You’re Not Broken.

“You’re not broken” he whispers into her sleeping ears, kisses the top of her head and watches her sleep.

I always imagined God to be like that. Only because I don’t see God physically at all. It’s like a father who has been out doing work all day, coming home late at night and tip toeing into his daughters room to kiss her goodnight.

Growing up, I’ve faced people telling me I need to change only because I’m so different from many people out there. There isn’t many people who understand me, and the ones that really do are only a handful. Only because I’m strong, independent and ambitious even at a very young age, when children are learning what they should become- I’ve had an idea of what I want. But being young, your voice don’t matter. The adults laughed and say I’ll outgrow it, they say I’ll learn from life. When what I believe clashes with theirs they try to break my spirit- through force or the usual punishment. It was difficult, trying to live in my own skin. I had issues with myself, believing I was broken only because society couldn’t accept me for me. I was young, I wanted to be heard, and yet, I was being asked to keep quiet. When I did try to be what they wanted, I hated myself. Only because I know it’s not who I am.

22 today, and things haven’t changed much. I’m still independent, the things I like back then, I still love right now. I’m still individualistic- and I do believe you don’t have to fit in to society to survive. If there’s one thing I’m very proud of- is that I haven’t changed who I am to become what society wanted me to be. That I managed to be who God made me to be- different. The only different is that I’m older now- and the things I would have said when I was 7 suddenly becomes “wise”. And no, I don’t regret not conforming, I don’t regret fighting the believes of society, I don’t regret holding my believes and character- and I’ve never been more comfortable.

I like to believe that I am who I am today, comfortable with myself, loving this person I’ve become- different and all, only because God chose to tell me “You’re not broken” over and over and over when I was asleep. I know I’m not here by my own strength. I know that at 13, when I had my first identity crisis, I knew God helped me through. When I was crying everyday trying to understand where I belonged, when I couldn’t find the right people to help me develop myself because no one understood where I was coming from, no one got me- I was always wrong somewhere and the “right” was didn’t feel all that right, God took charge.

I wasn’t all right, He had to change many things, He had to break many things, He had me face many troubles, many fears, many problems- but He never let go of my hand. My fondest memory- was realising that I wasn’t broken. That I am who I am, as God made me to be. I wasn’t a broken doll- and this was before any personality tests were created. My fondest memory of my journey has got to be the day I realised who I am, the things that made me, me. The different things. I can’t tell you how special I felt for being “eccentric” because I feel like God made me extra special.

A few days ago, I did a personality test- and just like the many I’ve done before, it tells me the same things. I’m special- there is only 5% to 10% of the population who has my personality. You have no idea how special I feel, out of 6 billion over people and I’m part of that small percentage. I’m not broken, I’ve never been broken. I was just made differently. And sure it was hard last time- because I wanted to just fit in. But overtime I realised, I’d rather be me, special, than be like the world’s “right” standard.

And also only because I knew God knew what He was doing, and that I choose to believe He kept on whispering “You’re not broken” to me, and I subconsciously heard him.

aLLy

 

When Evening Falls.

And you are there
In my heart, at the start
of my my every morning
and i can’t deny, by the end of the day
that I’m runnin’ on empty
But you make it full, Steal my breath
You’re so unpredictable,
That’s what I’m comin home to

- Andrew Allen, Loving You Tonight

 

This coming from a girl who has been in your head all morning. How do I know, because you tell me everyday. The first text, the first song, the first thing in the morning- I’m there running through your head. And I love, that we wake up every morning thinking about each other, not what we have to do, not what our job is going to demand from us, not our responsibilities- but just the thought of how much we mean to each other and just how lucky we are.

Coming from the girl who has been running in your head all morning, I’d have to say it’s sweet. But I really really want to know what happens when evening falls. When all our emotional banks have run dry from all that giving and taking that goes on during the day, I wonder what happens when your boss gives you fire for something you didn’t do or a mate messes around with your things and breaks something, or a hot girl makes a pass at you- I wonder what happens then?

Will I still be in your mind when everything bad that can happens happen? Will I still be running around in circles, will you still love me as much as you do in the morning when nothing has happened yet? Will I still be special enough for you to come home to even when you’re tired and frustrated. Am I still there when all you want to do is curse the ground you’re walking on. Will I still be there when you need a refill?

Or am I gone by then? Do I only mean as much when your tank is full and when your life is happy? Do I mean as much when nothing bad is happening, when its all roses, sunshine and rainbows? Do I only come alive when you have it going good and you want someone to share that good news with?

