That someone who shouts to the world “Ang taba mo na!” even before the “Hello”.

That someone who sarcastically comments “Ah.. kaya ka pala tumataba..” on anything remotely related to weight or body measurements without even knowing about your hormonal and emotional struggles.

That someone who blatantly asks “Bakit wala pa kayong baby?” before the “How are you guys doing?”.

That someone who imposes “Dapat gumawa na kayo kase tumatanda ka na” like I’m some sort of baby manufacturer about to be bulldozed in a few months.

And that someone who has a pathological need to always reason out the miscarriage “Kaya ka siguro nakunan kase…”.

It may be a culture or a generation thing but I really find it insensitive and bordering on rude.

Weird thing is, I’ve met with friends who asked me about the miscarriage and my weight gain that did not bother me at all.

Which led me to realise that it has nothing to do with the subject of miscarriage or weight gain. It has more to do with the delivery. I felt more receptive and open to people who sounded genuinely concerned with what I’m going through compared to those who sounded mocking or even accusing.

I don’t really mind if they want to know what happened and if we’re trying again as long as it doesn’t feel like it’s an imposed requirement for a marriage. It’s so archaic it’s giving me migraine.

And what is it with people and their love for humiliation? Sometimes it’s so ingrained in their system that they don’t even realise that their idea of small talk is already humiliating someone.

I’d appreciate it better if you give me tips on the most effective diet or exercise for someone with hormonal imbalance instead of flashing your abs at me, thankyouverymuch.

Tone and timing is really essential for good communications.

Manners maketh man.