Wasting Time on Family

Unproductive.

I brought home a mountain of work the other night, hoping to cut some of my backlog by half. And as I sit here watching the sun set on this humid afternoon, the mountain pile of work remained untouched.

Un-turned.
Ignored.

And you know what, I think I'm just screwed.

But I'm still here, writing these words away; Staring at my manifesto; trying to write more chapters of the story that seems to be more difficult to pen each day;

And thinking: I loved how I spent today.

I loved that I was able to clear the clutter in Coco's workplace, wrote letters, drew pictures and painted flowers and skies with the little girl, played with her dolls and managed to whip some afternoon treats for her too.

Tonight, we promised to read the new book we bought and I will find the time to listen to her opinion about so many, so so many random things.

Now as I wait for the little girl to get her bath stuff together, I manage to squeeze in a few words here-- and a few more into the project I am still trying to finish. And I wonder if we get weekends in between work days-- one day reprieves like today, would banking days become more bearable?

I guess so. I believe so.

And I hope that we get to have weekends in between work days every now and then. Maybe squeeze all the work in four days-- and get three day weekends all the time, every week. I think of the so many things that I need to do, to accomplish, or words to write or read and I keep on wondering how my days would accommodate all and everything.

And I keep thinking that Little girl is growing up so fast, and I get scared that I will miss these kind of days. Maybe miss moments when she would do something incredible for the first time.

Sometimes I wake up to just watch her sleep. Or I just watch her in the middle of our conversations or painting sessions and I sit in amazement how time truly flies.

Tomorrow, when I wake up, she may already be off to university. with me just lounging in my beach chair, watching the sun set in a quiet, lazy beach town somewhere far.

So I tell her every moment that I can that I love her, and tell her of our dreams; listen to her I love you Mom's and her dreams and we hug each other just because we feel every moment together is just simply special. Because maybe one day, we'd both be too busy already that we might let one day go without a hello.

Can it be? I shudder just thinking of the possibility.

Whilst cleaning her work area this morning, I found her drawing in her Critical Thinking Workbook. And I found a picture of the both of us-- stick figures with long hairs and huge grins and words scribbled beside, describing the characteristics of the members of the family.

She wrote there, at the bottom, her name and an explanation that this is her family (Mommy and Me) and the one thing she described us was: Happy.

And you know what?

I feel like I've done the right thing, wasting so much time lazing with this little girl-- creating moments that she lovingly calls "our time".

And I feel like my unfounded fears of before, that this little one will find our "family" lacking, are now eons away.

I've never been so glad that I'm wrong.

Thank you, Heaven.

JOHARI and the things people think they know better

The beauty of living in transparency is that you leave no skeletons in your closet.

I have always been a public person. In as much as I wanted a share of exclusivity and privacy, belonging to an extended family leaves little room for such.

When my mother passed on, we moved to my grandmother's house where some of my dad's siblings (and their respective families) also lived. It was a big house, so it seems everyone created their own space to create some sense of independence. 

In the course of the many years after, we moved from this house and on to universities and eventually settled into the world of adulthood. My sister flew somewhere far to work and build a life of her own, and I guess have literally flung herself worlds away from where I am.

I, on the other hand, returned to the big house but fortunately, have also flung myself worlds away from the world I used to live in. 

I grew up. I matured. I saw things differently.

I feel like now, I am the person who went out of the cave and returned, and saw things in a different way.

Because I grew up living in a world where everybody (who thinks they're somebody) has a say in the way I dress, act, think or even speak and everyone seems to have an opinion of sorts, I don't mind hearing a variety of opinion.

So the other side of living in transparency is allowing people to label you with so many things -- palatable or otherwise.

I used to think that what people say about me are reflections of who I am-- the part in the JOHARI window which others can see, with which I cannot.

I used to think that some of these things they hurl at me are reflections of what I am as a person-- the part where I REFUSE to think I am not.

I used to think that I am the cause of their actions towards me; that I am the reason for all the crap they say. That maybe, after listening to years of their bad opinion, I felt like I have become the very bad opinion they say.

But over the years, I learned to choose my battles. I looked at the things they have to say about me, sift through the load of crap and end up with a realization that what ever comes out from their mouths, are not reflections of me. BUT reflections of who THEY ARE.

I am NOT the cause of the horrible things coming out of their mouths; they are THEIR words. They are THEIR actions. NOT MINE. so these things are the very core of their souls.

What the JOHARI window forgets to spell out to these kinda folks, is that whatever that comes out of their mouths, are the very parts of their being that THEY refuse to acknowledge.

I am not perfect, I don't claim to be. Though I try hard to be better. I try to do things the right way. I try to raise my daughter without the negativity.

I try to live my days without the heavy baggage of issues and to live each day with and for my daughter.

I used to think that because I have the right to opine, I have the right to say ANYTHING-- hurtful or otherwise. However, over the years, I learned that it isn't necessary to say hurtful things, despite the anger we feel. or the frustration. or in their case, the bitterness.

That it is always better to be the one who has nice things to say, even if others haven't.

It's always better to be on the better side of reasoning. Always better to be kind, even if others are not.

But sometimes, you just feel like, 'hey, I've had enough of your crap!'

So my dear tita X,

I don't know why you have so many bad things to say about me. But I sincerely hope you have a happy life. And that you're happy with what you're doing. Good Luck. 

With Love-- Your most hated niece,

Jell

And with that, I resolve to never shed a single tear more for these folks who refuse to be any better. Because, frankly, I am a whole lot better than they are.

And even if I have a million more crap to say about them, I won't. Because I don't even want to give them the benefit of a time wasted.