Because baby, if you are, I’m way better than that. Because I deserve to be there good, bad, sad or happy. It always easy to be loved up when it’s all going good, but what happens when evening falls and you’re on empty? Then what?

Author: Allyk.

Author note:

Inspired by that song above. Youtube it if you haven’t heard it yet. I am a strong believer that love is hardwork, that it doesn’t have a time or a season. You can’t “maybe” like someone- it’s you are or NOT. And I believe that if you say you are- you better be prepared to work for it. Even if it means going out of your way, it means full attention even if you’re having a sucky day or a frustrating day. Because there is no “RIGHT” time to show love. Love is action, but it is also and will always be words. And if one part is missing, love is not at its fullest. Someone special should and always have to be given the best. If not, it’s not worth it at all.

 

Bitter Almonds.

“Cyanide” he tells me out of the blue. “It smells like almonds. They use it in gas chambers.” he continues.

“Is it painful? Is it a slow death?” I asked intrigued.

“not if you’re asleep…. or old. But otherwise, I hear that it’s pretty pain, it’s a struggle, you feel it.” he explains.

***

What you didn’t tell me is that you didn’t need cyanide to feel it. When you left, when you decided to call it quits, every waking moment from that very day you walked out- it felt like I was inhaling cyanide. I felt my insides churn, struggling to live, slowing failing me- it felt like I was dying a slow painful death.

The times that I felt the most pain was when I was awake, doing life in general. The only reason for that is because you were there with me every single time- picking up my laundry, buying groceries and even just posting a letter. Your shadow haunted me- it followed me everywhere, when I ran it ran too. If it was your way of torturing me it sure worked. The only time when it didn’t hurt as much was when I fell asleep, when my mind was free to run it’s own race, to dream of fairies and fairytales.

Since that day you left, all I can think about is Cyanide. Not because I want to kill myself, but because that’s what it feels like. Slow and painful when I’m awake. How we became cyanide together. How we each smelled so good- the fragrance of you carries on even when you’re not around. How that sweet smell is slowly shutting me down.

I don’t remember how long it took for me to completely get over you, I don’t know if I’ll ever find someone like you, I don’t know if you can ever erase that smell. But know this- when you left, something inside me died along with you.

And every now and then, I remember how you were my Cyanide. And yet, your smell keeps me wanting more and I die a death all over again.

aLLy

author’s note:

We were watching CSI and He told me what Cyanide was. And soon after, this story was bubbling inside my head. That and the fact that I had a nightmare today gave me a story to write.

 

Mum

Mum

I laughed. (I’m sure you remember) I laughed so loud that day when you told me that one day I’ll be like that too. To choose family over work, to choose sending and fetching your children back from anywhere and everywhere first, to choose to skip events and fancy things to stay home with your sick child- I laughed because that’s so old fashion, or so I thought. I laughed because I thought that there is no way I’d give up work to be a housewife and mum. I thought that’s what only weak women who couldn’t survive the pressures of work did.

I was so wrong. Sure you didn’t bring home thousands of dollars every month, sure you didn’t have super awesome friends in high places, you didn’t go out for fancy dinner parties and schmooze the big bosses, you didn’t have secretaries and bosses, you didn’t have to wear fancy suits and drive big cars (okay, you did drive a big car, but not a company car) and all that- but if there’s one thing you’re not, YOU WERE NEVER WEAK MOM.

Feminists all over the world have been shooting down the notion that housewives are happy, and I understand that it’s all about rights- that women belong in the workplace and all that- but you know what, they never met you. You’re happy, you’re always happy. I know because I see the joy on your face when you have lunch with me, I see it when you do the groceries and think about us, I hear it in your voice when I call and say hi- that joy, it can’t be made up. Of course women belong in the workplace just like the men, in fact, they belong anywhere and everywhere. But I don’t believe that it’s weak or degrading if a woman chose to stay home, to look after her family, to keep her husband happy, to do the chores and cook and to look after her kids.

I know this- because my mother is a housewife and she is NOT weak, and she is NOT a disgrace. In fact, I think my mother is empowering. Because she raised a beautiful family, she made sure I’m good and well, she made sure I felt love when I was out of place, she believed in me when no one else did, she intervened for me when no one would- my housewife mother who doesn’t have a job, who has not stepped foot in a workplace- did that for me.

