To the Dear People Who Ask If I’m Okay
Oh I am definitely okay.
I’m okay with being alone.
I’m okay of feeling lonely.
I’m okay of feeling depressed.
I’m okay about being compared to everyone around me.
I’m okay of feeling isolated.
I’m okay of crying myself to sleep every night.
I’m okay of having to wake up and see myself covered in wounds because of the works of my own hands
due to the nightmares that creep into my mind each night.
I’m okay with being misunderstood.
I’m okay about not being appreciated.
I’m okay of being just okay.
I’m okay about being trapped in an enclosed box with tapes on my mouth and tears in my eyes while I cry for help.
I am okay with not being heard.
I’m okay with pain being my companion every day.
I’m okay about getting used to just being okay,
But I am never happy about just being okay
Because “I’m okay” does not say “I’m happy”.
Yes
Being okay does not mean you’re happy.
Being okay means you’re just trying to look happy
Because looking happy is better than explaining yourself every time your eyes fail to hold your tears for it shows how fragile you really are
But they don’t know how long you’ve been fighting your own war.
They don’t know how long your heart and head have been shooting bullets at each other.
You,
don’t know how my mind shouts at me to force me to be okay while my heart whispers to me how I should just let myself be happy.
Everybody around me is saying
that happiness is a choice because if you choose to be happy, then you will be happy.
But, is it my fault
how my own family does not even see how they push me to the edge of the cliff giving me only two options?
It’s either to learn how to fly without wings or to quit and just fall to the deep deep ground.
Is it my fault
how everyone sees me as selfish and worthless when I am giving the best that I could?
Is it my fault
that I am just a human being fighting my own battles just like you?
I’m sorry, but how is it my fault?
So, to the dear people who ask if I’m okay,
Yes I am okay, but I’m not happy.
I’m not happy with how I am drowning in pain
even if happiness has always been my first choice.
But,
I am going to be.
And I’ll make sure that the next time you ask me if I’m okay
I would doubtlessly answer,
“NO, I am not okay,
because
I am done being okay.”
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 3:34 AM UTC
I was about 7 years old when I saw my father’s tattoo
I asked if it hurt, he said no, not even a little.
I examined his hand like it was a science project
It was a name, a four lettered name
But,
I didn’t know what it meant.
When I turned 9, I noticed his tattooed hand again
Now, being more curious I asked who “Beth” was
“Beth”, the name that made my mother flinch, whenever she would hear it
My father never answered me, I’m pretty sure he never did
But whenever I would say it, it was like I was torturing my mother in the most painful way.
I finally knew who she was, but I guess it was too late
My mother said she was just going to the market but she never came back.
I was 11 when I finally knew who Beth was
Turns out, she was my father’s first love
They got married and had children just like with my mother.
But my mother already left us
She left us with this woman whose name
is tattooed on my father’s hand together with their children’s names.
It hurt like hell when I realized that we were never his first.
We we’re never his one and only
And he was never our own.
That was the moment when I felt my world crashing down before my eyes,
Burying that one thing
I thought was my own
Burying the laughs
The smiles
The tears
The hugs
The kisses
The love
Burying everything I thought I had with MY family
With my mother,
With my brother,
With my sister,
With MY father
And his tattooed hand reminded me everyday that we will never be his first,
We will never be his one and only,
And he will never be our own.
I blamed him for everything,
I blamed him for so long.
I blamed him why my mama left,
I blamed him for not being his first.
I blamed him for everything,
Like everything was his fault…
But,
I also grew up loving him,
Thanking him,
And appreciating his love for us
That is when I learned to forgive him
To accept him,
and…
to love him again.
Yes, we may never be his first,
His one and only,
And he may never be our own,
But the love he has shown is more than enough
Now, his tattooed hand will be the one,
to remind me
that, being second is never wrong because I know that he will always love us,
as his first.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 3:18 AM UTC
When I was young I didn’t know how a house and a home differ from one another
I knew I have always had a house
so I guess it didn’t matter
But,
As I grew up, I slowly realized how living in a house
and
having a home are a hundred percent different.
I have always had a house I could live in
A house I could stay in
A house I could eat in
A house I could sleep in
A house I could wake up in
I am lucky enough to have a shelter that could protect me
But I have always wished for a house that I could step in and say,
“I’m home”
I have always imagined how having a home would feel like
A home that has a mother who would say good morning to me
as I sleepily walk down the stairs
while she cooks my breakfast and prepares the food I would bring to school.
A home that has a father who would put down his newspaper and his cup of coffee
to greet me with a kiss on my forehead
A home that has a sister who would be my best friend when I need her to be
and would give her motherly advises when I need to hear
A home with a brother who would make me laugh when I’ve had a bad day
and would protect me and would stand for me.
A home that has the people I could call my family.
I have always imagined how we would eat breakfast together
at one dining table
With full smiles on our faces.
