Its been a lomg while since last blogging but I think its about time I start putting my thoughts somewhere.... as insignificant as they are.
In March of 2015, a family friend passed away of Cancer. In April of 2015, my grandpa passed away of old age. In May of 2015, my uncle suddenly passed away in his sleep. In a short span of 3 months, 3 people who I have once known, connected with or beem close with, left the world.... disappeared from my life.
I cry, I tear.... I still do. I can't tell whether its because I'm just pmsing and can cry at anything or perhaps, I'm generally just afraid of the concept of death and the thought of it overwhelms me. Thinking of these 3 people remind me of death and perhaps, that's the reason I cry.
I dont like hospitals either. The sight of the hospital beds, the blankets, the baring walls and the smell. I can't remember a single time of which I stepped in a hospital for something positive. It reminds me of my brother and the days I spent at the hospital with him. It reminds me of the time he got rushed to er after hyperventilation at baseball practice. It reminds me of the time he called me to save him cos he allegedly experimented with too much drugs. Cocaine. I hatr yhat word and I hate to say it. I hate to look at that word. Its so unpleasant.
I hate the hospital meals, thr plastic cups containing liquid lIke substance they call soup. It reminds me of the disgusting meals my grandpa had to eat before his death.
I hate the nurses. Who you know doesn't give a shit about the people they care for and what they do is merely a paycheque that puts food on the table for them.
In June 2015 I stepped into a hospital again. This time, to welcome a new life to the world. But I still hate everything about the hospital because it reminds me of life's insecuritiE's.
I see little Xin er curious and gentle with her new baby sister. Forces me to recall my own encounter when my brother came to the world. Its vague. I remember the distant hospital visits. I remember mom and dad came to pick me up fro. School as baby brother laid in thr baby carriage. I remember craving to love my baby brother but being stripped of that oppottunity because my mother substantially pushed me out of her life for hI'm - she chose him over me. Now, that may not be true but that's the impressions I had growing up. Watching Vids from back them, of my baby brother's kindergarden graudation saddens me. He was so cute and lovable, all he wanted was for his sister to love him more. But i was forced into a poisonous home environment that didn't give. me a chance to practice love. All that has led to my regrets today still and the guilt thatbi am responsible for my brothrrs outcome today. I wasn't a good sister because I couldn't be. Its a helpess feeling that will never go away because I'm stuck with it for life.
I don't think I can ever be a mother of 2 kids. I don't think I can ever get pass the psychological challenge of treating both kids equally and fairly.
