irastayshome - Tumblr blog

[irastayshome]

and maybe real success looks like

a regulated nervous system.

not comparing yourself to others.

a kind inner dialogue.

being able to show up for yourself.

being able to let go.

knowing your own worth.

having authentic connections.

having good boundaries.

living a life that makes sense to you.

[irastayshome]

Hendersonjayne

[irastayshome]

Early morning in Edinbane on the Isle of Skye.

Scotland

1992

[irastayshome]

I sometimes still imagine you holding me from behind. A warm hug that gets tighter and warmer till I can't resist and turn around and tell you how much I need you. How much you mean to me. I never said that enough to you in the last few years. The daydreaming still happens, though I don't dissociate anymore when it does. I feel it all now. The pain i've caused you, the pain you've caused me, the pain we went through together, and the pain you went through alone. I also feel all that love. The immense need that you fulfilled in me, and I hope that it was the same for you. You probably don't know this, but i've been trying to live.. a little bit more for myself, and not just pretending for the boys. I've started learning BJJ, together with Ibrahim. You remember one of our first few dates? On fort canning hill, when you admitted you had tried to learn BJJ online to have something interesting to teach me on our date, though it was mostly an opportunity for us to be in such close contact. I had never heard of that sport till that point, and thought wow you know martial arts is that why you're so hunky.. Oh sayang. BJJ is good fun, though i'm sure I would be a much better learner back then, 10 yrs ago. My 34 year old body can barely get a hang of where to put which limb and my usual overthinking and poor memory has gotten much worse since you last courted me. One thing hasn't changed though. I am well aware that I'm past my prime and you have nothing to worry about, nor will I even have any space in my life to with the kids and trying to support them. But with that said.. I miss being touched by you. By a living, breathing man who loves me, and desires me. I miss being held - feeling so safe and yet so vulnerable in that desire for you. Each time I go for a class and there aren't any ladies to pair up with, my heart goes into overdrive and I can barely contain myself. I'm all suited up and obviously have no skin contact, or barely, but those visual thoughts of us enter at the most inconvenient and embarrassing moments. Sometimes I feel like I need to isolate myself because I don't trust the emotions that hit and at times pour out of me. What I would do to have one more of those moments with you. I know we'll be together again someday, but seeing as how I'm the bigger sinner amongst us two, you'd have to wait quite awhile. I've got a lot of atoning to do. I hope you've been hearing our doas, especially Ibrahim's. Idris is getting there, slowly, but steadily. For now, i'm so.. so.. tired sayang. The hole in their young hearts is still raw and bleeding, more obviously so for Ibrahim. I keep trying to find a way to plug it, but there is no use.. it is the price we pay for loving you. and the three of us have gone through so much in a bubble that only us 3 can understand.

Also to catch you up on what you missed out on...

Nyayi passed away.. it was the final week of my iddah period for you. I got the news over a text after I sent the kids to school, and I broke down in waterway point. A security guard tried consoling me, but I could not breathe because I needed you there. You weren't there. I know you had a say in sending a stranger, a nice lady, my way. She made sure I was alright before I headed off to break the news to the kids. Nyayi looked peaceful, and I was happy for her for she got the death she wanted in her room, on the bed that you and I used to sleep on too. Ibrahim insisted on watching her burial, but I hadn't anticipated how much it would have affected him. That was the start of him experiencing some severe anxieties. We're working through that now, with every conversation, hug, therapy and lots of sun and exercise.

We took Idris on his first trip overseas.. it was Australia. The place Ibrahim had doa for us to go to once you got better from your last surgery, which you didn't. You should have seen the look on his face right before he boarded the plane. He never hides any emotions and it would have warmed your heart to see how excited he was.

I went back to work. I guess this is no surprise, and you'd probably have expected me to, but it was hard. I left after 6 months, right before I was confirmed. Im back to square one now, or worse, because I can't figure this part out with the kids still needing quite a bit of attention. Send me a sign if you can somehow, because oh i am lost and frankly don't know who to talk to about it other than a paid therapist, and I know how much you'd hate that.