I have always imagined how mama would kiss me goodbye
And would tell me not to skip lunch
as papa waits to bring me to school.
I have always imagined how I would come home
and rush to my mother to kiss her “hello”.
I have always imagined how we would wait for my father
to have dinner altogether
And share how everyone’s day has been
I have always imagined a home full of the people that I love the most.
But home,
Home has been taken away from me long enough that I don’t even know how it would feel like
How it would feel like to have parents
How it would feel like to have a complete family
How it would feel like not to eat on your own
On that one dining table that was once full
Full of the people that you love
How it would feel like to have a home.
And it hurts so much to think if I would be able to feel like that again
It hurts so much to hope each day if we would be together again one day
But what hurts the most is to be dragged down to the ground
as you realize that half of your life
has been filled with nothing but false hopes.
Now,
I finally know how a house and a home differ from one another.
I finally realized that having a house you could live in
A house you could stay in
A house you could eat in
A house you could sleep in
A house you could wake up in
Is no better
Than having a house you could step in and say,
“I’m home”.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 3:12 AM UTC
The night I sat by my window
Was the night that we said goodbye.
It was the night when I lost myself
The night when I cried and cried until my eyes ran dry.
The night I sat by my window
Was the night that we said goodbye
It was the night when I watched my every possession fly across my bedroom,
the night that I tried to cover my body with scratches and wounds,
hoping that the physical pain would make me numb
just so I couldn’t feel that familiar pain in my chest anymore.
The night I sat by my window
Was the night I called and called for your name
Wishing you’d forgive me for letting this happen to us.
I just couldn’t stop blaming myself
because I know that there is no one else to blame
than the fool who chose to say goodbye without even hesitating.
The night I sat by my window
Was the night that I just hugged my pillow wishing it was you
Wishing that it was all just a nightmare that I would soon wake up to
Wishing to see you by my side whispering that it’s okay
Wishing to see you by my side reassuring me that you are there to stay.
The night I sat by my window
Was the night that we said goodbye
I stayed there whispering how much I love you even for one last time
Telling you how much you mean to me
That was why I did what I had to do and that was to set you free.
The night I sat by my window
Was the night that I said goodbye
I waited for sleep to come and get me
…
I waited and waited as I wished to never again open my eyes.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 1:35 PM UTC
My Little Brother’s Toy Train
Was indeed a cool toy to play with
I remember staring at it with utter fascination
I even remember wishing it was mine.
We would play with it together
Imagining that we were the passengers inside
Not even caring about the time.
So one night we played with it again
But it had a little accident.
I knew it was my fault, but I didn’t mean it.
My little brother’s eyes were already glistening
With tears that are waiting to be freed.
I tried to save his toy train
So I immediately grabbed it and tried to fix it
I looked at my father for help
But
His eyes were already burning with fire
Why is he mad?
Why is he angry?
What wrong have I done?
I am trying to fix what I just broke
I am really trying hard.
He started to shout
Making my knees shake in terror
I thought my mother was going to help me
But
Her eyes were already filled with pure disappointment.
“Mama! Help me I never wanted anything like this to happen!
I just wanted to play with my little brother
Mama, please understand?”
I looked back at my father
Not meeting his gaze
But when I finally did
He snatched the toy train from my arms and smashed it with all his might.
“I’m sorry little brother! I know how you loved that one.”
But his eyes gladly answered “It’s okay my sister, don’t worry, I understand.”
My father was still screaming at the top of his lungs
My ears felt like they were already bleeding
My eyes were already drowning
My lips were already trembling
trying to make a sound.
And when it finally did, the first thing I said was
“I’m sorry papa!”
But he just kept on shouting!
I’m sorry papa I swear I didn’t mean it!
I’m sorry papa I was just trying to help!
I’m sorry papa
but I was just doing what you taught me best
To be your perfect little girl
I am really trying my best
But I’m sorry papa for not being your perfect little girl,
Papa I just can’t!
There was a complete silence and I thought
‘finally it’s done’
but not until I saw my father’s hand about to land on me.
I protected myself with my arms
Waiting for the pain to hit hard
But
It didn’t
And just as I started opening my eyes
I saw my family eating happily
But there was something missing;
Why wasn’t there a space for me?
I ran to my mother and hugged her
But she couldn’t feel me
I ran to my brother and sister and hugged them
But why couldn’t they feel me?
I tried to hold my father’s hand and whisper “I’m sorry”
But I guess they have forgotten me.
It was like I was watching a life where I once existed but they have abandoned me
for not being the perfect little girl they have expected me to be.
“I just want this nightmare to end!”
I shouted as loud as I could wishing for someone to hear me
And just as I was about to lose hope
Someone woke me up from my misery
He put me into his loving arms.
As I whisper
“I’m sorry papa, I never meant to disappoint you.”
and he fondly answered
“It’s okay little one, papa loves you no matter what.”
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 12:36 PM UTC