It’s really Late

I find myself most nights unable to sleep. Sleep in peace. Have peace in my mind and my heart. So much things linger in my head, as if everything is just floating in the air and I’m finding ways to relate to all of it.

I hate how my mind makes me feel. As if I’m on some constant race to figure all the meaning of life. I can put meaning to a lot of things, rarely it being true or right.

I lay there, and wonder. 

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After twenty-seven years, I would hope I’m over all the sad thoughts that are so mediocre about being an adoptee. After so many years, I thought I’ve mastered not feeling, thinking, or wondering about where I began. But the truth is, as often, as I find these thoughts in the back burner, they linger, annoyingly, finding themselves tag along to “wishful wants” I see on the daily.

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The truth is, the pain still sticks. The pain still catches on. The pain still wonders. 

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I look at my children, and I see how loved they are. Someone who never truly understood what it means to love or to be there for anyone or for anyone to love them back. But my children, who, Isometimes, envy.

They’ll always be loved, needed, wanted, fought for, and be someone’s world.

xo, MM

 

 

Repost from Tumblr – December 5, 2015

Oh daddy, where art thou

Before I begin this entry, let me be the first to tell you that while most of my entries appear to be very personal and almost pitiful..the intention of what I share isn’t to influence your negative feelings or request your negative rants in response to how this may allow you to feel.

I have taken these honest views of my life so that others who may find comfort in knowing they aren’t alone in these real, life matter ‘situations’. 

As I was…

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Dad & J hanging out with 1 & 3 (Apollo & Cassiopeia)

Yesterday was Fathers Day. We celebrated this event with my father- in-law since we’ve been in Toronto staying with them since last Tuesday, and we would be heading home a few hours after this.  It was your usual, cater to the Dads day. While I sat at the dining table having brunch with the family, I couldn’t help but wonder if I should call my Dad.  He is after all, a dad nonetheless even if not biologically. 

As I continued to think what my calls would bring about or if he would even answer, the thought began to disappear. It began to feel more like a chore and not from the heart.

I used to have the same sweet messages that most ‘child-of-someone’ had written and shared yesterday.

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3 years ago

But..in the last few years I’ve accepted that I’m no longer anyone’s child, and I no longer have a father that cares to be one. I merely have one now, just to say I’m still his adopted daughter because that can’t be changed, and vice versa.

I realize that in moments like these in my life, I’ve learned to turn off the emotion one is to feel about these types of things. I felt no ways about Fathers day. I only felt that my children should show their father appreciation everyday for loving them like no other. I felt my husband should convey to his dad whatever it is to let him know he loves him. But I..well, it was just another day. Just like mothers day. I expected nothing and the day went on like any other.

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He's an awesome Dad

Perhaps that part of me that envied others for the things and relationships they have which I’ll never be able to understand, have learned to switch itself off. I used to cry about it. I used to be so jealous. And now..as these days pass without a thought, the easier it gets for my heart to block it off. I’ve lost all emotions. My heat is as stiff as it gets. My mind, it’s taught itself to forget.

One day I’ll figure this part of me out. Until then..let’s keep going.

I’m out.

xo, MM

no streams

Here’s my open letter to you.

“An understanding mind, may categorize the reasons you had to give me up. An understanding mind, may have been able to give you peace about the decisions you’ve made. 

Time, and time again, I wonder.

I wonder, why? I wonder, how?

I’m now a mother of two, and a third one, on the way. I wonder, if I ever felt the poverty, the unfairness of life, the unluckiness, the inabilities; even half of what you felt, would I have done the same..oh wait…

I know how it feels to struggle. To live, paycheque, to paycheque with a child. How worrying it is to not know where, or how the rent was going to be paid, or any of the bills, for that matter. I know how it feels to buy just enough for what we need because..LIFE!

Would I have given up as easily, as you did? Would I have not tried? Would I have been able to look at my child for the last time, and spend the rest of my life, however, wherever, not being able to look at my kids again?

I wonder, would I have the strength to give them up? Could I have done it?

It isn’t a matter of strong hearts, strong minds, or greediness. 

