I've lost that lovin' feeling

A twister hits!

I don't know what to grieve for first: my only brother's death, my uncle's death, or the death of my marriage. All happened in quick succession.

I don't think I have cried properly. Certainly the tears have rolled down, and I have wiped them as fast  as they have rolled down. And there I would go, get on with what needs to be done.

Don't also know really what is worst: to lose a loved one from death, or to lose a loved one for reasons unknown. Yes, reasons unknown. I never asked my husband for his reasons, I saw no point in it.

You could say that I'm avoiding to hear it, and that is true. But if there's such a thing as being more closer to truth it would be that I have no energy to fight. I am runing on empty.

Years of abuse.

When have I stopped loving you?

I have no idea. I am mourning the marriage. But not mourning losing you.

The flipside of love is loss and grief.

The Juggler

I am at the cusp of finishing my studies. Just 10 weeks to go and it's done. No more reading, no more writing. No more exams. No more late nights. Or more like early mornings before I hit the sack.  

I gave myself three years to do this. And if anyone thinks it had been difficult, yes, you are right. It had been an enormously difficult journey. You don't cease being wife and mother. 

You don't cease being an employee. The housework does not disappear. The kids' assignments cannot wait. Their learning also cannot wait. The bills cannot wait. So I juggled.

I juggled everyday hoping I don't drop the ball. But somehow as I near the end of that journey, the juggling gets harder. Perhaps because my body is now tired. Or perhaps because my hands are now tired from trying to catch each ball. Or that my mind is tired.

Over the last two and a half years, the eldest finished high school and now at university. I was supervising him with his major projects for his HSC last year whilst I was also trying to beat my own deadlines at work and at uni.

The second boy finished primary and started high school last year. His calmness and organisational skills helped a lot from easing the pressure on me.

The youngest started kindy, and needs my attention as well to make learning a fun experience. So I became the class parent organising events for the class.

Last year, 15 sets of school uniforms await me to wash every weekend. That includes 15 pairs of socks. That excludes the rugby uniforms the two older boys have for training and matches every week.

But I have dropped the ball. The house is not immaculately clean. My commitment to do more humanitarian work had to wait. I have missed catching up with friends. I have missed birthdays that I should have not forgotten. I have not visited my homeland and I am homesick like crazy. I have not looked after myself as well as I should and I am packing up weight like a whale.

I comfort myself that there are only 10 weeks left. The end is near. There is light at the end of the tunnel.

I am always fascinated by the juggler at the circus. Amazed at his dexterity and focus. He is trained to juggle. Years of training to perfect the art.

I have no training in my kind of juggling. I've just simply done it crossing my fingers (and toes) that I don't drop the ball and hit my head. But I have. And the ball has hit my head several times already.

My juggling continues. I remain wife, mother, employee, friend, family. I hope to drop less balls in the next 10 weeks. But if I do, I seek your understanding.

"I Love You in the Whole World"

My youngest son just came to the study. He is four. His face grubby with barbecue sauce from his sandwich for lunch. Gave me a cuddle, a kiss and declared: "Mommy, I Love You in the Whole World!"

My second boy asked permission to scoot around the neighbourhood as finally the rain lifted and the skies are clear.

The eldest decided to meet up with his friends in the city.

The husband is out somewhere.

So here I am, in the company of a four-year old who never ceases to want and give kisses, cuddles and saying he loves me.

Motherhood defines me. I never thought I'd be a mother, let alone enjoy it and love being one immensely.

In my youth, I dreamed of going places, pursuing a career, be successful.

I still went places, I still pursued a career, but it is as much as to fulfil my dreams as it is to provide for my children and set an example for them.

And when my child says "mummy, I love you in the whole world!" That is the most exciting, fulfilling reward I could ever get.

I love you too boys, in the whole world.

When sleep evades

It's 4:47am as I write this. No, I did not have a nap during the day. No, I did not have coffee or tea. It's simply that sleep evades me tonight.

What's in my mind? Many things and nothing.  That's how it usually goes, is it not? That pervasive niggling thought that denies us sleep, yet we also consciously know that we can stay up all night and nothing is going to change.

Where is the "nothingness?" Because apart from my consciousness, my thoughts mean nothing to anyone else.

A habit I have as a child is to pick a book at random, and open a page at random. 

One book I opened on page 120 reads "the absence of guilt, pride, hate, envy makes life peaceful. And that is what the search has all been for - peace during the waking state which exists in the deep sleep state." It also speaks of Liberation as "the freedom from alternating sense of happiness and unhappiness... It is the total final understanding in the heart that there is no doer, no experiencer."(Confusion No More, Ramesh S. Balsekar)

The other book is of the Dalai Lama's teachings. Pretty powerful stuff but needs a lot of reflection. He wrote "love can arise on the basis of a clear recognition of the other person, and a genuine respect for the well being and rights of others... love based on strong attachment towards one's close ones is ...something that has to be ultimately purified. A certain degree of detachment must be developed."

