Archive for the ‘When he was in me- March 2007’ Category

My dear daughters, you have a mysterious and amazing cosmos within, just like I do. And therefore I bow to the Divine in you too. You had a cosmos in place before you were born into this world, you carried it with you; it slipped out with you as you exited from my womb. That is why I need to be humble as a mother. But I do not always remember that. In fact, I often forget and just see the behaviors I do not like; and cling on to the ideals that are not real. I apologize. Once again, I bow to the Divine cosmos in you and I will learn to be humble.

My dear son, my Sat Nam baby, you have a cosmos within too. Two cosmos residing in me. I am in awe. So you are in good hands, because the Mysterious is also very Wise, and sagely. I can hear them within, whispering secrets of the ancient to you. I once was whispered to, but I forgot. I became arrogant and I turned a deaf ear to the Mysterious. I hope you will bear these secrets in you, and teach them to me, one day.

The cosmos is Heaven and Earth conspiring together. I can feel it. The lightness from the heavens, and the heavy, earthiness of the earth. The alchemy is growing you, baby. It is preparing you for an exhilarating journey through the birth passage. I am being massaged from within, made stronger, so I can help you through the passage. I have my work to do. Within, without. Mentally, bodily. And I need to trust the strength and wisdom of the cosmos. They have done it for ages so long the oldest woman in this world cannot remember when they began. The oldest rock that witnessed their first miracle had already crumbled and dissolved in the winds of long ago. The last two times I forgot about these things. I was afraid. And arrogant. And impatient. I did not want to wait. Was scared of waiting for the body to reach its prime peak of ripeness, so the Life within can be born at its most tender, and at its best readiness. No, I wanted to take the reins in my hand. I wanted to make the call first. I wanted to start it. Only to regret it, and there was no turning back. I think, the Mysterious is not kind, cannot be benevolent if one does not lay oneself in Its trust totally. Though I may well be wrong. Maybe I need three times to learn a good lesson, to complete that Circle. Some people just have to walk further, and longer.

This time, I will listen, and I will wait. At least, this time I want to try my utmost best to believe, to trust, and to wait and let the cosmos work its magic. No rushing. No fears.

Sat Nam.


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Yesterday I saw a photograph of a naked pregnant belly. It was not airbrushed over (or whatever techniques they use with photos) and you can clearly see her veins, her stretch marks. The title of the photo is “The Tree of Life”. Yes, those marks on her belly sure looks that way. Her veins sure seem to be growing up from the deep roots, branching out and swaying. Very cool. Very neat. Very true.

I can see the veins on my belly too. They are not bulging, but they are very close to the surface. So clearly visible. I feel I can reach in a little bit and fish them out and make a net of them. So raw and primal, it’s like they have been there for centuries. As I looked at those veins, not directly but in the mirror, I can almost feel millions of other women staring with me, staring at their bodies, their veins, their breasts, their pubic area, their hair, their eyes, trying to form an opinion- to like,or not to like? Beautiful? Or just… repulsive?

The veins remind me I have a cosmos within. I recall the meditation passage outlined in the book “Calm Birth.” The pregnant mother is asked to go within and see, and feel the Universe within her. The tributaries of blood and veins and nerves. The forest and streams of fluids flowing within her. The nerves running throughout the body carrying messages at the speed of light and faster. Hear the blood gushing through you. Imagine being the baby. Every sound, every movement is magnified- is that a thought of pleasure that just rushed by? Was that a stab of pain that whisked past in a fraction of a blink? What’s that gushing sound? Is it oxygen? Blood? Joy? Anxiety? Is it an echo of a sex call?