I laughed. I still remember laughing at the fact that I would do the one thing my mother did when in fact I should have been saying thanks. Sure I’d love to work, but if one day the need be, I would in a heartbeat, give up my job to make sure my family, my children, my husband be satisfied first. I can do that now, because my mother took that risk and did that for me. Because of my mother, I think people like her and all the women alike who have gave up something for their family are the strongest women in the world.

Not the ones who earn million of dollars, not the ones who rub shoulders with the big people, not the ones who rule countries and certainly not the ones who make housewives sound like its a weak and pathetic job. No, the greatest women are the women who have raised someone under their care, who have empowered them to be someone worthy, someone great, someone deserving. It’s the women who have to endure the hardships of stubborn children, who have to get down and dirty to pick up after them, to teach them to do what’s right and while doing that balances being a great wife and number one supporter to her spouse- it’s these women that are the toughest, strongest, most empowering people to walk the earth.

It’s a shame how they don’t get enough respect. So to my mother, I salute you. For making the toughest decision- to give up everything to be my mother and my father’s wife first. You gave up so much to make me the person I am today. You are my hero, and I look up to you. I love you.

aLLy

 

A child needs support, not a dictator.

I think sometimes you just have to accept that your dreams are not your children’s dreams, your ambitions are not their ambitions. Parents think they are in charge of putting their children’s life in order, that they get to make ALL the decisions, what to study, what to work as, who to marry. Sure some kids deserve it- cause they don’t show enough direction to know what they want, but most of us kids, feel suffocated.

If you must know, the worst thing you can do to your child- is tell them they aren’t good enough by your words or actions. The worst thing you can do to your child is make them feel like they were a mistake, that they could never be the child you want them to be, that there is always going to be something they’re going to be lacking, that you don’t trust them enough. I know people who at 25 are still bound by their parents- and instead of having it all and being happy, they’re miserable, scraping through. If that’s happiness, I’d rather be lonely.

If you ask me what a parent is, I’d tell you that a parent is ultimately to teach a child to be able to differentiate right and wrong on their own two feet. I’d tell you a parent is to show love- because that’s where they’re going to look for it first. So many times people put the blame on freedom for a child’s misbehaviour- but I’d tell you this- if the family is strong, if a child can find what it wants within the home, it wouldn’t turn to the world for it. Trust me, I’ve been there before. So many times parents think that love is best shown through discipline- but discipline alone hurts. A child is no mind reader- love is better shown and said, rather then through “misguided” ways.

I think ultimately a good parent- is letting your child decide where they want to go, and supporting their every move. Because that’s what God in heaven does- you don’t see him handing you out tablets of “WHERE YOU WILL STUDY, WHAT YOU WILL BE STUDYING, WHAT ARE YOUR DREAMS” right? In my 22 years, I’ve walked and fall. I’ve made the most stupidest mistakes, and yet, I never once felt inadequate for God. He never turned His back on me, He never called me names, He stood there with arms wide open, waiting to help me, to lead me back to the right path. And that’s all I ever needed- support.

Love is not best hard. Hard love is anything but right.

aLLy

 

Balloons.

I grew up wanting it all- that one day I’d be successful, I’d be able to do it all- achieve my dreams and what I want, a well balanced working mom, who has a supportive husband, who brings in money for her family and is able to stand on her own two feet.

I still get to be all those things, and at the same time, it’s not that easy. I’ve learnt the true meaning of “sacrifice” and how it’s totally difficult to do.

I have to say I have my moments- days when I think I can conquer the world and achieve this lists of ambitions and dreams, other days I feel like I’m ready to throw in the towel and give up the fight.

It’s these days when the true meaning of sacrificing comes to play. Always one very blunt question “What do you want most?”

I’m not going to use that crazy illogical quote “You can’t have your cake and eat it” because I believe that the darn  cake is yours and you’re free to devour it any way you want. But I digress.

Instead, I’ll use the analogy of catching balloons. Imagine each balloon is something you really really want- they aren’t small balloons and they’re not filled with helium gas, so they don’t float, the fall to the ground. These ballons represent many things- ambition, career, family, motherhood/fatherhood, wife/husband, friend, leader, daughter, singer, skater, grand daughter, baker- all the different sort of dreams you want. And you only can carry these balloons with your arms.

Trust me, you’d lose a few if not all along the way. The same goes with life- someone asked me to find something I’m passionate in. I have, and I know what I want.

Knowing what I want makes life easier- because for once, not only do I know where my priorities lie, not only do I know where I’m planning to head, it makes everything easier because of one word- DIRECTION. Trust me, because I know what I want, I find that it’s so much easier to tell people no, it’s so much easier to tell people I don’t want to do it, I don’t feel bad if I’m not able to fulfil a task that isn’t on my priority list, I’m not so sensitive to the things people who don’t matter say. And most of all, it helps me not make mistakes I might later regret- because it’s easier to know what you want than to try catching all the balloons and ending up with none.

allyk.

