Love On Hold
What kind of person am I?
What kind of heart do I have?
I grew up with my aunt. A sweet little lady who never married, never dated as far we know, never travelled out of the country alone and never had a job.
She never had enemies. But what does that say of her friends? She had many. A few I, though frequently thought of as naive, did not always trust to be true friends of hers. She might find out from one that another said something unsavoury about her, and she will be sad, but will still be a friend to her, and then another story comes up, and it goes on.
Also, she never strayed from Catholicism.
Somewhat sheltered, fragile, child-like and trusting, she was in many ways, my mother. Suddenly I wonder how much of her resides in my personality.
She is a neat freak, to say the least. While I cannot keep my room out of the hurricane zone for more than a week.
She loves cooking and does a amazing job with all the Peranakan dishes. While my best dish might be boiled water.
She never misses the weekly mass or any day of obligation. I just give myself the sincere excuse of talking to God anywhere because I truly feel that God is everywhere.
She can patiently take a slow bus through town, with no destination, for hours. I know I'd go mad if I didn't have a pen and paper, book, someone to talk with, or some sort of mission or destination being on that bus.
Yet she is impatient about getting answers or getting chores done. I, on the other hand, tend to take my time. Smell the roses, and the garbage too, why don't I?
She thinks of all kinds of chilli, especially the raw ones, as her vitamin C. I am selective about my chilli but hardly even touch vitamin C.
So there isn't much we have in common. Or so I think.
She and I are not even related by blood. But that's where it becomes clear.
That it doesn't matter. Because I love her. I really do.
But with my procrastinating ways, I have been visiting her once every couple of months. Thinking back now, I loathe how I behaved.
My aunt had a nasty fall and had to spend the past few weeks under hospital arrest. Along with my mom, I chatted with her, stroked her hair and/or fed her almost every day.
What feels like double standards also feels like a cocktail of regret (20 ml), guilt (10 ml), fear (10 ml), layers of gratitude (60 ml) and love (100 ml). Sprinkled with joy at the very top.
So what kind of person am I?
Do I enjoy taking my time so much that I procrastinate love as well?
What kind of heart do I have?
I grew up with my aunt. A sweet little lady who never married, never dated as far we know, never travelled out of the country alone and never had a job.
She never had enemies. But what does that say of her friends? She had many. A few I, though frequently thought of as naive, did not always trust to be true friends of hers. She might find out from one that another said something unsavoury about her, and she will be sad, but will still be a friend to her, and then another story comes up, and it goes on.
Also, she never strayed from Catholicism.
Somewhat sheltered, fragile, child-like and trusting, she was in many ways, my mother. Suddenly I wonder how much of her resides in my personality.
She is a neat freak, to say the least. While I cannot keep my room out of the hurricane zone for more than a week.
She loves cooking and does a amazing job with all the Peranakan dishes. While my best dish might be boiled water.
She never misses the weekly mass or any day of obligation. I just give myself the sincere excuse of talking to God anywhere because I truly feel that God is everywhere.
She can patiently take a slow bus through town, with no destination, for hours. I know I'd go mad if I didn't have a pen and paper, book, someone to talk with, or some sort of mission or destination being on that bus.
Yet she is impatient about getting answers or getting chores done. I, on the other hand, tend to take my time. Smell the roses, and the garbage too, why don't I?
She thinks of all kinds of chilli, especially the raw ones, as her vitamin C. I am selective about my chilli but hardly even touch vitamin C.
So there isn't much we have in common. Or so I think.
She and I are not even related by blood. But that's where it becomes clear.
That it doesn't matter. Because I love her. I really do.
But with my procrastinating ways, I have been visiting her once every couple of months. Thinking back now, I loathe how I behaved.
My aunt had a nasty fall and had to spend the past few weeks under hospital arrest. Along with my mom, I chatted with her, stroked her hair and/or fed her almost every day.
What feels like double standards also feels like a cocktail of regret (20 ml), guilt (10 ml), fear (10 ml), layers of gratitude (60 ml) and love (100 ml). Sprinkled with joy at the very top.
So what kind of person am I?
Do I enjoy taking my time so much that I procrastinate love as well?
posted by yeriller at 11:46 AM
0 comments