It is so amazing. We all have a cosmos within, and it is not micro. It’s an amazing cosmos of a Universe. All those highways within that overlap and intertwine and feed off each other. They *talk* with each other, even when we are not communicating with them. Sometimes we send messages within- stop feeling that hunger! Melt into that love! Sleep, it’s time for rest! Pry your eyes open! Look! Listen! Shout! Shut up!! Sometimes the Universe within conspires without our knowledge. They draw on the breaths that we inhale and turn that into wonderful, beautiful energy that makes us wrap our arms around loved ones, bake up a storm; all that crazy movements and dynamics within orchestrate and conspire to form words, sentences, that reach out across the oceans and beyond. It creates tunes that haunt our brains for hours after hearing them. Sometimes they make us weep for no reason, laugh out loud like crazy! It works mysteries and magic; drawing us within as the moon waxes and wanes, working the blood through our bodies, gushing it out of our yonis. It makes us want to curl up like petals of a flower, and fold ourself into a little cradle of quiet, and just be still. It also makes our petals furl open like an exuberant peony blooming, opening our hearts up to the world, filling it with sunshine, making us reach out to touch our sisters, hug people, smile at strangers and make the world seem so bright. Bright and cheery, like a slice of ripe, ripe mango peeping out in a soup of coconut milk.

I curled my arms around the round, protruding form of my belly. I close my eyes and try to see, and to hear that cosmos within. I almost want to poke my head within and experience the mystery. I felt an urge to reach my hand inside to caress the baby. Smooth my hand over the umbilical cord and touch the placenta. Let me feel all those pulsing within; all that breathing and heaving that goes on inside. I stay still. I held my breath a little. But I know inside, it is never quiet. Bubbling, flowing, gushing, zipping, oozing, winding, swirling, speeding… without my masterminding anything, this miraculous cosmos within is taking care of my life, and the little life that lies within of me. It blows me away. I want to somehow curl within and lay inside, spooning with my baby, and close my eyes and feel all that throbbing and vibrations, all those sounds and energy. I can hardly imagine how awesome and stupefying that will be. How come we do not remember that? Does mother Nature really makes us forget that? Did she, really? Or, did *we* forget? Have I forgotten?

I think I forgot. I forgot. How could I?! Maybe that’s why we get pregnant, so we are reminded of the miracle that is Life, that is *us*, and stop beating ourselves up and thinking how our breasts are never the right size, our hips are forever too wide, and how where it never perks up where it should, and never stays flat where it should be. In pregnancy, that roundness is admired. Envied. Yearned for. It’s so whole and perfect, and it reminds us that roundness is goodness. And to witness how that part of us expands and envelopes and nurtures a life within, is really to watch a miracle grow. How can you not swoon and feel carried away by the swirling energy of the Universe? How can you then scorn and be dismayed at the stretch marks? They did such an important job- or our baby will just be squeezed within, confined and suffocated by that rubber band of a tight belly.

So, this is the time to grow with abundance. To feel abundance and be it. And give thanks. I am grateful for this body that does not need to be perfect. I am so thankful the cosmos within is working an unthinkable, almost unfathomable miracle that no talented scientist can replicate in a laboratory. I am so amazed by me and what is happening within. Yes, all that gushing and oozing and flowing. All that growing. The Universe within needs to expand, so does my heart and my mind. And this time, I shall not forget. I will remember. That cosmos. That Miracle. Me. And. You, too.

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Those long, painful contractions kicked in, two days before Valerie’s due date. There was an enormous amount of pressure on my rectal area. I could not find any comfortable position. Could not stand, sit, squat, lay down or crawl. Nothing could remove that tension. Just grinding with it. Braxton-Hicks? Or the real thing? I took out the watch and I still have a piece of paper somewhere where I scribbled down the times when the timing started and ended. Those scratchings certainly looked very painful still, almost six years after the matter. Could not eat, could not sleep. Quite miserable. I knew I wanted to wait as long as I can before going to the birth center, but it was really painful and uncomfortable and I will hide in our bedroom and look at the watch and tears will flow out of the corner of my eye. I called the midwife. No, the contractions were too erratic; some seemed to be lasting really long, but still, it was not time yet.

Two days later in the middle of the night I laid in bed, wanting to convulse in response to the contractions; and that darn pressure on the rectal area was still there. dh was sleeping, all conked out, next to me. I think I lost my plug. And I was getting impatient, and I just wanted to be at the birth center to be looked at. I called the Center and told them I felt the contractions were really intense. They agreed for me to come over. I woke Ralf, we gathered the bag, Ralf made his coffee, we packed a box of cookies, left a note on the table for my mum, and we went off. It was about two in the morning.

