Ali Undone

almost thirty

I'm turning thirty this year. It's not as dreadful as I thought it would be. It is much worse.

I look back and try my very best to see that I am actually something now compared the person I used to be, but I'm not something. I'm honestly not anything at all. I'm still lost. I'm still stubborn. I'm still angry. And worst of all, I am still so very lonely like no one would ever believe.

I think people think I am ungrateful for the things I have received over the years. I am not. And I talk about what other people think like it should matter when it never does. I always end up doing whatever the heck I want anyway. Not that it has made for a happy life. But it's important to me to do what I want with whole hearted selfishness. And so why I have been putting my life on hold for another is a mystery that I will probably never solve in this lifetime. I have gone completely bonkers over this marriage. Turned myself inside-out-up-side-down for a man who could not care less. Jeez, we're not even friends. (my definition of a friend is someone I can expect to dump my problems upon when the stress is too much for me to bear- either by unreasonably complaining about something at the top of my voice or just stupidly crying about it while said person just listened -and no, that's not all a friend should be, but it is the first thing my friends do for me. they don't really have to fix the problem, they just need to help me clear my head about whatever crap I've gotten myself into. and I do get into a whole load of crap all the time. so no, just to be clear, the man I am married to is not my friend at all, he's the type of person who gets mad at you when you're completely freaked out about something bad someone did to you.)

So now I am thinking, maybe this is the year to make a big change. If I can muster the courage to just do what I think I should have done years ago. But I am so very afraid, because in the deep dark honest recesses of this stupid person is a stupid kind of want that rejects all reason. I am completely f*****.

So here's to turning thirty and feeling fifteen. Uncertain, foolish as ever, and doomed if I don't make it.

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what is it with me?

I got upset over lost files today. I lost lots of photos and lots of data. I am a hoarder by nature, and you can't even imagine how horrendous it feels to lose stuff. If I could, I would keep them all.

I think my head had this idea that if I came running to the husband I would get empathy at least. But this head is stupid. I think it was the worst thing to do at that moment. Or any moment of need for that matter, because:

1. the husband is unable to empathize

2. the husband is in the middle of a koreanovela marathon (full house- aza aza fighting!)

3. the husband does not understand the value of my files

4. the husband does not know how to make me feel better when I lose stuff

What is it with me? Why did I think he would fix the bad feeling? Why? So then, after realizing how stupid I was, I cried. But I don't think I cried enough because I still have this stuffy chest and my throat is all tight and uncomfortable. And all this emotional crap is just blah.

Why do I want him to make me feel better? Why? It's the stupidest thing in the world to want someone to make you feel better. It's childish and sappy and really really stupid. And it never works because I want to be made to feel better a certain way. In all of my stubborn stupidity, I don't think I've met anyone who has been able to just erase my bad feelings.

So then I started thinking about all the nice and warm and happy things I've known and one thing stood out. I was sitting on my single bed in my first apartment. And this boy and I was watching tv. And then this boy fell asleep. While I think he was sleeping (I will never know for sure) he put his arms around my waist. (yes folks, once upon a time, I had a real waist that could be seen even when I sat down) I was surprised that it did not tickle because my middle is a picky middle and touch always turns to tickle. He was warm. And for that moment, all was right in my universe.

So now I go back to that moment when I used to be able to just sit next to the husband and feel like I was home. It feels so far away. I think we're falling through the cracks of time. I just want this husband to please be that one person to come home to. I just want him to be that friend I can't stop talking to. I just want him to be that one person that keeps the loneliness away. But he's always so far away. He's here but he's never here.

My friend celebrated her 4th wedding anniversary this year, and on her facebook page she wrote: Happy four years. 2010 marks the fourth year of our wedding too but I'm unable to write happy four years. I was unable to write anything at all. I think I had expectations and hopes and dreams. Four years later I am drowning in my own tears. What is wrong with me?

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too late

I saw photos today. Full color photos of what is now a sea of muck. Did you know it was blue?