Ibrahim has done his sunnat, and yes he screamed afterwards and was terrified, but he soldiered on and i'm so proud of him on your behalf too.

Ibrahim is now in primary 1, and he's a class monitor! haha. Yes I had my reservations, but his teacher said he's doing so well, and not surprisingly she's astonished by the "rare level of maturity" she saw in him.

Your brother got married. Ibrahim went, but I must apologize that I just could not go. I tried, but the thought of looking your mother in the eye, and not knowing what I can or cannot say with your relatives after the drama on the day you passed is just too much. I wish I could say that Ibrahim had a good reunion with your mum too, but I guess im still glad he doesn't know what went on behind the scenes and that he still felt your brothers' love for him.

Honestly, the last few nights, or weeks, have been strangely hard. I find myself at this crossroad again to figure out what's my next step, and the only person that I can think of who can talk me through it is you. Was you.

and I finally did it. I cleaned out your closet, took out that bag of clothes from the hospital, inhaled thinking it would still smell like you. It didnt.. it smelled like moth balls. and I let it all come out of me.. the anger that you're not here anymore, the guilt that I could have done or said more to save you, the desperation of wanting nothing more than to you see you walking through that door and hold me as I cried into your superman jacket. I never wanted anything so badly as I did in that moment.

Well, that's it from me for now. Just please do me a favour..

"If you get there before I do, Don't give up on me. I'll meet you when my chores are through, I don't know how long i'll be.. But i'm not gonna let you down. Darling wait and see.. and between now and then till I see you again i'll be loving you... Love me."

Ya, u can laugh if u want. But I know you appreciate that, you closet romantic.

[irastayshome]

Sayang, know that when I get nervous and flushed being around other men, it is not because I love you any less, or that I am not thinking of you. I think of you when I wake, when I'm on the can, when I come home and I give Salam just to hurt myself all over again by not hearing you return my Salam, when I'm driving anywhere, when I'm looking at a man I'm attracted to, when I'm eating breakfast and watching other parents have breakfast together after dropping off their kids, when I'm talking to our neighbours about our sons, when I'm hugging our sons, when I'm kissing them, when I'm cuddl3d with them and reading to them, when I'm rough housing with them and pretending to be a battle bot. You are the constant in everything that I do, in every moment that I am in. I still get stuck at night looking at our bedroom doorway hoping to see you walk in right this instant. I don't care if you are happy, tired, excited, angry at me, giving the silent treatment. I just want to see your face once more. I just want to feel your touch once more. I just want to kiss you one last time. Because I'm in love with you and I've been so preoccupied with all the wrong things and saying all the wrong things yet wanting all the right things with you. I'm so angry at the wife that I was, and the husband that you were, and still have so much heart for that married people that we were.. we really were trying hard to make it work, we just didn't know any better. And we just ran out of time to figure it all out. I can't imagine ever doing any of that with anyone else, because I just don't want to be over you. I want to make things right, even when I can't anymore. But I can, still, with our babies. They will never miss a day w/o thinking of your and supplicating for you, and I'll strive to that.

Also, pls dun be angry or jealous. I am not over you, but I do want to feel some release over my heart. I want to laugh, and feel alive again, and I want to desire things, people, places again. That's what you loved abt me before. I'm still the same person, pining over ideas and moments. Loving you was the best decision I ever made, and I want to be in the drivers seat again over my life. I'm no spring chicken, so don't worry about me turning any heads. I just want to feel OK wanting company, and I want our boys to feel OK wanting to live a normal, happy life. They deserve nothing less.

[irastayshome]

Apa khabar engkau Di sana

Semoga kau baik-baik sahaja

Aku ingin engkau tahu

Ku selalu merindukan kamu..

Always in my thoughts, n in my heart. I miss you yang. Happy birthday.

