Your call.

When I called up my mother to inform her about the mini accident I had gotten myself into, and the cost of that two fingers of a scratch mark, I wasn’t prepared for her response. She was shocked, concerned, sympathetic –odd to me, anger wasn’t one of her emotions. What most surprised me was the empathy she felt. And as she fought for my innocence to the self-blaming guilty party and reprimanded me for not wanting to request my friends who were in the car with me at the time to help share the burden, I thought to myself ‘Oh this is what my mother feels like’. This feeling that I’ve not had while saying in uni and caring for myself, this is my mother. In her own demeanour she shows me she loves me; protects me against anyone that would remotely take advantage of me; scolds me because she wants the better for me, even more than I know how to for myself.

 

I wish I could just pick up my phone and give you a call too.

I wish I could hear you at the end of the line noticing there was something wrong at the sound of my voice. Asking me what happened and convincing me that my insecurities is just me being silly. Giving me a proper lecture of who I really am, the way you know me –because you believe in me more than I do myself. Reminding me not to compare myself to others cause we’re all different. To do it my own way. Saying that you put me through all of the past seasons and dramas and lessons just to bring me to this ledge up ahead. That it’s alright if I feel alone, cause you’ll always be here.

Oh God.

I know you’re with me. I feel your presence surround me and enclose me. You are my hiding place. The rock that I lean on and protect myself with. You go before me and you calm me down. You keep my eyes on you and you bring me close. You tell me to keep my chin up and stand firm. You put my knees straight from bucking under my anxiety and push my hairs away from my face and say ‘Be brave’.

You say don’t listen to others, listen to me. Don’t cling on to the words of others, meditate on mine. Listen I tell you I love you, I tell you you’re mine and you’ll be fine. I will strengthen you, I will make you brave. You were called, I called you.

Don’t be afraid.

I am your support.

Affinity, affection and the like

I have been wondering lately..

Are my affections, conditional?

We say we love even if we don’t agree, don’t favor -in a sense, don’t like. So I love you as a person but I can not like you.
So, how would you know that? You wouldn’t, because you can’t know.

It’s a rare Wednesday morning amidst a busy assignment period. Most are in the library reading up and tip-tapping their answers onto their private table top typewriter. But I’m here, in the 24hr library having a very rare moment to blog. A calm, a peace, a luxurious sensation of relaxation -almost unearthly.
Is there hot water in the Coway here?

We like the persons we spend time with. We adore them for their funny character, their kindness and their sensitivities to our emotions. There is a mutualism. Both parties care for each others’ happiness, if they could be the source of it -all the better. Shouldering each others’ burdens and well, the like.

What makes the affinity between two people or one half lessen?
I guess there are many things.

I want to be able to love you and let you go. Let you go when the time’s right, let you go when you choose not to listen, let you go when you choose to take those steps. Steps that seem to take you further away from where I am going. Yet I want to love you that I care for you. That I don’t have to remain at a distance.

I want to like a person patiently, not making judgements of them to soon. Not letting my expectations of an ideal ruin anything before it even begins. To let you be you. And me be me. And it’s okay even if no one likes each other in the end.

 

Sometimes I wonder if God likes us. I mean, he loves all of us..

 

lei