▼ △ B R I ▼ △

True Love

, by Brigid

Saw this on Thought Catalog. It really is the sad truth isn't it?

A Letter To My Heartbroken Friend: You Will Love Again

by Rachel Sharer

You are sad and you are lost, and I will do anything for you. I will stay up until 3 AM with you while you get drunk on whiskey and contemplate life. I will sit for an hour in the library basement with you in silence, scratching words into the wooden table and listening to someone cough three floors up. I will buy you all your favorite junk food and send you funny videos, although I know none of it will help. You are so innocent, and so heavy-hearted; you cannot even begin to comprehend what love is or what it will ever be, and I wished I could have told you that it would feel like this.

I will talk with you for hours; I will hold you while you cry.

Because dear God I remember how much it hurt, the first time getting your heart broken. I was fourteen and a boy who spoke Spanish and tasted like limes kissed me on New Years Eve and for some reason I thought that was love. And I remember being drunk and losing my virginity at seventeen in a dark hotel room and not knowing how to feel, but knowing for sure that it was not love. And I remember most of all crying while I listened to his voicemails from Afghanistan, a world away, but God I loved him and he broke my heart. I will hold you in my arms while you cry, the way you did when I cried over my dad, and I will tell you it will be okay. And it will be, because we will grow up and grow old together and wither away with time.

I will tell you everything will work out. Ten years from now, I won’t remember the way the lime boy whispered to me in Spanish, or the way I felt when that Indiana boy and I drove down the coast together and he told me he loved me on the open road. I won’t remember hiking in a lightning storm with him or Bob Dylan songs on the radio or biscuits at the late night diner or even that last boy’s cold hands on my back every night in my dorm room. And you will not remember the way she looked past you, or late night piggybacks in the cold, or macaroni and cheese dinner dates. We will not remember that any of this ever happened.

Only the thing is, I am lying, because we will. I will remember all those boys, and you will remember this girl, and it will probably hurt forever, because I don’t think you ever stop caring about the people you once cared about. At least not completely. So I will sit here and I will tell you all this, and try to mend your crippled heart, but I am lying and you will know I am lying and you will still feel broken. But please know that I am here for you, and I will always be here for you, and that it will be alright in the end. You will wake up at midnight one night and remember the way someone held your hand five years ago, or hear a certain song on the radio and think of how your first love played it for you in his car. It will never truly go away. But it will be okay. You have the capacity to look past it and not let it taint your view of how important love can be. You and only you have the capacity to love again. If you can love again (and I know that you will, because you are one of the kindest and most loving people I know), then you will have truly won this battle within, and you will be okay. TC mark

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, by Brigid

In The Official Bitch Club,

End Of Exams

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, by Brigid

In R.I.P.,

Rest In Peace, Papa Harold

I wasn't very close to my grandfather while he was still alive. He was my mum's dad. I rarely spoke to him and didn't make an effort to visit him despite him staying in the home just opposite my house. I mostly saw him during Christmas or special occasions. When I walk past the home and see him sitting in the garden, I'd just pretend I didn't see him.

I don't really know why I acted this way. Mostly because I'm awkward at interacting with people and also because I always saw my grandfather as a short-tempered and grumpy man. He was always grumbling about everything, and he did a lot of things that made the whole family angry. While my grandmother was still alive, they'd be fighting all the time.

But after he died, and we had the funeral mass and my uncle said the eulogy, I somehow understood what made him so miserable.

He was just a small boy when his mum passed away. The most important woman in his life was gone. It was a few days after his birthday, if I'm not wrong. One of the presents she had given him before passing away was a crossword puzzle book and this explains why he was always doing crossword puzzles.

Anyway, he eventually met my grandmother and they had 9 children altogether (6 boys, 3 girls). They actually had 10 children but the eldest son passed away when he was just 1 year old.

They lived a difficult life, I heard from my mum. They were poor and hence, my mum, being the eldest, had to stop going to school after obtaining her o'levels. She was actually smart (she was in the Science stream) and could have gone on to even university but they just couldn't afford it and she had to start work.