On the drive over, I kept smiling. This must be it! I’m going to be a mother! We’re going to see the baby! I held dh’s hand and asked how he felt. He was calm, and excited too, he said.

I had a cervix check when we arrived at the center. Ouch! Yuck, I am very sensitive there and hated that. The midwife on duty apologized but she said I was almost halfway there, 4cm! Baby is pressing low on my back, explaining the rectal pressure. She suggested I walk around to help things along. In the “living room” area a family was sitting together in bliss and excitement, all smiles. There was a baby, all swaddled up. I could see that dark mob of hair, those two tiny slits of eyes that were close in peaceful sleep. The mother looked glorious. Oh, baby! Are you coming?! The midwife joked that the baby should be motivation for me. I walked. Up and down, up and down. I was tired. I drank some, I ate a few cookies. Suddenly it seems the contractions have grown much less intense and decreased in frequency. I wanted to just crawl somewhere, curl up and sleep. But I kept walking. I remember setting our things up in the birthing room. Putting on a CD. I recall watching dawn break through that window in that room. Oh, a new day has started. “This is the day, my baby” I whispered to my belly. I think people were coming and going. I had a fellow laboring mum in the next room. But things were not moving along for us. Ralf called in to report that he won’t be coming in for work that day. My legs were getting soft and strength was seeping out of my fingers. I think I started to lose confidence; I thought of the birth plan and the birth visualization in our bag, and they seemed just like a jumble of alphabets on pieces of paper, stripped of power and dreams, just laying in there lamely.

The midwife offered to draw up a bath for me so I can relax with the warm water jets in the tub. Yes, I wanted that. I got in, and fell asleep a little. I had not really rested the last two days. I was really exhausted. I wanted to forget about the pregnant belly and just sleep for a few days. I wished the big, bulging belly could be slipped off, just for a few moments!

After some time, I was asked to get out, becoz the warm water was so relaxing, it could vastly slow down the labor. I was asked to do this, try that. And things were moving along very slowly. I think I heard a baby cry in the next room. Already. Doubt flooded over me. Self-doubt. Can I do it, or not?! Fear consumed me and maybe I was afraid the devil will come and get me and my baby and I would not allow dh out of my sight. If he needed to use the toilet he had to be doubly quick. He was the only other person I knew then, whom I totally trust is going to protect me and take care of me. “Come on, baby! Come on!” I whispered to my belly. “Don’t you want to come out and see me? I am dying to see you, to see how you look like!”

At one point, the midwife broke my waters. I think I went on to 8cm. And stayed there forever. And the room was starting to get dark. Midwives changed shifts. Two midwives got me onto the bed and helped me try several things. One of them asked if I surfed, for she had a surfing technique that really always works. No, I do not surf. I looked down at my belly, my toes, and felt like a dork. Stupid. What am I supposed to do now? I feel like reaching inside and just pulling the baby out. I just want to lay back and ask everyone to get out and have a good cry and a good long sleep. I want to sleep! I am so tired, and I have not eaten much since we got there, just those cookies, that were dry, hard and nowhere near nourishing or delicious. And, things were really just not going well.

Our friend R paged to see what we were up to. Mother had called them, worried that we have been away for 12 hours already. Was everything ok? Yes, I was still alive, baby is still alive, but I felt like dying. My spirits kept dropping, and dropping.

Finally, the midwife said we gotta go to the hospital. It was eight in the evening. My waters had been broken for 12 hours. We had been at the center for 18 hours already. Tears welled up in my eyes. Is this it?! Am I being thrown out of the ring, game over? The midwife smiled and told me they could help me better at the hospital, it’s just five minutes down the road, and don’t worry, she’ll be there. dh, bless his heart, he was holding strong, even though I had been clutching on to him, and he hasn’t really eaten either. We got into the car. On the way over, I told him while staring ahead, “I don’t want to be cut up.” “No,” he reached over and squeezed my hand, “Don’t worry, everything is going to be alright.” he said.