 

The Wrong Type.

Like shoes there’s one that catches your eye, one that you MUST buy because it’s practical and there’s one you NEVER buy because it’s neither pretty or practical, but you buy it “just in case” and it surprises you by being so comfortable that it becomes your favourite.

I like my boys clean-shaven, short hair, good manners, a good past, a clean past, never seen the wrong side of the coin, someone I can bring home to my parents and gain their approval, someone who is chivalrous, someone who would woo the feet from under me, knock me down like a ten gallon truck, and someone who knows what he wants. Any boy who fell short, I paid no attention to.

Yet, this boy whom I met at a concert, hair long enough to cover his eyes, a little rough around the edges, who would have a past, someone who probably came out of an action movie. This boy would have fought a few battles before, smoked a few things, probably robbed a few shops. This boy who wasn’t a perfect gentlemen, who knocked into me and instead of saying sorry, picked me up, threw me over his shoulders and brought me out to check on my toes. This boy instead of asking my name first, put his arms around me like we’re best friends and started making fun of my shoes.

I should have walked away like I would normally do. Yet, I agreed to another date. Somehow, we connected on a new level. It was purely interest first, his past was completely different from anyone I knew. The people I had around me did have history, but nothing as extreme as his. I only wanted to know more, nothing else. And like a drug, the more I talk to him the more I needed. It was like I was living vicariously through him, he made me feel safe in my bubble when he talked to me.

Meeting the parents and the friends was disastrous. They disliked him just like I should have. “He isn’t your type” they would tell me. “I don’t want you hanging around him, he’s a bad influence” they said. “He wouldn’t cherish you. I know boys like him, he’ll play you and drop you like a hot potato” she said. “You deserve better” he said. I didn’t blame them if I just met him, I would have walked away.

I decided to take a risk with this boy. The boy who could be playing me, the boy who could be bad for me, the boy who isn’t my type. But I knew this- even if it’s just for that moment, he loved me. I knew this because he started small- first it was his hair, then his past time, then the big one, his habits. If someone would change for me, to become right for me, to make me happy- if that’s not love, I don’t know what is. So I stuck by, I stood by the tough times when he fell back into some habits, I saw the guilt, I stood by the times holding him when his body rejected the change.

The boy that wasn’t my type did everything he could to be mine. It wasn’t always easy, but eventually friends and family came around. This boy that wasn’t my type- is getting married to me today. The boy people said wouldn’t work, the boy people were ready to give up on, the boy who wasn’t my type.

aLLyk.

Authors note: Was inspired when a friend told me about “wrong types” and using that and combining it with my own personal story, this baby was created. I believe people can change, but I also believe that one must use wisdom when it comes to such things. There are boys who are like gold, precious and worthy and then there are boys who are just a jackass, who don’t deserve the light of day.

 

Numb.

My past broke me. It made me realise how the weak don’t win. I hate nature, I hate documentaries of the wild- because the underlying message is as clear as night and day- it’s LAW, that’s why it’s called the law of the wild. The strong survive, the weak gets eaten.

If anything I’ve learned, the weak aren’t at a lost- they find ways to make themselves tough. They change colours, adapt to their surroundings, have thorns, have poison- and yet, the strong, the ones with the natural abilities, the ones with the long claws, the sharp teeth, the limber limbs- still somehow manages to eat the weak. It’s politics- someone has to die for another to survive, and yet, the weak still tries.

Thank god this isn’t the wild, that the strong don’t always win and the weak can only get stronger. I grew up making myself immune to emotions, immune to that fragile little thing that makes me feel vulnerable. I grew up ignoring the pain, the sadness, the thoughts. It made me stronger, but it made me unhappy.

I grew up pushing my limits- the more I ignored my emotions the more distant from people I felt. But it didn’t bother me, the more people don’t come close, the stronger I got. The more invincible I felt. The less people knew me, the less the know, the less power they had over me.

Then I learnt of a betrayal that went beyond my logic. This thing called change. Change came over me well and fast, one day I was here the next day I wanted to be there. I was always chasing something, someone one day only to not want it the next. That scared me- I didn’t trust myself, not with me and not with other people.

Then one day, I broke. I remember standing there while others around me was in tears, all touched with something, all experiencing something- there I was cold, hard, emotionless. Dead inside. That’s what they called people like me.