Times were hard but they made it through. All 9 children got married and had children of their own.

When my grandparents were in their 70s, my grandmother had a stroke. She recovered but soon she suffered from another stroke that was so much worst. And soon, my grandfather lost another important woman in his life. . .

Anyway, my grandparents didn't have their own house because they sold their house and went travelling the world, but that's a whole other story.

Anyway, my grandfather stayed at a different child's house every week. Then as some problems arised and he got a few medical conditions, they decided to put him in the home opposite my house.

Last year is when I started noticing how skinny he had become and how miserable he looked, but I didn't think too much of it.

Apparently on New Year's Eve, this year, he stayed over at my uncle's house. When it was time for him to leave to go back to the home, he kept crying about being in pain and he even pissed in his pants. Sigh.

When I heard that, I felt so bad for him. I never realised his condition was so bad.

Few days ago (on a Sunday), he was experiencing shortness of breath and had a heartattack so he was rushed to the hospital, the nearest being KTP. His heart had actually stopped for a few minutes and he was actually considered dead but they resuscitated him without telling the family. Prior to this, my family had already made an agreement that if his heart should stop, they should not resuscitate him, but oh well, maybe God wanted him around a bit longer.

When I went to the hospital that night, he was unconscious. I saw all the tubes and seeing him lie there unmotionless was too much for me to handle and I broke down.

The next morning though (Monday morning), he regained consciousness and everything somehow seemed find. He was asking when he could go home and all. But my aunty did say he kept drifting in and out of sleep and talking to random invisible people.

On Thursday morning, around 7:30am, I woke up to get ready for school and was surprised that my mum was awake too. She was rushing to the hospital because my grandfather's condition was so bad. At 7:35am, I was notified in the whatsapp group I have with my cousins that he had passed away. Some of their parents were also rushing to the hospital, just like my mum, when they received the news.

I really feel so horrible that I never took the chance to properly spend time with Papa Harold. I was too busy with my own life and just now bothered at all. I also think one of the main reasons I didn't want to have much to do with him is because I kept hearing constant complaints and problems regarding him from my mum and all her siblings. This gave me such a bad impression of him while I was growing up. But I regret all that now. Life is short after all.

The last proper memory I had with him is off us playing bagar-bagar at NYE's. He was grumpy because he kept losing and the cards kept falling from his hands.

~~~~~~~~~~

Papa Harold, I hope you have found eternal life and happiness in heaven. I'm glad you're reunited with Mama Fin, your wife and true love, and your mum and all your other family. Try to be a bit less grumpy up there okay. And please reserve a seat for me at the bagar table up there. I'll join all of you when my time comes. I know I've never said this to you before but I love you, Papa.

R.I.P. Harold Aloysius Conceicao, Papa Harold.

See you in Paradise.

Btw, here's my crazily insane huge family. Took these photos on the day of the funeral cause it was the one time we were all at the same place at the same time.

The only 2 missing are Simeon (my brother) and Timmy, our 2 angels.

Btw, these are just my cousins.

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, by Brigid

In The Official Bitch Club,

Last Day of School

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, by Brigid

In R.I.P.,

6th Feb 2014. 7:13am.

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, by Brigid

Parents; Random Musings at 3am.

Ahh, I hate how I can't seem to fall asleep early and am always wide awake at odd timings. It causes my mind to wander and I tend to over-think.

~~~~~~~~~~

I really feel that I've been taking my parents for granted a lot. I know I always sound like an ungrateful brat. Always complaining about how they're constantly nagging, always not allowing me to go out, etc. I've complained a fair bit on Facebook and Twitter. Guess it's partly due to me going through my teenage rebellious stage. Every time I felt restricted or every time they scolded me and disciplined me, I really wished they would get out of my life or worst still, die.

Don't be hating on me. Everyone has felt this way one time or another. When the scolding doesn't seem to stop or when the nagging is continuos. When you're already having a bad day and you come home, wishing to hide in your room to seek solitude and peace but there's all this nagging and scolding going on. It's happened to me more than a handful of times and each time, I'd shout back at my mum to just leave me alone and I'd shut the door in her face.