[irastayshome]

[irastayshome]

How I envision life with the 2 boys in time to come. Its us against the world, forever.

[irastayshome]

Change requires courage, but not changing doesn't signify the lack of it. There are reasons beyond what my own thoughts can rationalise as to why I can't bring myself to hire a maid.. or continue in this job.. or move in with my parents.. or finally admit I am now single and behave like it.

A book I've been trying to read - keyword 'trying' because my mind can't seem to focus on anything cognitive for long these days - had a profound perspective. The unconscious mind has wisdom far beyond what the conscious mind dictates. If I were to give voice to some of these wisdom, it would sound so odd and misplaced, maybe even stupid. Like if I were to say that I do not wish to hire a maid to solve the daily struggle I have in getting enough sleep before going to work the next day because I was up doing dishes and laundry.. and justify it by my assertion that this space, confined by the walls that witnessed his decline and his demise and our arguments and our reconciliations and all the quiet moments that could easily be lost and swept away in memory.. it is sacred.

I know we do not bring anything or anyone to the ground with us when it is our time. To Him we belong and to Him we return. But allowing a stranger to step in, clean the mess and carnage left behind, someone who has no idea the significance of every receipt or broken household item or anything else one might sensibly decide to throw away without question.. it is too risky. We are still in a bubble.. where the slightest curve in the breeze makes us all unhinged and anxious about when it will all pop. When he will fully be gone from our lives.. when we will finally be forced to move on, even if we aren't ready to let go. How else would I explain all that sensibly, other than how I just did? It sounds like big allegories that may seem empty, but it really isn't.. not for me. Its even more concrete and real to me than a simple "a maid would solve all your sleep and caregiving struggles". The unconscious mind has a far more powerful effect on the will than the conscious mind. Its wisdom commands more respect than most of us are willing to give.

The job.. it's just a job honestly. Its for bills, and for escape, and for some semblance of achievement to keep me from spiraling into despair. But if I'm being truly honest, it's also to fight the loneliness I feel deep in my core. Not the kinda loneliness that makes me wake up heart racing after dreaming about being kissed so passionately and embraced so intensely that it broke my heart a little when I literally woke to reality - though this kind of loneliness I must admit is getting a little too much for comfort. The loneliness I feel deep down is not having anyone to hear what I feel about the genocide in Palestine, or about the political satire in PAP lately, or about my worries for AI taking over, or what I honestly feel about my 6 Yr old falling "in love" with his classmate. Its having a mate.. to laugh with, to muse with, to watch things you don't wanna watch alone with. Someone who just gets you, and accepts you wholly, and calls you out when necessary because they want you to win.. while they're right beside you.

So, in that manner, no. This job does not fight off this loneliness. It drains my bank accounts even more because my impaired mind keeps making lots of financial and ethical blunders, costing us so much more than if I were just unemployed. In terms of achievement and helping the less fortunate, nothing feels satisfying when your own house is on fire and you're not able to save your own family first. That's just how it is for me. Those boys are more important than anything else in the world now, and I'm completely replaceable at work, but not at home.

Sigh. Who are these musings even for. Are you reading this yang, somehow? You've always hated long texts from me.. why would you start liking it now right.. I really do feel like I'm going crazy sometimes.

[irastayshome]