We got in. dh went to the receptionist, while I sat and waited. Ominous thoughts flashed into my head. Oh, is this the point where things are going to spiral out of control? Pitocin, epidural, C-section, all that jazz, not being able to breastfeed, etc etc etc?! I wriggled my toes to find feelings in my feet, trying to find strength to stand firm on this ground. They ushered me into a room, it was cold. I was supposed to change into some flimsy gown. I shivered. The room was cold and I was scared. They got me onto the bed and started the pitocin. My feet were cold. “Please get me my socks, Ralf!” He looked in the bag but could not find it. We asked the nurse for socks, she went off and came back with those disposable paper-shoes they wear around the hospitals. Heck, don’t you have anything better to offer to a poor, tired pregnant woman who is feeling cold?! I was feeling angry, annoyed, despaired. I felt like an animal on a chopping board. Thankfully dh looked again and found the socks. Much better! Then the pitocin kicked in, and where was the midwife? She’s nowhere to be seen, and the pitcoin was killing me! Are they trying to kill me?! I clung on to the cold metal sidebars of the bed, pleading to dh to please hug me, please help share the pain, it was too intense! “Please switch off the machine! It’s the wrong thing, they are trying to kill me! I am dying! PLEASE! PLEASE!!”

And I was just a mess. So pathetic. Still cold, and my gastric juices were starting to corrode my insides. I wanted to curl up, but my belly was blocking me. And all those wires that seemed to be everywhere… I think I must have cried. Not loudly. Just the tears. I cannot remember but I think once I bit into Ralf’s knuckles so I would not scream the roofs down.

A nurse came in. “Where’s the midwife?” I asked her. She told me she has gone back to the birthing center; there was another birth. I thought, “There’s a birth right here. I need help. I really need help!” But the nurse also turned off that stupid machine and told me I was 10 cm now, Congratulations. I felt the urge to push. “I want to push.” I said. She informed me the doctor has been called. He was on his way, probably 20 minutes. That sprouted the horns on my head. “BUT I WANT TO PUSH! NOW!!!” She looked at me. “Yes, you can start. I’ll help you.”

I think that was what I did for the next hour or two. Prone, knees up to my ears, people counting and me pushing. My ribs were going to break, I was very sure. I was going to burst. I felt like an animal. The doctor came and I did not like his attitude but I had no choice then. I pushed! I pushed!! Finally I was told the baby had crowned. I reached down and touched her hair. Oh, here comes the ring of fire! “What is that?!” I shouted. I was told to puff, pant. I felt a little bit like a robot, with very delayed response. I had to think, “Pant? ok, pant, like a dog.” A few pushes more and I was pushed over the edge. The baby is here, she is here; finally she is here!! I heard her cry, I heard the doctor say, “It’s a girl!” She’s here. She’s a reality.

I flopped back, tears running down my face. “Baby, baby! Where is my baby?!” The nurse put her onto my tummy. Valerie lifted her head and our eyes met. “Oh, my baby! My baby!” I’ll always remember, those were my first words to Valerie. She had dark hair, and she looked bruised. But she was finally here. Big girl. She looked strong too. The nurse took a picture of us three. I looked worse than shit. I was not radiant and I was not peaceful. I was relieved that the baby was safe. I was SO glad I did not get cut up and she did not give up on us, on this world, to make the passage into this crazy world.

That, was our first birth.

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Three. The third dimension. The number of whole- beginning, middle, ending. Past, present, future. Birth, life, death. Heaven, earth, waters. Body, soul, spirit. Buddha, Dharma, Sangha. The Trimuti. The heavenly number, the magical number- three wishes, three precious jewels, three guesses,three gems. The Holy Trinity.

