if only war made for a romantic backdrop.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
- T. S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
It's been ages. Life has been the same old mundaneness that has come to characterise my life of late; I am officially leading a domestic, married life with school ): There has been very little happy emotion in my life, and these past few weeks have been worse than most.
Granddad passed away on 12th May, 2011. As peacefully and as well as he may have gone, it's still been an emotionally trying time for the entire family - I must've cried a litre of tears over the entire affair, before, during and after his death. It still hurts, and the pain's not going to go away any time soon, but one gets used to it and learns to cope. It just scares me, though, that life can go on as regularly without him as it did with him around; I'm afraid I'll forget, and that frightens me more than anything else. I suppose this fear has manifested itself in my recent scouring of old photo albums, but I'm glad it's just renewed the good memories - not that there are any bad ones, save for that last week of emotional and physical turmoil.
I am grateful, I suppose, for the easy way he went; he passed away within two months of his diagnosis of terminal pancreatic cancer, without its characteristic pain. And I'm glad, too, that I decided to stay in the hospital that night, despite having school the next day. (Although the justifying reason was that we could afford to miss one day of school but not our last hours with him, I think none of us was honestly prepared to have him just leave that night.) And, I think, even in death he continues to bless us: the family has gotten closer as a result; my grandmother has made miraculous changes to her outlook and attitude in life; and I've learned who true friends really are.
I can honestly say that said friends supported me more than they will ever know; just having someone there to talk about everyday things kept me grounded and shielded me from the enormity of the wake; seeing a familiar face reminded me that I wasn't alone. And I really am thankful for these people who might not have known the heart-wrenching grief, but were as sensitive and sympathetic as they possibly could be.
-insert bitchy, petty me here (because that's what some people would paint me to be)-
And then there are, of course, also those who simply cannot think of anything else besides themselves, even when someone has passed the threshold of life and death. Fancy being upset because I didn't mention anything about the wake to them and did to others - maybe because that certain someone didn't offer? Frankly, even at my best I'm impatient with such behaviour, never mind when I'm in mourning. I had and still have better things to do with my time than to pander to such self-absorbed attitudes.
Shockingly, I am of the school of thought that people should be given second chances. I am not a forgiving person by nature, but God knows I've been given more than two chances to redeem myself in my long track record of failures and broken promises, so yes, I do believe in second chances. That however, does not extend to the 123456th betrayal - pardon the hyperbole - because the one who ultimately gets the shorter end of the stick is me. Yes, I'm selfish and am not willing to shortchange myself by taking such treatment. I'm a person who dares to glare and shout at people - including strangers - who offend my sensibilities. I am not a doormat. This is me, deal with it.
Or not.
Either way, the crux of the matter no longer lies on my perceived lack of grace. It is now a choice that I make. For all my shortcomings, I think I can genuinely say and believe that I am a fair person who generally sees a person's good and bad characteristics for what they are, never mind my opinionated character. And I can say that you can be a dedicated friend when you choose to invest your time and effort in someone. Unfortunately, our lease on your time and effort expired a long while back, and you've not come to us for a renewal until now, which is a little too late, because our emotions have moved on.
I absolutely hate cliches, but I think this one rings true in this case: the opposite of love is not hate, it is indifference. And indeed, it really no longer matters to us. The more you continue to hammer away at that door, the more firmly the bolts are drawn. It is our innate character that lets us cut and drop with no regrets, especially towards people who can only focus on themselves. We are not the kind who will understand every excuse - valid or not, there is a limit on these things - with every patience. One cannot expect to just take and take without any giving; we have a term for that. It's called "using people". There are limits, and we do not have particularly high thresholds for nonsense like that.
Girls are mean and bitchy and jealous. Boytoys are so much more obliging and accommodating, aren't they?
