Paper in my throat

3:40am, Monday before Christmas 2011

I come off of my bed because I cannot sleep. I've read out 2 books for the night, lovely little short kids stories, yet I feel uncomfortable. My throat feels tight. I initially think it's because of the position of my head on the pillow as I'm curled up reading, but after two days of this tightness, even I couldn't fool myself any longer to blame it all on posture. So I came off bed and hobbled down the stairs. My back, shoulder and neck aches so much, and my knee is a bit stiff. The pain meds I took earlier has alleviated some of the back pain but the general feeling of tightness and strain still lingers. My neck just gets worst. My head starts hurting and I wonder if maybe I am dehydrated. Downstairs now, I make myself a cuppa hot chocolate and gulped rather than sipped it slowly. With each motion of this comfort drink squeezing down my throat, it starts dawning on me, as slowly but as inescapable as the first light of day, that I need... to cry. The tightness in my chest, tightness in my throat, ache in my back and neck and tension in my head, are all the repercussions of grief suppressed. The vivid, anxiety type dreams should have indicated this to me sooner, but as usual, I am a master of denial. I need to cry and holding it all inside of me these past 2 to 3 days is doing me no good, no good at all. 

I finished my cuppa hot chocolate and felt compelled to type this. I should mention, while drinking, I opened my bank statement and noticed for the first time there was no increase of $100. No more mommy = no more salary = no more automatic transfer of $100 a month to my savings account. Trivial as it may seem, there's nothing more potent than the rawness of our materialistic 'reality' to trigger a purposeful allowance for concern. Though the money may be of little consequence, the fact that she's gone screams at me in fine green writing on a three fold sheet of paper with my name on it.

A rant allowed

I hate myself today
I hated myself yesterday
I don't want to hate myself tomorrow
But for now?
I hate me! I wanna suffer for just being such a stupid pathetic fool

I will let you down

What have I become?
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know
Goes away in the end

A Girl You Should Date

A Girl You Should Date

Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.
Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.
She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.
Buy her another cup of coffee.
Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.
It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.
She has to give it a shot somehow.
Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.
Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.
If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.
You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.
Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.
Or better yet, date a girl who writes.

– Rosemarie Urquico –

A Christmas Carol

I read this book countless times as a kid! Now that I'm a big girl now, I figure I should read the original, unabridged version with all the beautiful literary prose of the 1840's :) - My Christmas treat to myself.  Who's with me? (it's free on kindle) - Click Me

Dear Ma

Dear Ma,
Where are you? I really miss you!
It hurts more and more each day. Is this just the beginning? I didn't think it would get worst as time goes by... the pain of losing you... missing you... being confused. I'm so sorry Ma. For everything!!! I was selfish and impatient and ignorant and I didn't stop to truly recognize how much you were trying... not until it was too late. It breaks my heart ma, it BREAKS my heart... that you fought so hard even up till the end, if not for you, but to protect me :( ... I believed you! I honestly believed you when you said you were gonna be okay and you would live to play with your grand-kids. Was I that naive? Did you really believe it too? Was that what you wanted? Did death just take you away? Were you ready? Were you protecting me from the truth? Were you preparing me? Were you scared? ... You begged me not to leave you :( You begged me not to leave you alone... and I promised I won't. I promised I would stay... (but I couldn't) ... and then, that was the last thing you ever said to me Ma. I don't know how to deal with this... with you being gone. I still can't accept it. It hurts so much - each moment of pain is just as fresh and raw and real as the previous... if not worst. I'm so sorry ma... I forgive you for everything! I'm SO sorry I wasn't better. I'm so sorry... I just can't believe it Ma. I haven't told ppl about the last few days... not even Kevin knows of how hard and scary that was for me... and for you. I would NEVER forget the look on your face when the ambulance was taking you away. Gosh ma... I promised you it was going to be okay. I would NEVER forget the night before when I was holding you in my arms, you said that it felt so good, like you're in Vykunt... Why did you have to die now Ma? It's not supposed to be this way. You promised me! That you will not die till I'm married with my own kids. Why did I blindly believe that??
What about the stupid Astrologers in India? He didn't say you were going to die just a few months later!! He lied to us both! I hate him. Ma... why didn't I know that you were really going to die? Why didn't I know? Did you know? I cry all the time now Ma... Tears and pain is all I have right now. I miss you so much Ma! Do you know that? Are you here with me? Are you reading this? I need you to know, that I'm not okay and if you can see this, please... please... help me be okay again. I miss you Ma. There's a hollow churning void inside of me now... and no one can really understand that. Part of me died with you Ma. I love you

This is so me

Grrrrrrr

As I am typing this, I feel a sort of zap in my brain and my heart is pounding. I'm making efforts to take deep breaths.

Why are my emotions SO volatile??? In the last few days I've found myself shifting between extreme sadness and anger so easily. It's as though I can't differentiate the two right now. This weekend I had my first real angry outburst at God and life and everything for taking away my mommy. I was so unbelievably angry!!! I kept crying and pacing and had I the ability to clench my fist I would have... and then it would have most definitely found itself crashing into things. I wanted so much to break something and just scream! I thought I was losing my mind. I hated God at that moment. I cursed and screamed at God and hated him!!!! I guess it explains why since mom died, I have never been able to pray. I feel betrayed. I feel so angry. I feel so much despair and disillusionment. I don't want to go out. I don't go to satsanghs, or limes, or family gatherings, or social events or... anything. I cannot bare it. Sometimes I don't leave this room. Sometimes I hate everything and I hate myself. And I know better... and I know I know better... but I don't know why all these feelings are coming up.

Is this part of grief? Resentment and anger and  disappointment and regret and fear and so much sadness!?!?

Tomorrow

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

- Macbeth