I remembering going home that day, got on my knees and prayed. I didn’t want to have nothing, I didn’t want to be a doll. I want to be a human being, I want to be able to smile, cry and laugh. It didn’t come overnight, it didn’t come at one shot.

But it came. It came in the form of challenges- positions where I was challenged to move from where I was to this change. I had to admit that I wanted it bad enough, to move. It didn’t always feel good, sometimes I get bombarded with thoughts of how I’m choosing to be weak.

It’s been 10 years, since that day. I still don’t cry at movies, I still don’t cry at funerals- but I do know this. I’m able to love, I’m able to be angry, I’m able to be sad. I hate it when people tell me to don’t get attached to emotions- because they don’t know how it feels to not have any.

If you asked me- I think I’d rather be extreme than to not feel ANYTHING. People tell you not to be so focused on emotions because they are afraid of the consequences that comes with it. I learnt that you just need to find an outlet to let it out. For me, it’s writing.

I was numb before, I’m not numb now. I was lucky, I had awesome people bring the heater to melt that ice block.

ally

 

When I think of you.

When I think of you, I think of the smell of freshly cut apples, waiting to be made into a gorgeous apple pie. An apple pie that is warm and moist on the inside, that is filled with love and care and the best things a woman who loves can only do.

When I think of you, I think of clean linen, white, pure and soft, The kind of thing that makes the toughest man weak, the kind of thing that makes a man become a boy again.

When I think of you, I think of a fire burning bright. The flames that warms and not burn, flames that bring comfort and strength. It’s hot enough to be taken seriously and yet not scorching that it kills.

When I think of you, I think of a pillar. Strong, tough. The way you always support, and strengthen. So easy to look past but so neccesary for a good solid foundation.

When I think of you, I think of me.

aLLyk.

authors note: For that woman who keeps the house solid, who is so easily taken for granted but yet never grumbling, for being there when it gets tough, because even the oldest person needs a mummy to begin.

Happy Mommy’s Day.

 

How are you?

Yesterday when I looked at the date, I’m reminded how fast the year flew. How one year ago, we sat face to face in the small little cafe beside the cobbled road that lead to the most breath-taking view of the city. With tired hearts, and tired minds- we sat there for an hour in silence. How every part of me died a little bit when you told me it was over. How we would never work, how you weren’t happy like you used to be, how I changed so much you didn’t recognise me, how I don’t make you feel the way I used to. How nothing I could do or change for you would be able to fix what we had. Of course I never showed you how bad this affected me, because I am afterall a man, and men don’t cry.

One year ago you told me it was over after being together for 7 years. So many words were used that day that I’m too ashamed to say it. I was bitter, angry, hurt and alone. It was never easy to talk about you without feeling, every time your name pops up, or your memory creeps in- it haunts me, it kills me. And yet, I missed you, but I’ll never show you.

It’s been one year since I talked to you. I gave up fighting for you, and I watched you slip through my fingers, right into the arms of another. Knowing that you found someone else made me even more angry, because you were not hurting as much as I am and that made me want to hurt you. Over time, I lost contact with you and all the people who knew about us never brought US up anymore. I didn’t want anything to do with you. I shut you out completely.

But it’s been a year, and today when I saw you down the street with him, I built up enough courage to walk up to you and say hi and I just want you to know, that hi hold no contempt, no anger, no hurt. That hi is me telling myself I’ve moved on.

All this while I never said hi, because I was scared of how well you were doing without me, or if you became more of a woman without me than you could ever be with me. I could never say hi because I didn’t want to know that I was stifling you and your potential. So I ignored you, it was easier telling myself I was angry and bitter.

But today, when I saw you happy, I was genuinely happy. You deserved that and so much more, so do I. So the next time I see you down the road, please come up and ask me how I’m doing, because I doing okay without you.

aLLyk.

authors note:

a rough outline of a story I’ve been writing. I think I’ll archive this until I have the time to properly develop it. I thought I’d type this part out because I’ve been hearing so many break-up stories the past week and it drove me to this. Yes, my romantic side died abit this week, but don’t worry, the boyfriend has fixed me up well.

I just wanted people to know that you’ll survive. It’s not called survival skill without a reason, one day you’d realise that you don’t need some one to be happy. That being in a relationship is NOT what makes you happy. Instead you make yourself happy and the relationship makes it sweeter.

And one day, you’d be able to walk up to them, smile and realise that it’s not the worst thing that can happen to you.