Lovefool

Back when I was in secondary school The Cardigans came out with the song called lovefool. It was on the original soundtrack for the movie Romeo and Juliet.

I have crystal clear recollection of watching the movie on TV2 during Valentine's day. The only reason I managed to pull through the entire movie was because it was delivered as Wills Shakespear had written it. I am a sucker for the classics.

Though in principle, the story of Romeo and Juliet is unbelievably surreal.

I used to doubt completely the very existence of love. Most likely due to the fact that even in my younger years I was deprived of fairy tales. I have little recollection of the love stories, rather the grotesque details of the original fables. My introduction to happy endings came late in life, from watching Disney's Aladdin for the first time when I was 11.

Love made me squirm. Even my relationship with my now husband ia quite unconventional. Like al elsw, decissions, more so those made on the basis of emotion should always be logical and sensible. I deny the concept of crazy in love.

So comes the questions in my mind...

What now?...

And so, despite my mother's valiant efforts to save her marriage, the pieces just doesn't seem to fit anymore. It would seem to me that my father has taken it upon himself to ruin my mother's life at any cost. Aaahhh, my thrifty and calculative father...at all cost...the irony is simply amusing!

After their fight last week, mother decided to revise her living arrangements. Deciding to no longer put her heart on her sleeve over a love-sick, senile old man, she packed her bags (I mean literally all of her bags) and came over to us, her daughters...

In this matter, my sister and I have adapted the 'cold shoulder' approach - well, truth be told, it's not much of an approach, rather our rage was accelerated so much that at one point, there was no more anger to burn through and we sort of just went numb - that, coupled with the fact that I am simply a firm believer of "what you give, you get back".

The entire weeks that mother was with us, it was rather depressing. All she could think about was why didn't dad call? Is he alright over there? Who's driving him to work? What about his laundry? It was borderline annoying. I mean, aren't we supposed to be collectively hating this guy? I have no problem not caring, so why does mother keep fretting over his well-being? I reflect on my own marriage - a mere speck in time compared to their union of over quarter a century - and I suppose I can understand where this constant feeling of attachment is coming from. After over 26 years of mothering an adult baby, I suppose no amount of hate could grind her maternal instincts to a complete halt. 

So it wasn't surprising that she didn't quite last the week apart from him. Being a wife myself, I had the utmost respect for her decision to return to my father and resume her wifely duties. I can now admit that I was having a hard time trusting him. Call me paranoid, but my self-defense mechanism is to cushion my heart from the blows that lies induce. Mother, however, remained optimistic...

Which is why I feel doubly bad for mother. It's like she's being run in circles. There was no repent or remorse. There was no heart-felt apology or sense of guilt. Rather an over-inflated ego fueled by whispers of sweet nothings from a selfish "slapper". Trapped into this tangled web of lies that my father and his whore is spinning, mother seems unable to break free. Simply ridiculous. It's like being in a reality show that is, for lack of better words, stupid. And I for one despise above all else the sense that I have been made a fool of. There are times to feel humbled, and this is not one of them.

I hate the feeling of hating. There's nothing positive about it, and it messes with my zen. But I've grown up now. There's a way to fight your battles with intelligence and class.

But what do you say to the woman who made and then allowed your father to break your mother's heart?...

A broken heart is a place to start...

I don't know where to start...

My 27th birthday is in a couple of days.

My younger sister keeps telling me that I could still easily blend right in with the 16-year-olds of this generation. I guess I should tuck that away as a compliment for the days when the the light just catches the glisten of grey hairs emerging en mass on my head. This, I cannot deny despite my vain attempts to disguise the inevitable truth: I am getting older.

I consider this ironic, as once upon a time, not too distant or forgotten in my own memory, when the single most important event of the year was the day that marked my getting older. It's been a few years since I've felt that excitement, and now, my heart yearns for genuine youth - the kind that doesn't come in a box - minus the fact that I was such a loser...heh...but that's tale for another day...

This year is particularly depressing...

It's been a month since the grand unveiling of dad's infidelity. The kind of sordid affair that went on behind my mum's back for nearly a decade. I scoff now as I recall the details of what I could only describe as a cheap-skate drama that this family had to endure in the name of love.

Truth be told, this isn't the first time I've heard of dad's inability to remain loyal to mum. The first episode was during my early university days, which now seems apparent to be the beginning of the decade of deceit. I was enraged, spiraled uncontrollably down the darkened path of destruction. I took it hard upon myself to avenge woman-kind. Silly me...

I could have made an awesome feminist, had it not dawned upon me that one woman's trophy is another woman's broken heart...

Behind every successful man is a woman, they say. What they didn't tell you is that behind every scorned woman is another woman...