But when it comes to the number of children, three is a number that induces gasps and invites speculation. It seems Two is the optimal number- so one child gets attention from one parent. If one parent goes out with two children, he has two hands to offer to each child, an arm to carry each child (how he gets to open the car-door and remove his wallet to pay the dinner bill is another story). Two ears, two eyes; so going beyond two is often seen as a challenge, an act of bravery, courage, and perhaps insanity.

When friends around us had a third and if it was unplanned, we took the news with sympathy- Oh, how are they ever going to manage! THREE kids!! Look how we are struggling with Two! Of course, a third is out of the question! … And if the third child was a planned and anticipated one, we wonder what is wrong with the parents? Do they think they are super-humans or what? Do they have billions of dollars stashed away in a Swiss bank account?

Now, **we** are expecting our third. It was both planned and unplanned. I mean, before we got married, my dream number of children was… (drum roll please!)… FOUR. Yes, I wanted four kids. At that time, I was not thinking of the two arms, two hands thing. I saw children sitting on the shoulders ,piggy-backing, skipping around, a picture of bliss and happiness crowding and spilling over. After Sophia, several reasons led to me, to us, saying, “That’s it for us! Two girls is great!” Even though deep inside, I still held that image of paradise with four children, laughing and dancing. Those laughter I can hear, that breeze I can feel, those tender skin I can touch and sense… but a couple of years back, my mind, body and even soul felt bruised. No, I did not have the courage to have another one, even though the yearning never ceased. When I come upon old maternity clothing, old nursing clothing, something would tug at my heart. I look at people with more than two kids and try to imagine myself there.

And the truth is, I would really really like to have another one. At least one more. But we were not discussing it. We talked about permanent contraception, but I keep asking dh to put away clothing that Sophia grew out of into the attic and he did it without any comments. He did not remind me there was not a future little one to wear those clothing that Sophia had outgrown. I did not want to talk, explain, discuss; did not dare to dream, let alone discuss it with my only sole potential sperm donor in my life.

So now, years after we hit on the “planned” and agreed number, we are expecting our third child. We cannot say this pregnancy is unplanned. dh thinks that is an atrocious idea, because last year in Germany we opened our hearts and talked about our mutual secret, and hidden desire to proceed beyond being a four-member family. Except, it happened faster than we had expected. I truly and sincerely think we are both very fertile creatures. I wanna say we just had to *think* to have a child, and -wham! Super-fast delivery from the Land of Babies landed at our door- There you are, madam!

And then I started to panic. Tried to deny it all. I took out my planner and pored over the notes I made for the days, trying to remember if that indicated a period? There must have been a mistake, yes? Didn’t we plan to “put in an order” this summer? This must be a joke from the Universe. I was incredulous for a few weeks. When nausea started and I was feeling like a deflated balloon everyday, tired and drowsy and just wanting to crawl into a cave, dh would jokingly ask, “Ah! Perhaps you are pregnant?!”

Now, I accept for sure that we are heading to the Land of Three. Three kids. Three children!!! This moment still, I am turning that number over and over in my head. Three, three, three. That magical number. It hypnotizes me- three… three… Three… three… three… three… I seem to float up into an unknown world, a whole different plane and dimension, and it’s just all blank and misty and empty. Vast. Gossamer in a dreamy sense. Lots of possibilities. Some color swirls. Gold dust. Ethereal music. Evocative scents.

Three is Mystery. Three is Excitement. Three is Anticipation. Three is Great, Wonderful, Exhilarating! Three is a little scary (in the “scary unknown” sense). Three is Startling. And Sensational. Three feels like it will be Juicy and Delicious. Three will be Charming, Cute, Adorable and Delightful. Triple Happiness, Triple Joy, Triple Fun.

I feel giddy thinking of it. Sometimes in a delirious way; sometimes in a “can’t know what to expect” kind of way. But I love the number Three.

