I've been reading Monica Ali's international bestselling novel, Brick Lane. Since I got home two months ago, I swore to pick up my pending summer reads to improve my grammar and vocabulary. It seems that my 5-year stay in suicide school made my English communication skills dull and rusty. However, I've been busy setting up my new business venture that I can't even finish a chapter in a day! But it's okay as I don't have a schedule to stick to (perks of being unemployed 😅).
Brick Lane is a story about Nazneen, a Bengali woman who moved to London after she was married off to a much older guy, Chanu. It's about her struggles in making sense of her existence in the strange new place and doing her duties as a wife and mother. The story has many characters with an equally rich background that almost instantly intrigued and entertained me. Few pages in I began highlighting phrases that tugged my heart and found this one quite striking:
She was free to wish it but it would never be.
A year ago my biggest heartbreak revealed itself to me. I failed the hardest challenge I ever faced which would have changed the course of my life - the Bar. Although admittedly I was expecting it, I still prayed for a positive outcome. I was here, at home, when my sister broke the news. She said, flatly, that I was not on the list. Upon learning, I retreated to my parents' room and lay on the bed. I cried and curled and wished I was somewhere far, hidden or unknown. I cried so much I almost forgot what I was exactly crying about. Because I failed? Because I knew I was going to fail and did so? Or because I did not know where to go? It is true what people say, failure and defeat suck.
I wept for a good 15 minutes or perhaps longer. Afterward, I came down and told my parents I will take the next exams. I don't know where it came from but at that time it felt like it was my only option - to try again, though I stressed that this time, I will only attend review classes in Tacloban just as I initially planned.
Days passed and I felt 'better'. I went on with my life. I went out, mingled with friends, acted as if nothing devastating happened. I guess keeping my hopes down from the start helped me move on. Or so I thought.
Weeks later, the result of my application for a teaching position was released. I likewise failed to make the cut. That's when I broke down.
If you have been a reader of my previous blogs/sites, you would know how crushed I was when I found out about it. Teaching has always been a childhood dream which I thought would remain as such. So when I was given an opportunity to be an SHS teacher I grabbed it in a heartbeat. I was so eager to give back, to share what I've learned through the years. But it, too, was denied from me. It ended as it was - a wish.
I bawled and blamed myself and all the people around me though I did it all secretly; kept my frustrations to myself except to my boyfriend. I masked my pain that even I started believing it. I refused to acknowledge that I was shattered. I tried to show everyone that nothing gets to me. Still, in the middle of my readings in that quiet room in Real, I would often stop and wonder why my life sucks. Some days I was overwhelmed with feelings of pain, regret, and disappointment. Most days I felt numb. I would mindlessly wake up, prepare my food, study my reviewers, go back to bed then do it all over again. When I was feeling extra negative I would pick fights with Marvin and drag him down in the dumps with me. I was so lonely, I might have even been really (clinically) depressed. I struggled to get by every day for a month or so.
Fortunately, self-pity has its limit. A time comes that you also get tired of your DIY hellhole. Was it due to one of Marvin's pep talks? A movie I saw in the theaters alone? Or plain exhaustion? I can't recall. But I do remember recognizing my shortcomings, depression, and refusal to rise above my tribulations. Slowly I accepted my infirmities and committed to doing better. I strengthened my faith and asked God to see me through. I saw my parents more often, even if it meant missing a few hours of studying. I started talking about my anguish to close friends, though only lightly. I made amends with my boyfriend and strove (and still striving) to be a darling girlfriend. I pricked my dense bubble, opened myself to new experiences, and tried my best to see the good in everything.
I celebrated my 26th birthday the other day and I am grateful for a lot of things, in spite and despite the seemingly endless miseries that I went through and still going through. I am happy to say that I am truly okay now. Not over-the-moon-joyful but just okay. I look forward to discovering what's in store for me, whatever it may be. I still wish and wish and wish even if some would never be, even if all would never be.
Comments
Post a Comment