Influences (or Why I Write the Way I Do)

Natalie Goldberg (free-flowing writing)
Clarissa Pinkola Estes (wild woman writing)
Jane Hutchison (direct-to-the-point writing)
Ernest Hemingway (simple words writing)

Thursday, October 28, 2010

Half-Daddy, Half-Mommy

i didn't tell him last night. how i was hurting with yaman's 'distance'. when the week started, he too was sad about his son, of the gulf existing between them lately. i did not mind the connection until tonight. we are both half-parents. me, eversince, i left yaman to the care of my mom since she was 3 months because of work, and now, intermittently for 3 to 9 months because of studies down under. and he, because of a forced circumstance which requires him to keep a residence away from his son. both us of live in separate physical worlds from our children. and while that physical distance ould be bridged from time to time; that same distance has the inevitable power of creating social distance such that despite the togetherness, we still could feel alienated from our very own children. a great but too real irony that your flesh and blood, there in front of you, could be so alienated from you. the alienation is what kills, second to the guilt.

somewhere in the Bible, it has been said that children are not ours, but rather, are beings passed on through us, but not ours. whoever wrote this must be one insensitive childless lout. no religious pronouncement could take away my, call it self-ish belief, that my daughter is mine. for the simple reason that it existed because of me, it came from me.  in its body and spirit lies a % of who i am, however, small or insignificant it may be found out through science, psychology, or even religion. thus, it is a dagger through one's heart to not be acknowledged, to be laughed at one's expense, ignored, taken for granted, considered secondary or even nothing in the eyes of one's children. especially for those among us, who despite the physical distance, try their best in compensating in other, but no less important ways.

what would ever happen to us, half-parents, who are losing our children this early? whose sacrifices are held to naught by indifference, and insinuations to our inadequacy? in what aspects could we consider our children our very own? in what ways could we recover the love? after how long would time provide healing? what would the reckoning look like? will our children realize our worth as parents in their age of knowing? or will it be a fruitless disappointing wait?

so where do we go ShadowMan? the same road perhaps 'no hubby? the same road we know of just, and still loving our very own creations. when it comes to our children, we could not respond measure for measure. the answer is not neglect for neglect. for isolation to isolation. silence for silence. for somehow, the balance would be corrected even if it comes with a lot of compensating, with bated breaths, and silent crying on the side. perhaps we are growing into a different kind of love. better than heroic, better than sacrificial. something sublime. divine. borne out of deep forgiveness, i think, for who we are.

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