JUST A Blaahhhhh!g

Am confronted with the reality of death. I still burn inside every now and then. I taste acrid, bitter. Daily stress take its toll and hesitation towards kitchen work creep in. What is food but to sustain...and what is cooking but only to recreate what is already edible, and digestible. I feel very sick now, too sick even to escape to my now favorite comfort: cooking and eating. Naming this blog (blahhh!g actually) is, in truth, an improvised noise of voices in my head. I write about food and life, when my heart screams "laaaaaaaaame!" See how "lame" (English) reads delicious (lami) in my native dialect. It's a resemblance of this pretentious blog of mine. Because I don't really like to write about food and life...well, not always. And i don't really remember the past or people, not oftentimes, whenever im in the kitchen (that happens, always, during my REM.) Most of the time i remember the tea im boiling when im hooked up with my "research work" (ha! classy term for surfing the internet) and find the kitchen filled with aroma of mint...and the pot with evaporated tea. I remember the clothes in the washing machine, after a no-break-daily-3-hour-chore of making the bed, feeding and bathing the boys, cleaning the kitchen, "dettoling" (im a new fan of the disinfectant) furnitures and doors, vaccuming the 220 sq.m. floor. By that time, the clothes are almost dry inside the only-spin-no-dryer machine. Nevertheless, they have to be hanged and sprayed with anti-bac Downy. Afterwards, I clean the bathroom with a quarter cup of Dettol.

These are what i remember everyday. Whenever i am about to eat, that's when i begin to yawn, or "remember" that i have a headache and must take Panadol after eating, or remember that i haven't sat down nor stretched within the past three hours. ANd when am about to relax, (im usually still unbathed until noon) Leaf cries for milk...breastmilk. And then he sleeps for an hour. Then i take a shower, then fold the clothes (from yesterday's laundry), then finish my tea while teaching Sam ABC's and 123's (stole the term from Barney)
Within this half-day time frame (day starts at 8am, sun sets at 8pm, so half of midy is at 2pm) doing all these chores, i steal a few minutes to chat with friends back home, grab anything non-toxic from the ref (for i might mistake some meds for food) just to fill my grumbling tummy, run to Leaf who is stirring from his one-hour 11am nap and feed him (lying down and eating at the same time) and then clean up Sami's mess (toys and food) and Sami's mess (diaper change.) I should be going crazy by 2 pm but their afternoon nap always spares me from that. And I should be exhausted due to my OCPD (assuming this diagnoses of my 70-year old-hanging-on-to-shreds-of-youth male shrink is correct) but the silence of the house (and its cleanness) brings in a little luxury for me which is solitude. That's the time I write, and exhale, and expel stress. However, I couldn't. Because I end up doing "research work" again, perhaps subconsciously looking for a way to relieve me from something deeper than this socalled "stress."

At night, I do acrobatics, feeding Leaf, while Sami finds his way (all over me) to cuddle with me. It's almost symbolic...feeling like i'm walking on a tight rope, doing a balancing act, and actually wanting to just jump and finish off the act with a "blahhg!" but i couldn't because i have precious lives hanging onto me. When they sleep, I remember (again) that I am tired. And I should sleep. But I couldn't. So I cry. Loud, but a little shamelessly, for I cover my face with a pillow (and i think of washing the pillow in the morning.) I cry because I feel helpless, and in pain from head to toe. I cry because I feel alone. I cry...and I remember the good old days. And I cry even more, remembering life back then, back home. I think of how I considered pain to be something beautiful then and now it is something that makes me think of sickness, then death. Thus, i come face to face with my own mortality. And then, I remember God. Then I pray. Then I begin to remember the things that I should be thankful for, like love. I remember Tarek, who never fails to ask me, all the time when he is home if i need or want something. He bathes the boys, and feeds them everytime he is home. He cooks, makes the bed, lets me sleep when he is home. I thank God for back rubs and foot massages. I thank God for a husband who gives me my medicine everytime I feel ill. I thank God for 'i love you's" and hugs and kisses, every single day. I thank God for my healthy children. I thank God for family and friends. I thank God for I want nothing more, but only a good sleep and to swim on a pool again (wearing a swimsuit of course) with my boys. I thank God for hope. I thank God for grace. And most of all, I thank God for love.
Stress could be good...or is it "pain" that is good? Because it makes you cry. And it is good to cry. It makes everything looks normal afterwards. But it is better to pray, for it makes everything all right.