I was two decades too late. In the 1960's the Manila Bay was blue. Blue. Blue like the sparkling sapphire. Blue like the San Francisco sky. Blue. Real blue. I cannot say enough of how blue it was. It was so blue I was amazed that no one was swimming. How can people not flock to the water when it was so blue?

In 2000 I joined a dragon boat rowing team and we trained in Manila Bay. On my first day they made me jump off the boat as some sort of initiation right. I did not jump off, I stepped off. I was afraid that jumping will stir up too much muck. Instead I inhaled deeply (so as not to sink too deeply), shut my eyes (so as not to get dirty water in them), stuck as much of my lips as I could between my teeth (to avoid getting water into my mouth), pinched my nose tightly and then stepped off the boat gently. It has to be the single ickiest moment of my life. The water was slimy and it felt like it took forever for my head to break the surface once more. And when I surfaced I felt sheer terror. Fear of the germs and disease and what was clearly the city sewage that I was swimming in. I almost panicked at the thought that my unprotected girly parts were in the water. Ah but I went rowing for an entire school year there after. Talk about insane.

It is so sad to see the blue that once was and sadder still to have such a bad memory of the place that used to be so beautiful. In the books Manila Bay was described as a long beach. I wonder how the sand disappeared. And I wonder how many other places like that were destroyed by idiots like us. Compared to this destruction, my anger pales......Tags: anger, beach, manila bay, 1960, philippines

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Like Senator Palpatine

I think my greatest fear would be to wake up one day and realize that I am my mother. I think I was conditioned to care for her because she bore me and raised me. But I have always wanted to be someone not like her at all.

I think it is creeping up into my head. I imagine it would be like the dark side beckoning. I refuse to be Vader. But when I think about it, Vader seems better because his darkness is clear. I can see that Vader is what he is. Senator Palpatine however, is like an auto-immune disease. Pretending to be the antibody I need and yet heedlessly killing off my healthy cells. It sounds harsh, but my mother is just like Senator Palpatine.

All my friends think that I am such a lucky daughter. They all tell me that I should stop being bad and just be nice to my mother. They all think I did mean things just because I was being a stupid immature rebellious child. But while I was stupid, the decision to stand up to my own mother was not a childish one. I believe I am fighting for the right to receive fair treatment, the right to my own choices, and to receive the respect I deserved as a human being. All my friends think that my mother is a kind and caring person towards her children. God knows she could have done so much better. If she had been but a fraction as kind, I think my siblings and I could have had some sort of happy childhood. She is not entirely void of love. She does care, but her iron fist is physically demanding and her words cut through the heart in ways one must not even dare to imagine. I sound like I am exaggerating. But you will never know what it was like unless you suffered with us.

I think I understand why my father said he was unable to mend his relationship with her. I think I understand why my mother is unable to try to make their marriage right. But for the longest time I had been hoping that they would either make-up already or separate because the clash of the titans has driven us all to madness.

While my mother resembles Senator Palpatine, my father was far from perfect. But I will be honest. I like my father more than my mother because I can talk to my father without being judged. He is able to listen to the dumbest of things that I say without calling me stupid.

I will probably get more crap from writing about this. But I am trying to manage my anger and this is extra unsaid burden that I don't need right now. So I don't care. Anyone can say what they want to say. I know what it was like being my mother's child. And I believe she has broken me beyond belief. But because I care, I have been treating her well for the past months. It is with great effort that I do so because I really don't want to be like her when I get older. I am afraid. I don't think it's possible to be happy with a person like her. Maybe I don't understand who she is. But what she does are things that I pray I would never ever do.

So here we are, four siblings resembling damaged goods. A walking atomic bomb, a compulsive liar, a spineless panic man, and a wordless passive aggressive.

I wish I could blame my Senator Palpatine for all this anger. But I should have seen it coming. From the time I was seven I knew things. I should have been able to release the anger in a healthy way. But I didn't. Instead, I chose to write in my diaries. So now here I am, nearing thirty and not a day more mature than when I was seven years old writing in the notebook I begged to have with messy tear drops all over the pages.

