The Brutally Blunt

Extra Terrestrial.

“Cinnamon.”, I thought, taking another whiff at the familiar smell that suddenly hung in the air. I was at the state of being partly conscious, mostly asleep but even then I could recognize the sweet aroma of cinnamon candles. Thoughts of last autumn filled my mind as precious memories surface on the inside of my closed eyelids. Sleep was beckoning me and I almost welcomed it - ALMOST. A sudden hit of bitter realization dawned on me as I remembered what had happened and the end of last autumn. The memory that I desperately hid in the back of my mind was making its way out. I forced my tired eyes open, to prove to myself that he wasn’t there, that he won’t ever be back, that I’m safe. I was wrong.

He was there. Casually leaning on my desk, where an orange cinnamon candle sat, similar to the one I had before. I should’ve known. I sat up, wide-eyed, beads of swear framing my forehead, throat dry. He smiled at me, his lips revealing perfect set of white teeth. I wanted to speak, to tell him to leave but I couldn’t help but gawk at his face. He was heavenly and I hated the fact that he still had that effect on me. The square of his jaw that led to his irritatingly perfect lips to his chiseled-like cheekbones - he looked like someone who was too good to exist. He doesn’t. He shouldn’t. Not in my planet, atleast.

His amethyst eyes were set on me; piercing through my irises, into my mind, pounding at my soul. I shivered, my hand turning to ice, my muscles straining as I rolled them into fists. His eyes seemed to glow a bit, like neon signs at a late night pub or maybe I was just too mesmerized with them. Either way I was completely enchanted. The intensity of his presence emanated right off him and circled me; percolating through every layer of my skin, sending chills to my bare shoulder and melting away whatever that was left of the courage I had inside - the courage to resist him.

He crossed the distance separating us and sat by the foot of my bed; one foot bent under him, one on the floor. He had on white V neck shirt under a black trench coat that hung until his thighs that would’ve looked shabby on someone else but what intstead made him look like he came out of a catwalk. Deep indentations on his collar bone proved being physically. He was so handsome. I had to admit that - atleast to myself.

I broke his stare and acted irrate; crossing my arms, staring at a spot on my blanket. “I’m sorry”, he whispers. That deep, raspy voice waltzed into my ear, feeding thousands of memories to life. I had a mental whimper and I wanted to break down right there and then; hidden emotions fighting their way out of my eyes in form of tears. He reached out for me but I edged away. “Leave”, I said with cracked voice. Caramel tousled hair framed his eyes full of pain; pain for the guilt in his gut and pity, for the girl he aggravated.

The fear of mediocrity.

“Is this all I am capable of?” - a day of my life does not rush by, without this question popping in big, bold, black letters on the insides of my eyelids. There seems to be a particular surge within me that yearns for recognition; a live cord, waiting to electrocute anyone that would take notice. I feel that if my work is not branded to be the best or above everyone else’s… I am nothing.

Whether it’s a subconscious yearning or an innate attitude of mine, I don’t know. What I do know is that, it is affecting me negatively.

There are moments when I catch myself, fabricating thoughts in my mind; from being stagnant, not impproving, to being disappointingly inadequate. I plunge into a deep pool of devastation and unhapiness that I start to loathe the subjects that once have been the centre piece of my interest’s spotlight.

I sometime’s wonder if I am taking this stress more destructively than constructively. Although I can’t help any of these contradicting battles in my mind. Day by day, word by word, I feel as if I am falling stationary and unimproving - falling deeper and deeper into the murky pools of mediocrity.

A Man’s Last Battle

I froze and stared at the red word scrawled across the bottom of the A4 paper. Everything and everyone else in the room seemed to disappear into the ground, leaving me and the document behind. A weird mix of animosity, denial and sadness coursed within my veins, causing a helpless pain in my heart. My hands were trembling as I read through the letters that confirmed the reality, the reality I wanted to run from, the reality that I just couldn’t accept. I blink once, twice, forcing my eyes to show me what my heart so badly wanted to see; desperately willing away this lie that is mockingly flashing at me, etching a shadow into my vision that even as I close my eyes in denial, was still there, prominent and sardonic as it would have been with them open.