I could’t. I wouldn’t. I am greedy for it. But I would have died trying to survive, to GIVE MY CHILD a future, MYSELF. I would have died, with them in my arms. 

Maybe I’m stubborn. Maybe I’m irrational. Maybe I’m illogical. 

How could you? Why didn’t you become better, and came back for me? Why wasn’t I enough? What you thought was best for me, also left me in the long run. Are you still proud of your decision? 

The root of the anger, the root of the sadness, the root of my shortcomings, the root of things that I never came to know, and learn, is because you left. I can’t seem to shake off the feeling, the resentment..it eats at me, when the moment presents itself. When those moments arrive, I lose grip of what I’ve worked so hard to mend. All the pieces I’ve managed to glue back together, shattered again.

Now that I’m older, it haunts me more often. It breaks me, more often. It kills me, more often. While I use the happiness, of the blessings that have come from it, I still find myself lost, unable to let go.

You left me, when I couldn’t yet cry out to you. You left me when I couldn’t yet say to you, I’m worth it, just give me a chance. You left me when I couldn’t yet, tell you I can eventually help us. You just gave up.

You just left. And now I’m to just accept it?“

………..

In the late hours..

I find myself most nights unable to sleep. Sleep in peace. Have peace in my mind and my heart. So much things linger in my head, as if everything is just floating in the air and I’m finding ways to relate to all of it. 

I hate how my mind makes me feel. As if I’m on some constant race to figure all the meaning of life. I can put meaning to a lot of things, rarely it being true or right. 

I lay there, and wonder. 

image

After twenty-seven years, I would hope I’m over all the sad thoughts that are so mediocre about being an adoptee. After so many years, I thought I’ve mastered not feeling, thinking, or wondering about where I began. But the truth is, as often, as I find these thoughts in the back burner, they linger, annoyingly, finding themselves tag along to “wishful wants” I see on the daily. 

image

The truth is, the pain still sticks. The pain still catches on. The pain still wonders. 

image

I look at my children, and I see how loved they are. Someone who never truly understood what it means to love or to be there for anyone or for anyone to love them back. But my children, who, I sometimes, envy.

They’ll always be loved, needed, wanted, fought for, and be someone’s world.

Who’s Chasing you?

I have spent a crazy amount of time chasing after people in my lifetime. Never having the satisfaction of knowing if I’m ever enough for anyone.

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The funny thing about losing people in my case is, I’m never the one who chooses to walk away. I’m always left with having to, because there’s nothing else to hold on to.

“How disappointing. I wonder what, where I went wrong in that one?”

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That’s my father. He adopted me at eight months old; a private adoption. Tracking any history is a lot harder that way, or, maybe I’m just not sure how to get to it. 

For the most part of our relationship it was awkward and uncertain. I spent the first three years with him, until he moved to Canada without me for six years. In those six years, I became my own person, who saw the world as my enemy. I had no one. Lived with people who had to, because I was “family”. Imagine a child, uncertain of what it means to be loved and to countlessly rely on nobody because they just weren’t mine to rely on. I finally met up with him again, and things were surely where he left off. I didn’t know him, just photographs he’s consistently sent me to “never forget” that there’s supposed to be someone keeping time with me. He’s taught me good things, but where he lack was the nurture I have now learned being a parent, myself. 

I haven’t spoken to him in over two years. It’s been three Christmas’s without him. He’s never met Arty, and have forgotten about Apollo. 

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​He posted this today, it translates:
“It hurts to think that because of that one thing that happened it can no longer be the same as before between the two of you”

I’ve called in the last two years, numerous times to reconcile what has been broken because he’s my only immediate family and the truth is, being a mother I’ve learned that love is indeed unconditional. It’s not longer the way it used to be when I was single and I was selfish and I thought that when people walk away from you, you just gotta let it be. That you’re not losing anything or anyone because it’s their right. But families come with a certain rule. A rule that  no matter what, you can’t be broken. Sometimes you can disconnect, like with many other things in life, but never with family. But in this case, when you disconnect, there’s no turning back. It’s a shame because he’s always been one to hold grudges. Time will lose, time will turn, time will come and I wont be chasing it no  more.

xoxo, MM