Sitting on a mess
I am sitting on a mess
not out of bed sheet or pillows
or dirty laundry of yesterday - or a week before
Not something tangible
thus I can't get out of my seat
and tidy it up
I am sitting on a mess
of words, phrases, sentences... unwanted
or maybe wanted
break into syllables, then put together,
How can I put it across, to you
my beloved grandmother, mother?
how can mere words ease the pain?
I am sitting on a mess
of emotions: frustration, anger, desperation
or even contentment
I know not the precise phrase
to capture this feeling. SO
I keep quiet
inexplicable deafening silence...
I am still sitting on my mess
finding the correct word
to tell you
something so simple
such as
I miss you
...........................
I feel like swearing
but then I won't. It is just frustration, the unrest mind, the guilt struck soul...
I have to be able to "write" again, I have one week, no, actually one day, till the sun rises.
I have been trying to write something for my grandmother. Bitterly I laugh at my final decision. I have this pathetic list of people I want to write to. She was on it since last Mar, I kept thinking "next weekend" Like a cat chasing after her own tail, I was lost in my mountain of work, of pills, dreams and nightmares. Half written letter, I burned up the ashes of my irresponsible youth yesterday, in the endless chant of prayer for her soul. I wish you peace. Nothing else. I wish you peace. forgive me, I was far too reckless and confident.
Fate and her ugly game, right when I thought she was being nice to me, showering me with love of parents and best friend, the spark of end season romance and success in study... she prove me WRONG. A nasty goddess would feel ashamed if she is too nice to someone, I guess. But of all things, of all people, she chose grandmother - I never thought my light house would distinguish her source of guidance so soon...
I started a week back - it does not make any sense till now. Why the hell is it an elegy, while my grandmother only loves to read casual letter from us? I remember her last letter to me, shaky handwriting, she was apologizing for not being able to write any longer for her hands were shaking too much. She was apologizing for her "ugly handwriting". I could not have seen a more beautiful letter - even in her old age, she penned down her love for me. Handwritten, so much efforts and so much care - how dare I took it for granted
I was in a mess, emotionally. Type, retype, write, rewrite, scribble, toss and turn. Isn't it too sad when it is too late to tell her some simple things: like how much she means to me, how nonsensical my hurtful words were... that I don't ever hate her, in fact I admire her so much? Children do not have the maturity to write an elegy, an adult told me that. I remember my anger, of being called children, of being perceived less than what I can do... I kept silent. I talked to her now and then, now that she can hear me everywhere I go, I talk to hermore often that the lazy phone call miles and miles away from Hanoi. I remember her excitement and cheerfulness just hearing my sleepish voice over the phone, my imperfect Vietnamese, my abnormal accent...
24 hours, and I have to get it done. I told her so, and I will keep my promise.
I am sitting on a mess... picking up fragments of tossed, unwanted lines I left on the floor.
She never thought I was a beautiful mess - just a mess she loved - an imperfect mess - that she loves with her life
...........................................................................................
I need to hear my mom's voice, like a guess game, I weigh how much she misses my grandmother today... estimating the depth of her sorrow... I need to hear her voice so I can sleep. I am scared too, hearing her exhaustion, another cry? another self-blame monologue? What now? I love her so much it hurts that I am so fking far away, that I am like a ghost, come and go, leaving her broken just like that...
After our daily talk, I am left alone with new familiar emotions... what now? what is best for us? I don't know
629
that is the number of times I played Kiss Shita Mama, Goodbye in my ipod, since my grandmother passed away
502 for Thunder
and 49os for the rest of my Dong Bang lullaby
nowadays, if not for the healing voice of DBSK, I would go on 4-5 days sleepless - for every time I close my eyes, my half written, scribbled letter wakes me up, like the cruel laughter of Fate: Why wasting time on sleeping, when u have so much work to do?
............................................................................................
still sitting on a mess
sorting out my own life