With my eldest son finishing high school this year and hopefully continues on to university next year, I feel like these are timely messages to wean me off from my attachment with my first born. He will be a young adult in a few months, I need to let him fly and chase his destiny. And still be secure that I will always remain his mother.

Mother and Wife

(To my fellow mothers and wives)

It's Sunday morning and I was woken by my 2-and-a-half year old son at 6am telling me he wants to watch 'arry Potter, his bum is 'uck (yuck and thus needs nappy change) and wants a bottle. I so wanted to sleep in, but I got up, put on the Harry Potter DVD, went to wash my face and hands, made his bottle of milk, and on my way back to our room, picked up a nappy, his box of wipes, nappy rash cream, powder and a change of clothes.

It is Sunday morning and I so wanted to sleep in. 

The bedlam in the next room has already started with my 15 and 10 year old sons already arguing what to play on their PS3. I dread going in to mediate so early hoping that perhaps they can resolve their differences by themselves. But that wasn't to be. 

My husband was still asleep, I tried to get all 3 boys to settle down.

The kitchen was messy from last night's dinner -- I went out to catch up with friends, while hubby minded the boys and made dinner for all 4 of them. Bless him, but the dishes, glasses, cutlery, pots and pans are waiting for me.

I made my way back to the kitchen, but remembered I had the whites which I soaked last night needing to be hung up the clothes line. I have to do that first while the skies are cooperating, just in case it rains again. Sydney's summer had been unpredictable 

It's only 7:30am. I've hung the laundry, loaded the towels used this week into the washing machine and cleaned up the kitchen.

I can hear my hubby awake now playing and laughing with the little one. The 10-year old comes to the kitchen asking what's for breakfast, and I said cereals or toast, and he replies "can we have french toast, please mum." Oh dear.

Eggs, milk, vanilla paste and salt into the mixing bowl, checked if we have enough cinnamon sugar otherwise, I'm in trouble. All in order. Older boys happy.

I am keeping a mental check of what else needs to be done -- well, it doesn't really take that long. The clothes rail in my wardrobe needs fixing, and I've asked hubby to fix it but knowing him, I'll have to repeat and remind him again today. Failing to do that today means I'll have to wait till next weekend for him to do something about it.

Then there's the two baskets of laundry that needs folding, the couches needs cleaning and conditioning (I thought buying a leather couch will make job easier, but no), the lounge room needs tidying up, my clothes need sorting. And let's not go into the boys' room. I'll leave it till later.

On weekends, I am fulltime mother and wife. On weekdays, I am still full time mother and wife but just happens to have a paying 9-5 job elsewhere. Say what?  Yes, once a mother and wife, it never ends, it doesn't matter that I have a full time job, I remain mother and wife.

On weekdays my day starts at 6am if lucky enough to have done and prepared everything the night before. By everything, that means, I have cleaned and mopped the kitchen, pressed the boys' school uniforms, got the youngest son's bag and bottles ready for childcare. I drop off the youngest son at childcare by 8:15, and I am at work at 8:30 with a big smile and cheerful good morning to my colleagues. Never mind that I just had 5 hours sleep tops on most days, I am the professional working woman from this hour onwards.

At 3:30pm I am reminded of my role of mother and wife again from one of the kids calling me after school with a "what's for dinner, mum?" It's only 3:30pm, I haven't switched to mother and wife mode yet, but there's my reminder, on the dot and consistently. What a charmed existence. So I'd say, I haven't thought of it yet, but we have such and such in the freezer, what would they like me to make? If it's a Filipino dish that the older boys are after, then guaranteed, I'll be cooking at least 2 dishes for dinner. 

You see, my husband's Palestinian and a Muslim. He grew up in land-locked Nablus where seafood is scarce, but lamb and chicken in abundance. I still haven't converted him into seafood, I have not met his challenge to make fish that does not smell fishy. All through these years and I still failed! Thoughts, anyone?

I have yet to send the last email out before I call it a day, and it's nearly 5:30pm, the childcare closes at 6pm, missing the train means being late to pick up the toddler, which means a hefty penalty. So I am rushing, the blood in my brain is rushing. I still don't know what to make for dinner. 

Bassil greets me with a big hug and a big kiss at childcare, and says "I want to eat" -- so I fumble through my handbag and fish out a muesli bar with strawberry yoghurt. His favourite. I am loathe at giving him food just before dinner, but it is bribery time, or else I have a wailing toddler on our way home. Anything, just about anything, I will do to keep everyone happy. Including a 2-and-a-half year old toddler.