ETA: In virtual news, I wrote a oneshot ficlet fairly recently; perhaps a hint of the writing drought coming to an end? Finding myself more into Classical Music of late :3
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
- T. S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
It's been ages. Life has been the same old mundaneness that has come to characterise my life of late; I am officially leading a domestic, married life with school ): There has been very little happy emotion in my life, and these past few weeks have been worse than most.
Granddad passed away on 12th May, 2011. As peacefully and as well as he may have gone, it's still been an emotionally trying time for the entire family - I must've cried a litre of tears over the entire affair, before, during and after his death. It still hurts, and the pain's not going to go away any time soon, but one gets used to it and learns to cope. It just scares me, though, that life can go on as regularly without him as it did with him around; I'm afraid I'll forget, and that frightens me more than anything else. I suppose this fear has manifested itself in my recent scouring of old photo albums, but I'm glad it's just renewed the good memories - not that there are any bad ones, save for that last week of emotional and physical turmoil.
I am grateful, I suppose, for the easy way he went; he passed away within two months of his diagnosis of terminal pancreatic cancer, without its characteristic pain. And I'm glad, too, that I decided to stay in the hospital that night, despite having school the next day. (Although the justifying reason was that we could afford to miss one day of school but not our last hours with him, I think none of us was honestly prepared to have him just leave that night.) And, I think, even in death he continues to bless us: the family has gotten closer as a result; my grandmother has made miraculous changes to her outlook and attitude in life; and I've learned who true friends really are.
I can honestly say that said friends supported me more than they will ever know; just having someone there to talk about everyday things kept me grounded and shielded me from the enormity of the wake; seeing a familiar face reminded me that I wasn't alone. And I really am thankful for these people who might not have known the heart-wrenching grief, but were as sensitive and sympathetic as they possibly could be.
-insert bitchy, petty me here (because that's what some people would paint me to be)-
And then there are, of course, also those who simply cannot think of anything else besides themselves, even when someone has passed the threshold of life and death. Fancy being upset because I didn't mention anything about the wake to them and did to others - maybe because that certain someone didn't offer? Frankly, even at my best I'm impatient with such behaviour, never mind when I'm in mourning. I had and still have better things to do with my time than to pander to such self-absorbed attitudes.
Shockingly, I am of the school of thought that people should be given second chances. I am not a forgiving person by nature, but God knows I've been given more than two chances to redeem myself in my long track record of failures and broken promises, so yes, I do believe in second chances. That however, does not extend to the 123456th betrayal - pardon the hyperbole - because the one who ultimately gets the shorter end of the stick is me. Yes, I'm selfish and am not willing to shortchange myself by taking such treatment. I'm a person who dares to glare and shout at people - including strangers - who offend my sensibilities. I am not a doormat. This is me, deal with it.
Or not.
Either way, the crux of the matter no longer lies on my perceived lack of grace. It is now a choice that I make. For all my shortcomings, I think I can genuinely say and believe that I am a fair person who generally sees a person's good and bad characteristics for what they are, never mind my opinionated character. And I can say that you can be a dedicated friend when you choose to invest your time and effort in someone. Unfortunately, our lease on your time and effort expired a long while back, and you've not come to us for a renewal until now, which is a little too late, because our emotions have moved on.
I absolutely hate cliches, but I think this one rings true in this case: the opposite of love is not hate, it is indifference. And indeed, it really no longer matters to us. The more you continue to hammer away at that door, the more firmly the bolts are drawn. It is our innate character that lets us cut and drop with no regrets, especially towards people who can only focus on themselves. We are not the kind who will understand every excuse - valid or not, there is a limit on these things - with every patience. One cannot expect to just take and take without any giving; we have a term for that. It's called "using people". There are limits, and we do not have particularly high thresholds for nonsense like that.
Girls are mean and bitchy and jealous. Boytoys are so much more obliging and accommodating, aren't they?
ETA: In virtual news, I wrote a oneshot ficlet fairly recently; perhaps a hint of the writing drought coming to an end? Finding myself more into Classical Music of late :3