“I’m so sorry”, said the man in white. Who was this man again? Right, the doctor, he was the doctor. “What we can do is…” I stood up, cutting him mid-sentence. “I think we’re done here, doctor. Come on, Mary. We’re going home.” She looks at me from her seat, a bewildered look masks her features, almost in protest but she didn’t say a word. We went home in silence. I could feel my wife’s apprehension rising within her but she’s using every ounce of her power to keep it down. She was always like that; fifty-eight years of marriage and still not aware that I can sense her every emotion. I want to comfort her, I want to take her in my arms and assure her I’m alright. I can’t. Not yet, because it certainly isn’t.

We reach home, she tells me she’s going to make dinner and I smile, acting like everything was absolutely alright. I walk out on our front yard, near the gate and looked at the home that nurtured my family. Memories of earlier years played in my mind, from my wedding day to the birth of my second beautiful child until the day of my retirement. Memories where my family could rely on me, where everyone adored my dedication to my work, where I was of great value. A tear escapes my eye as I stand there reminiscing, thinking that all these memories would soon be erased by a disease, disabling me to be of any use. The realization of being struck with Alzheimer’s disease, a dementia with no cure, was degrading. Here I am, completely and perfectly capable but chained and bounded to a disease that only ever materialized to me as a fancy word.

Is this how I’m going to spend the last years of my life? Am I going to be a burden for my family? The thought disheartened me deeply, it was as if a needle poked through that balloon of emotions I’ve managed to keep inflated throughout the years and is now slipping out in form of muted weeps. I am a father, a husband and soon to be a grandfather; I want to still be able to play the roles that have been bestowed upon me. Becoming a liability for your family is the greatest insult a man can ever be but in this battle thrust upon me, Iam helpless. I guess in the end, there are certain things man cannot take control of, where acceptance is the only key to a renewed life.

Today’s meaning of ‘Marriage’

Whenever we hear the word marriage, we all tend to think about love. Why? Simple: because that’s what forms marriages. Supposedly, marriages are the ultimate and legal binding of two indiviudals as a result of deep infatuation for one another. It’s suppose to be a lifelong commitment, where in the two are not just willing or ready to be faithful, love and support each other but are yearning and aching to do so. With marriage comes great responsibility, people do not usually get into marriage without thoroughly assessing one’s self. Maturity in both physical and emotional aspects, play a big role. To be able to support and provide for one’s family is the one objective evryone’s suppose to ponder upon before jumping into the big whirlpool of a married life.

These are SUPPOSE to be what marriage is all about, but our fast changing world has altered its true essence. Couples today take marriages so lightly that only a handful of them do not end up in divorce. They’ve developed a sort of mentality that, it would be fine to get married without putting much thought into it because they can get a divorce later on. To be able to raise a family while juggling work hours along with it in our lives today, would sooner or later be considered as a talent.

This is what adults of today do not yet realize, what the effect of their irresponsible behaviors would have for the later generation. Because of the hike in divorce rate, there would in turn be more broken families and thus may result to troubled children. The effect of this could be, at an exceptional extent, positive but that does not even compete to all the negative outcomes it has in our society already. It is in fact very evident, looking at the teenage-drug addicts, rebelllion, eloping, etc.

If there’s a solution for this, I don’t know, because I am merely speaking as young observer. The budding generation of today, must be educated and mentored about, not only school work but real life, real scenarios because they would determine the society’s norms. I guess in the end, the adults who complain about teenage behaviors, attitudes and vulgarisms, forgot who raised them.

My hopes and fears as a First Language English student.

“First language, Set 1” - is my reply when asked what English class I’m in. I honestly take great pride in saying that. Everyone knows that only certain students of high-caliber are qualified to enter this class and that’s what makes it the more elite. That sense of exclusiveness gives prestige to me and it’s a wonderful honor.

On a productive note though, getting into First Language is one thing but maintaining your grades is another. To top it off the teachers also have the privilege to demote you to Second language. In this class we are mixed with students coming from other sections; students we know nothing of; students whose writing capabilities are completely a mystery to us.

That is what intimidates me the most. I fear that my writing skills aren’t adequate to compete with my new peers. The realization dawned on me that I might not get the top marks as I had the previous year. It’s quite overwhelming and all in all frightening but I guess my only refuge is to be optimistic.

With all these pressure devastating me, I can only cope by raising whatever that is left of my self-esteem; thinking that, I wouldn’t be assigned into this class, if they didn’t think I was capable in the first place. There would be a lot more to learn, both from my classmates and Ms. Rina and ultimately, it will all be up to me, to do my best in absorbing, processing and executing whatever it is that may be taught in class. It wouldn’t be easy but I’m hoping for the best and expecting the inevitable.