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laundry days

Laundry days are exhausting. Load laundry, wait for it to be cleaned, unload, put on hangers and hang on the pole to dry. (I don't have a dryer and I don't want one.) When the clothes are dry, you take them, fold them and tuck them neatly into the closet. Some clothes require ironing, and I have been using this tiny steam thing that needs a water refill every two button up shirts. It is maddening. I have wanted the heavy duty steamer thing that retails for five thousand pesos but the husband refused to buy one for reasons unknown to me. I have not pushed him to buy one because I think five thousand pesos is a lot of money and therefore a big purchase that needs a lot of thought.

Laundry days are bearable. Laundry days are necessary. So I do it.

Laundry days become the source of rage when the husband has a difficult time choosing what clothes to wear. (which is every single day- in this, he is more the girl than me and I find it taxing to watch him fit a shirt and toss it back in a crumpled heap in the closet.) I hate it. I spend a lot of time and effort steaming clothes, folding them neatly and tucking them away neatly. It usually takes half of MY day and this slob of a man un-do's whatever I made so much energy to accomplish!

My dream solution would be:

1. To have separate closets so far apart that I won't ever see his mess.

2.  To never fold his clothes ever again.

It's probably not a good reason to get angry. But I am tired and frustrated and this laundry lady is completely unappreciated.

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a staggering reflection of me

We have a poodle. And lately he has become aggressive when we try to take socks, or other stuff he's not supposed to chew or eat, from him. The harder the husband scolds him, the worse the fang-baring and insane growling gets.

I think he is channeling my rage.

Last night we had another incident that involved the poodle trying to steal people food from the husband. I didn't know the dog was doing something wrong, until I put my foot in the wrong place and my toes received an attempted bite. (attempted meaning: I felt the teeth but there was no wound.) The husband spanked the dog and the dog turned into this vicious bare fanged monster. So then, the Wookiee was sent to his room without his toys.

I love Finn. I am happy we have a dog, but for the love of all dogs, I have no idea what we are doing wrong. So I tried to talk to the husband. He was, as usual, non-responsive. Like I was bothering him over nothing. But I love Finn and it's not his fault the marriage sucks, so I tried. I think I was able to strike a deal with the husband that instead of spanking and yelling, we would talk to Finn calmly and spray him with citronella water whenever he does something bad. All I got was a dead 'okay'.

It's just sad, what this has come to. And I hate that our friends think that the proposal was so cool (because it was underwater and the husband is claustrophobic and hates the thought of depending on SCUBA for breath). What's the point of a grand declaration of love if the love is lost within a few years? We started dating in mid 2002. That makes almost eight years together. Have we finally had it? How do people do this?

But this is about the dog. I have been thinking this morning. The nice little dog woke me up by licking my face. He was so sweet. So I said, dear God tell me how to take care of this dog because I don't want to have to give him up because of his aggression.

Ah, but answers don't fall from the sky. If they did, I wouldn't even be like this.

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strangers

I don't understand how it happened. But today I realized, I have no idea who my husband is.

I was trying to remember the guy I married. In the car today, I was supposed to be in pilates class but the husband was yelling at me so much, I couldn't stop crying. He said it was my fault. It probably was. He would not have turned into this stranger if I had not done anything wrong.

But I keep thinking about what I tried to do to keep things from falling apart. I do believe I have tried. And I honestly resent the sacrifices I've had to make to give him what he's asked for. They were painful things. And today I am sure I have not gotten over these things.