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There was a whole pile of dirty dishes waiting to be cleared this morning. Stuff that I cannot just torture the dishwasher with.
So I made more dishwashing agent and started washing. As I rinsed and stack the dishes and pots, I realised that i was standing further back from the sink. In the coming weeks I am going to start lamenting that my poor back was aching from having to lean over the kitchen sink. Because I have a growing belly in the way.
But this morning I thought, “In the way is so wrong. The baby is ON ITS WAY!”
I think Mother Nature gave us big pregnant bellies for good reasons. To slow us down, to give us daily gentle reminders of the miracle growing and happening. To hinder us from having to wash dishes. To get us down on our hands and knees more to move around, to smell and feel the Earth easier, to come closer to the ground, our Origin.
I had fears of a big, big, belly. I grow good-sized babies and I remember with the last pregnancy, I could hardly fit into anything by the last month. Really, I could not wear ANYTHING and felt miserable because it seems like a big, black garbage bag was the way to go, or just strut around (strut around? “Waddle” and “bob” may be the more accurate terms) stark naked, shocking people with a big naked belly, rippling stretch marks and a dimpled butt, and spider veins and varicose and scars of all sorts. Maybe risk getting arrested.
But I want it to be different this time. Not by trying to limit Nature’s blessings by attempting to stunt the growth of the baby, and the belly. But to grow stronger, so I can carry the weight proudly. So I stop hunching and slouching over but instead stand tall and straight. I should let people know how proud I am of this belly, how blessed I am to sport this roundness. I love that roundness, and I want to celebrate it!

I have a baby on its way, can’t you see? Can’t you see?

I drove to the store last night and saw the crescent moon. Is it on its wax, or on its wane? I don’t know. But I felt I could pluck the moon and hang it onto my belly, my round belly. As I stepped out into the crisp night-air, i felt I have a larger surface area to feel all that goodness. Aaaahhh, it felt so good. Really good.

I know my feelings about this changing body is going to change, wax and wane too, like the moon. This is something I wanna write about too. But for now, today, it feels wonderful to feel, and see, baby. on. the. way.

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Clearing away dirty dishes a thought shot into my head: “I have to, MUST, teach this boy how to love. The Real way.”

But that immediately did not feel right. What was I thinking? What’s lurking beneath? Did I not believe my child will know how to love the right way? Am I feeling unfulfilled with my “love life”? Why am I assuming, because he’s going to be a boy, that he needs to be taught, and not know how to love, in all its grandness and largeness? Can Love be taught? What’s with those grand male lovers that we come across in literature? How did those eternally heart-breaking and moving poems come about? Did the poets experience love and wrote it? Or was it but a desire, a vision, a clamoring for something one had not had?

As I puttered around the house, bending over picking up toys and feeling my growing belly, I had to ask myself, “What is LOVE?” I guess you can’t really teach something you do not really know, can you? I can show him what I know. I think when I had that thought, I was trying to fulfill a void in my life through him, and that, is a very dangerous thing. Surely I am not going to groom him into the lover I wish I had?

I reflected on the people in my life whom I felt knew how to love. Were they conscious of what they were doing? Or is it just a part of them? They love(d) just like they will breathe. Natural. Inhale. Love. Exhale. Love. Eat. Love. Sleep. Love. Sit. Love. Walk. Love.

I pondered and I ruminated. Thoughts meandered in and out, and pieces of my own history popped in to greet me.

“Unconditional.” That’s what true love is, isn’t it? In its truest and grandest form, Love is Unconditional. It may not be reciprocated, and it probably also does not guarantee one’s happiness, but I THINK, that is what true love is. At least I feel that is how I should love my own children, and I know this is where I sometimes fail. Sometimes I shut my heart. I feel tired, and blase. The world is bleak and the same seems to be so of my relationship with my children on some days. Everything seems dim and my heart closes its shutters and shut down. I hide in a corner and struggle to respond to their needs. And during times like this, I am unable, totally unable to see them purely as they are- my dear, dear children. My flesh and my blood; my pain and heartaches and hopes and dreams. Their sweetness, their innocence, their vulnerability, their greatness.