The older boys meet us on the door, the 15-year old taking his youngest brother out from the stroller and the 10-year old helping me with the groceries. I am too exhausted, tempting to order pizza, but I've used up the pizza allowance already on Fridays and can't have 2 weeknights on pizza. I must cook. And it saves money.

"I want to eat" says Bassil again, so I make him a toast with nutella. Five minutes later, he's proudly showing off his messy hands and face and running around threatening his older brothers with his messy hands. Oldest brother finally catches him and takes him into the bathroom to wash off the nutella both on hands and face. Bless the 15 year old.

"I want 'arry. where's 'arry?" says Bassil again. The 10-year old had hidden his Harry Potter DVDs, a toddler has no concept or understanding yet that the DVDs need careful handling. The 10-year old is the fastidious one who tidies up and vacuums the lounge room floor when he gets home from school.

I say to the older boys to please entertain their youngest brother so I can continue on making dinner. "How long would dinner take mum?" I say "soon."

Half an hour later, the 10-year old comes to the kitchen asking "is dinner ready yet, mum" I say, another 10 minutes. The eldest boy comes and says to me "mum, I need a hug". Alright, stop mocking me. But he insists that he needs a hug with a cheeky grin in his face. So I stop what I am doing, turns to him and gives him a hug. He complains I was doing it begrudgingly. I say, "go away and let me finish making dinner." He laughs and leaves me alone.

It's 7:30pm and hubby walks in the door, says "hi, what's for dinner?" Oh dear. Not another hungry male.

By the time I've served dinner, I'm too exhausted to join them, so I make coffee, walks out of the kitchen door, coffee in one hand and cigarette on the other. I hear them call out "aren't you hungry?" "No I'll eat later."

But that's my weekdays. It's still Sunday, and there's lunch to make, and there are chores to do.

Finally we all settled for sandwiches and the boys complained but it's meant to be a big lunch on Sundays, and I say, I'll make something else tonight, let me just get on with the housework.

Hubby still haven't fixed my clothes rail, and the probability that he will remember is zilch. The probability that he'll be cranky if reminded is high. So I just wait, until he's also finished washing the car and the odds and ends he's doing.

My mind wanders to my friends, cousins and relatives back home who have help to call upon. I wonder how exhausted can they be? What does being mother and wife mean to them? My cousin who is a stay-at-home wife also has 3 kids but 2 housemaids, lucky it's only 2 now, it was 3 before. My two aunts both stay-at-home wives have a housemaid each. I wonder what do they do? Apparently, they're tired and exhausted every night just as I am. And I wonder again, from what?

I am not judging them, I am simply jealous that they have house help. But I chose to leave my country. I chose to leave behind the middle class lifestyle that I was brought up with with nannies for the children, a maid that just does the cleaning and cooking, another maid to do the laundry and ironing, and driver who takes us around.

Whenever I call my aunt to complain how tired I am, she always remind me to remember that no one forced me to become a mother and a wife. It was all my decision, so I must live with it.

The wife of a friend from college just gave birth to their second child, and she's complaining that she can't cope with two kids and must have a maid. And I say "what the f###? she's just at home!" But hey, that's the middle-class lifestyle in the Philippines. Everyone who can afford a maid, gets a maid. I would have done the same if I was there, most likely.

A work acquaintance is trying to talk me into taking up an overseas assignment, and it just happens to be the Philippines. The carrot? He says to me, "think about it Mariza, you can have a maid and a driver for yourself." Oh dear. It's so, so tempting.

Yes, I am tired, but I am mother and wife. And I also happen to be a working woman. Mother and wife is an unpaid job, satisfying but exhausting. My other life is a paid job that allows me to meet my responsibilities as a mother and wife and puts less pressure on the hubby.

I am afterall, simply just another migrant mother and wife. The juggling of work and home life is not unique to me. The exhaustion is not unique to me either. It is an every day occurrence to other mothers and wives in the country that I chose to call home. And perhaps in other countries too. Just not the Phillippines though.

I wish I have a maid who lays out dinner as soon as I walk in the door home. I wish I have a maid who lays out pressed clothes for my family and I. I wish I have a maid who does the groceries and puts them away in the right places. I wish I have a maid who scrubs the bathroom till it sparkles. But I don't.

So, it is Sunday afternoon still, I have my coffee in one hand, and cigarette on the other. I take a 5-minute break from the chores that need doing.

All the men in my life are inside happy. And I am happy. Just tired.

And nothing has changed, I remain, mother and wife. And tomorrow's Monday, I will be mother, wife and an employee for the next 5 days, till the weekend comes, that is.

And I remain truly theirs, mother and wife.