I regret trying to get pregnant immediately after the wedding. I truly believed I was ready, until I found out I was already pregnant. When I found out I was pregnant, I panicked and thereby realized that I was not ready. After realizing I was not ready, we lost the baby and for the longest time I was convinced it was my fault we lost her. At this moment I believe myself when I say I know it was not my fault we lost the baby. But it still feels unfair that I was pregnant with a baby that was never mine. I think that in some ways I still think it was his fault we got pregnant when I was not ready. I trusted him when he said he was convinced we were ready. I am sure he was. I wasn't sure I was, but because he said WE I believed him and let myself get pregnant. It is for this reason that no matter how many times he tells me we could try again, I refuse. I am not ready. I don't know when I will be ready. But I don't want to try and get pregnant again just to find out if I am ready. I prefer to wait until I am sure I want a baby before I try again. If he is unable to wait until then, that is my fault and no one else's. 

I regret not writing as much about my problems with being in this marriage. I was trying to get away from the prying questions from the people in my life who read this blog. I was trying to protect the husband from friends who ask him about our marriage. So today this post changes that. Or tries to. If there is anything left to save at all.

I regret giving up scuba diving for architecture. I had to skip scuba in order to review for and take the architecture board exams and to work with my husband on his design and construction business for which he has no place for me. It is exhausting and depressing for me. He likes it. He enjoys it. I don't like the job he gives me. I don't believe in the husband's management system. I want to improve some things, but he refuses and everything ends up in arguments over chaos that I did not create to begin with. I tried to convince myself that passing my board exam was for my father, but it really was not. I tried to convince myself that passing the board exam was for my best friend, but it was really not for her. It was really because one night, while we were drifting off to sleep, my husband told me it would be so good for us if I took the architecture board exam and got a license. The bottom line is I have been doing all the architecture stuff for him and it does not make me happy. We always fight about the work. And I am just so tired. It's not that I am not grateful for my license to practice architecture. I am grateful. I believe I am privileged to be in this profession. But I would like to practice on my own terms. I would like to be the kind of architect I respect. Not some pushover with a license whom anyone can just order around to sign and seal things. I was happy to pass the exams. I'm just not happy with the kind of opportunity I am given, to participate in my husband's company. I believe my professional opinion should matter. And being in a company where people refuse to hear what I have to say as an architect or manager will never be good enough for anyone.

I regret asking my husband for help with my anger management problems. While it is true that I am way over my head in the temper department, I never should have asked him for help. First of all, he refuses to listen whenever I tell him I have a problem with exploding anger. And when I say exploding anger, I mean a volcano eruption that intends to wipe out everything in its damn path. I hate myself when I get so angry. The Lord God knows that I have always tried to suppress the anger long before it reaches the critical boiling point. But I almost always never succeed. I have tried countless times to tell the husband nicely to please not bother me because I am mad about something and I am trying to stay calm. But he always meets it with his own brand of anger. He thinks I will stop getting mad if he gets mad first. But it never works and I boil over completely. I am lucky to just be yelling. But some days, at the peak of anger I want to bang my head against the wall just to make it stop. Of course I have not cracked my skull just yet. But I am so scared that it is just a matter of time. I think the sad part is that he does not see that I am so afraid of my own anger. Each time I get mad at him for something he does, he equates it with something else. He does not see how much I struggle with myself. I know that the anger is not me. But it is inside me and many times it has taken over and I have felt like someone else altogether. I have been unable to process it when it comes. I feel helpless. I am starting to believe I am a psych case.  Well maybe I am.

Today I was beginning to get mad when he got mad at me. He kept saying he was mad at me for saying something because I got mad at something he did. He kept telling me to shut up. He kept saying I should just shut up so we will never have any problems anymore. He kept saying I should forget about anything he does that makes me mad so that I won't get mad anymore. The whole time he was yelling and I don't even think he knew he had been yelling at me. I could not even look at him. The tears just fell. Thank God for the tears because it's harder when the tears don't come when all I want to do is cry. I asked him if he wanted to break up. He did not say no but he got mad and said I wanted to quit. But I am just so tired of explaining myself to someone who does not try to understand. I am tired of doing what works for him. I want to do things that work for Me. I have tried his methods of forgetting and shutting up and it has only brought me to sitting on top of this angry monster inside of me that threatens to take over my life. And I keep thinking, what will happen to me if this monster wins? I want to fix myself so that I can stop looking over my shoulder all the time. I could not believe that I was married to a man who did not care about how my anger was eating me up. He did not even say that he was going to help. All he said was that I should fix myself. Even when I was begging him to please please please help. And when he spoke he spoke about work things that needed to be done. The pain was terrible. How could I want to be with this person who refuses to help me? I hate him as much as I hate myself.