Why do I do that? Why do I shut down? I think I want reciprocation and sometimes it certainly feels I am not getting it. If indeed they do, wouldn’t they just devour with relish what I put on the table after laboring for an hour and getting my hair greasy and smelly with cooking oils? If indeed they do, why can’t bedtime business be a breezy 10-minute thingy but instead stretch out into repeated, REPEATED requests to come get changed, brush teeth, be wiped? If indeed they do, why do they not see I need time to read and just think for a while and instead start fighting with one another and create a nervous energy in the house that drives me crazy?

Now I am getting nuts. Why do I expect my children, young and with much to learn and experience in this world, to know all these? Even dh, as I sometimes say to him, after three decades and eight years on this planet, still often do not know better- how can I expect more from a three year-old and a five year-old? And, if I have unconditional love, then it is enough if I just spill and flood my food with love, even if they taste not a morsel. Having the opportunity to cook a meal for loved ones is already a fortune; just like sharing the same boat, not to say the same blood, is already a gift too precious to behold. Just having my children with me, breathing in the same room, hearing their voices, hearing their pencils and crayons scratch across the paper, is already bliss. I have forgotten to listen, and feel with gratitude. That’s why I do not feel the love surround me.

So then, are those great lovers we read about just an illusion? A big, fat bunch of lies? Well, I guess I refuse to believe they are not real. And they need not do earth-shattering things. Just, love. Love real, love deep.

To know, mummy’s love is always there, and it runs deep, is strong, yet tender. Soft, but fierce. To feel love, one first needs to open one’s heart. Wide open, like windows in summer. The heat outside may be stifling but if one is still enough, a whiff of breeze may kiss your cheeks and tickle the nape of your neck. The scent of your loved ones may be found lingering… on your sleeve, in your palms. And you remember all those small little things. The loving glance, the playful flutter, the glimmer and twinkle in the eyes. If I am still, I can feel the sensation of my children’s soft, warm hands on my skin. I can even feel the strength of their hungry suckle on my breasts, the pull of their fingers on my hair, that sweet, sometimes slightly sour smell in the fold of their necks.

Maybe Love is not so difficult afterall. Just willingness. Just the willingness to open one’s heart like windows in summer. And not compare, and think too much, whether one deserves or if the other is deserving.

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p.s.: Dear baby, I forgot one thing I wanted to write when I was thinking of the car issue last night. I wanted to tell you how amazing that the five of us are going to constitute a family. That you are little baby brother, that daddy and I have Valerie and Sophia as daughters. Really it is a precious miracle. I believe in reincarnations and totally subscribe to the belief that we have each reincarnated many times, many lifetimes, in different forms, in different vessels, and then finally, finally we come together as a family. Perhaps in one of our past lives we had crossed paths, or were in the same family but as different members. Maybe you used to be my brother, maybe Valerie was my mother and perhaps Sophia was my grandma. They say it takes a thousand reincarnations to even have the chance to share the same boat. To be in one family, sharing the same blood, sharing this same life, is a monumental miracle, my little one.
A monumental miracle. I got really blown away thinking of this last night while trying to fall back to sleep. I have always wondered what I was in my previous lives? A cloud? A rat? A cockroach? A slave? A flower? A weaver? A woodcutter? A crane, or a heron? Maybe just a dewdrop that evaporated into the sun. Where were you? Where were the others? Did we once hold hands together and form a cloud, perhaps? Maybe Sophia was our mother. I still remember in the opening chapter of “The Other side of Eden”, the author described how an Inuit mother was addressing her newborn as her mother, for they believe that elders die and reincarnate back to the family. She offered her breast to the hungry baby and said, “Drink, mother, drink.” Oh, it is such an intriguing mystery to me when I think of such things… … and the invisible scars and history we carry with us.
But this lifetime, we’ll get to know all over again. A past, distant echo of a voice may creep into our conscious brain once in a while, reminding us of an unfinished business or unveiling a forgotten dream. Perhaps when we sometimes touch, the skin recalls lovers long ago touching cheeks in a sorrowful departure, one in a boat drifting away, the other waving under the willow tree. No matter what, our paths must have crossed at one point to bring us together in this lifetime. And if only have this one lifetime, and not knowing how long it lasts… … you will come the latest into my life, so we gotta make up for lost time.

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