Collide

I'm on a loop. I thought I had lost the last saved conversation I had with you, in your final days. And I was frozen, and just unable to bring my body to get up and work, feel, do something.. anything. I thought I lost you all over again, and went down a spiral of deep yearning and unbearable despair. Then I found your phone, and it was all there. All our conversations, dating back to 2019, slightly before Idris was born. It was like an account of our entire marriage, at least the part where it started to go downhill, or so I imagined. I have a catastrophic brush that I often used for our relationship, but the truth is, it wasn't bad. It was rough, as any marriage is when children and grief are struggling to take the lead. I saw how much we worked as a team, and how much I took that for granted. We talked about everything, even stupid mundane things that you'd think would be small talk in an awkward first date. But they weren't awkward.. that was just us. We were so old before we were old, and looking back, I loved us. I love you. I could only bear a sip of that entire chat history, and I know I will keep coming back again and again when different things happen with the children or with me. Seeing how our conversations evolved, it was so raw and so painful. I feel angry at the wife that I was, I feel angry at the husband that you were, and I feel compassion all at the same time for those two. We really tried so hard to trudge through, and I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think our sons would have still been proud to be our children. Nowadays, perhaps not. I'm a walking wounded, Ibrahim and Idris too. That description of having a gunshot wound with blood flowing out and walking around yet not having one person realize it or acknowledge it.. that's quite.. accurate, as dramatic as it sounds. We growl and moan and scream and cry, then at the end of the day, only the three of us is able to pick each other up, wipe the blood and tears away, and hold each other close. Nobody else knows where this deep ache exists; a deep yearning at our core that is a secret to everyone else outside this house. Tell me the boys will be ok, eventually. Tell me i'll be ok yang. I dream and wish and yearn so much to have you touch my shoulders when you're back from your shift, and to feel your warm showered arms around me as you cuddle me to sleep just as i'm about to start my shift with the kids. Tell me we are just on different schedules, as usual, and that one day, they'll collide. I will try to open up to the universe, to whatever is next. But tell me that it will not bring me away from this hope of coming back to you. I don't want to let go yet.

[irastayshome]

Superpowers

6th July 2023

Dear Ibrahim,

I lied to you today. When you’d asked me who my favourite super hero was, I said it was Batman. To be honest, I was probably just thinking of Christian Bale, the actor who plays Batman in one of the Batman movies, because I think he is handsome. Not as handsome as your ayah though.

I even told you all about why Batman was my favourite. That he’d faced his own fears of bats and the dark, so that he would not be afraid anymore, and would no longer have a weakness that villains could prey on. Then Idris kept asking very relevant questions that interrupted this ‘inspiring’ message I was trying to give about superheroes. “Mama, what is superman afraid of?”

Hmm. Of course any fool knows about kryptonite. But if I went with that, then the predicted series of questions that’d follow would be where does kryptonite come from, what is in kryptonite that makes superman weak, how do the villains get these mysterious stones. Naturally, Idris had asked all these questions by the time I actually thought through my alternative response.

(One day, when you get married and you see your wife’s eyes glaze over or possibly pointing away from each other, or even when she’s answering you by just repeating the last word in your question with a questioning tone, you’ll know that she’s actually not really listening and doing a lot more in her mind. That is not the time to ask her important questions like what does she want for her birthday.)

But back to Idris and his innocent questions that strangely often verges on existential in nature. I thought about it, and it was actually simple, and universal for all superheroes. Why do superheroes wear a mask or disguise themselves in some way? Aside from hiding some hideous deformity, they do so because they need to remain anonymous. Not out of humility, or shame, or to intimidate. They disguise themselves to protect the ones they love from being preyed on by the superheroes’ enemies. Superman was invulnerable, as we’ve read the other day. (I hope you guys still remember my very graphic explanation of the word invulnerable.) No bullet was able to catch up to him, let alone pierce his skin. Yet the one thing that could strike him right through his heart was when villains tried to hurt Lois Lane.

To be honest my only knowledge of superman, apart from books I’ve read to you, is from Smallville, a tv show mama used to watch when I was a teenage girl. Back in Smallville, Clark Kent’s weakness was Lana Lang. Please don’t google Lana Lang. You’ll start to realise what a big beautiful world of women there are out there and I won’t be hearing anymore “mama you are the most beautiful woman in the world” anymore. I live for those affirmations you give.