He told me he could not remember the last time I told him I love him. He said I tell him I hate him all the time. I could not remember the last time I told him I love him. I can't remember the last time I told him I hate him. That makes me the worst wife ever. But I can't remember the last time we made love either. All I know is that he has refused sex too many times so I have stopped asking and have resorted to just trying to forget about it. I haven't had a real kiss in months, and it is not that I have not tried to have a proper kiss. He always says he has a mouth sore and should not kiss. I think that this marriage was over a while back. I wish I was the kind of wife who cheated. Then maybe I could have taken a lover and used the love I got, from whoever that man could have been, to patch up the empty places of my relationship with my husband. But that would have been the saddest of all, wouldn't it?

I think he expects me to be the perfectly sane, stable person who will always be happy and perky everyday. Which brings me to, the first thought I have everyday when I wake up - "I want to be happy." But everyone knows it is not always a happy day. You want it to be happy, but it is not always so. You try to make it happy but the world is never yours.

I don't know him anymore. I can't think of a reason to stay married. But I wish I did not have to break up with him. I have this hope of making it work. But it is very small and shrinking every day.

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Sheep on a Leash

We were on High Street walking Finn when a lady with a toddler approached me. I smiled at them, thinking that the little girl wanted to pet Finn. (which is usually the case)

To my surprise the lady blurted out: "ano yan sheep?" (what is it? a sheep?).

I stammered and said: "ay hindi, dog siya." (oh, no, he's a dog.)

She looked at me like she could not believe it was a dog. I smiled again and said 'bye. She continued to stare at Finn as we walked away.

This evening, for some reason, the husband and I remembered that. And we laughed. Laughter is so precious these days. Thank God for my sheep on a leash.

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fluffy at 7 months

I gave Finn a bath yesterday. He didn't like the soaping part but he did like the water. So now his hair is all fluffy and clean.

I love his fluffy hair. I am so grateful we don't get mats anymore. I'm planning to keep it short until summer is over. He's always trying to sneak into the air-conditioned room or lay in front of the fan.

Today is his seventh month. He's so old already. And he's started humping stuff..oh dear. We're considering having him neutered, but the vet thinks he's got worth as a stud. But I don't know. Everyone he meets thinks he's so darn cute. And kids almost always seem to want to squeeze the life out of him.

It's nice to have a little dog. If I can find a beach resort that allows little doggies to stay maybe I can go swimming with him..maybe..

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damned

So there we were trying to communicate. At least I thought we were trying. Maybe. Who the heck knows. The God in heaven would be proud. I did not scream or yell. I spoke. I told Alvin all the things I was worried about, all the things I was stressed about, all the things that pissed me off, all the things that made me so very very sad.

He has finally spoken. And in his infinite wisdom he says to me that if I can just stop being so angry with him we will be okay. The problem is, like I told him many many times over the past months, I am unable to rein in the rage the moment it reaches a certain level.

But of course he would have none of that. He thinks I should be able to control my anger because I am almost thirty and I am a professional. I have never heard anything more ridiculous in my entire life.

He thinks I should not be getting mad over little things. I agree. But that is why I think I have a problem - I get too angry. And it does not feel right. And while it does not feel right, I am incapable of stopping myself - as both of us have experienced on various occasions.

Would I be asking for help with something I can deal with myself?

I feel like a fucking addict who just admitted a need for help and was turned away. At this point I do believe substance abuse might be a considerably simpler problem. I mean come on, if I was a smoker I can just smoke for the rest of my life and die young.

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