There are many days when I look like I’ve moved on, and sometimes I myself am convinced that life will be okay after all without your ayah. But you see, mama puts on masks too. This mask helps me wake up, send the two of you to school with a reassuring smile and a “I love you, have a good day in school today”, have breakfast for one in the hawker centre with my prata and teh-o, then carry on with the rest of the day. There are times, however, when the mask comes off. Days that are tiring, or too noisy, or when I get reminded of the bad times when ayah was unwell or the bad times when your grandmother hurt us. The mask gets too heavy and I cannot breathe, so I take it off for a moment. And I sit and cry in the car for 20 minutes with the engine turned off. Or I wash the toilet aggressively and allow all the hurtful memories come out of my mind and into my arms, giving them strength to scrub off all those mildews. I put on my mask because I wanted to protect you and Idris from getting hurt by my hurt. Today, however, you helped me look at that mask in a different way.

Once again, I’d used hurtful words that really cut deep because I could not get the two of you into the toilet before it got dark. As we lay in the dark, both of you by my side, the air rife with the tension of skipping story time before bed, I finally let go. People are often mean because they are hurt, I said, and are not comfortable with that hurt staying inside their body, and thought they needed to let it out on someone else. It never works, and they feel worse after that because on top of that hurt they were already feeling, they now feel bad about hurting someone else too. Nobody likes feeling bad, and sometimes it makes us feel so ashamed of ourselves that we need to hide out. That’s where my mask came back on, a different mask. The one both of you are so familiar with by now. “Mama is angry at us” mask. In truth, that second mask was also a lie. More than anything, I wanted to save you from having to pluck up the courage to talk to me while I looked so angry and terrifying. But I felt I had done too much bad, that you would not believe me if I tried to apologize. Instead, I walked past you and watched you write down on a piece of paper: “I am noting, becos I am not a good boy and I am not smat”. That mask I put on, cracked in two. More than that, my heart broke in two.

The hurt mama feels, every minute of the day, is simple. I miss ayah.

I miss ayah when I wake up and I can’t hear his snores, nor can I hit him across his chest to tell him it’s his turn to make your breakfast. I miss ayah when I saw your friends and their fathers on family day, cheering them on and high-fiving them. I miss ayah when a fever is burning through my body and I cannot breathe properly, and I hear Idris call out to me to tell me he needs to poop. I miss him every minute of the day, and on some days, it is just too much hurt. It needed to come out, and the mask that I put on to protect everyone else from this hurt, was suffocating me. But I held on and on, until I saw that you had also started to put on a mask. “I am nothing” mask.

I am putting away my mask now. We do not need to protect each other from our feelings, because the only way to be kind to one another is to listen, and understand what the other person is going through. As I began to cry hard, with all the memories of ayah rushing into my head, you sat up and hugged me. I cried harder and harder and you hugged me tighter, not offering any words to save me from feeling what I was feeling. You gave me permission to take out my mask, and say what was making me hurt. And as my sobs died down to sniffles, you pulled away so you could look at me, and gave me a kiss.

Ibrahim, that is your super power. I once told you that Allah had gifted you with a huge heart, that made it easier for you to feel other people’s hurt. I’ve looked at it at one way for so long, that I’ve forgotten to look at it in a glass half full kind of way. You held space for an adult who was hurting in a deep and ugly way, who had just lashed out and attacked you for being yourself, and you helped me mend the bridge I was too ashamed to fix. Compassion is your super power, and it is more powerful and superior to any other power you think you need in this toxic world. As you looked at me, smiled and gave me a peck, I almost broke into tears once more, because it felt like dejavu. Your ayah used to look at me, and kiss me, just like that whenever I had apologised for something I did wrong. In that moment, of me missing ayah too much I could not stop crying in the dark, you saved me.

Another day, perhaps tomorrow, I know I will start the next round of worrying about whether I am putting too much emotional responsibility on my 6-year old child and whether you’d start to feel you need to rescue me from everything. But for tonight, if ayah was indeed watching all that as I’d like to believe, then I know he would also have felt proud as I do that our son is a superhero.

[irastayshome]

My mind keeps searching n tracing, trying to remember our last time. I cant 🥹