When I was younger, I was always expected to be home by 10 on weekends. I never understood why. Even now, I'm somehow expected to be home by 11. I always felt this was unfair and even said to them, "Why does it matter what time I come home? It's not like I'm clubbing or smoking or doing drugs or doing bad things right?!" Another reason why I felt it was unfair is because my siblings always get to come home late, like 3+, 4+ in the morning.

Now that I'm older, and slightly wiser I hope, I'm slowly understanding that everything they say and do is for a reason.

The reason they want me home early is because they care for my safety. There's so many raping and slashing cases in Singapore. They don't want me to be a victim either.

Essentially, they nag because they care.

And I feel that I have not kept up to my end of the deal. My dad has worked so hard to provide a good life for my siblings and I. We're living comfortably in a terrace house. We're not rich but we're not proud either. I have many friends whose family does not go on holidays because their parents just can't afford it. My family? We go on holidays every year. Sometimes even twice a year. I'm also lucky that my dad can pay for my education and even send me for tuition. When I was in Pri/Sec school, I hated going for tuition. I thought it was a chore and hated my parents for sending me for tuition because I felt that it cut into my free time. But I guess they sent me because they wanted the best for me and to get the best results I could achieve. I have some friends who can't afford to go for tuition. Some even have to work part-time to pay for their university fees. I just take everything for granted. I don't bother studying hard or putting effort into my work. I've spent 4 years in polytechnic already. And my dad has not complained about the fees. Not once.

Whenever I need extra money, I ask my dad for money and he gives me the money without any complaint. My meds for my eczema is not cheap at all either.

I remember there was once, during my exam period, I was taking a break from studying so I was playing a computer game in the evening. My dad came into my room, saw that I was playing on my computer and asked why I wasn't studying when I had an exam the next day. I felt the anger in me rise and I shouted, "I was studying the whole day! You wouldn't know because you're not home half the time!" He kept his mouth shut and left my room.

Looking back now, I really think I hurt his feelings and I feel horrible about it now. He's not home because he's working his butt off to provide for this family and to make my life easy. I was just too immature to see it at that time.

Of course, once I get a stable job, I'll try to pay my parents back as much as I can every month. I'll do my best to succeed in life. My dad is still working. I really want him to have a comfortable retirement. I want both my parents to live happily and comfortably.

Another thing is, I'm really sad that I'm not very close to my parents. I'm pretty envious of my friends who are so close to their parents and claim that their parents is like their bestfriend and can share anything with them. I guess it's partly my fault. When I was <10 years old, I'd go out with my mum all the time. She'd bring me to Orchard and we'd always go to John Littles and Robinsons. I'd always hold her hand. I was also close to my dad last time. Every Saturday, he'd bring me for my swimming lessons and then we'd go to the library (I really loved to read). I guess I got that trait from him. I remember once in a letter he wrote to me during my confirmation camp, he said that I was like him. We'd shut ourself out from the world and bury ourself in a good book. When I was younger, I found it so easy to talk to my parents about everything and anything. Now, I hardly know what to talk to them about. And I wish it wasn't like this.

I wish I could just easily give them a hug or kiss on the cheek. Say "Goodnight" before I go to bed. Curl up on their laps like when I was younger. Wish I could talk to them about my problems. Wish I could talk to them about anything and everything. I can't even remember the last time I said to my parents that I love them, to their face. I only said it in a text I sent to my dad for his birthday last year.

Recently I've also splurged a bit more for their birthday and Christmas presents. That's the only way I know how to express how I feel. I'm really a person of very few words. I remember once, also in a letter during my confirmation camp, my brother compared me to the Ice Queen in the Chronicles of Narnia because I say so little and it's so hard to know I'm thinking in my mind.

Another reason why I'm getting so emo about all this now is because I just realised my parents aren't getting any younger. The average lifespan of people in my family is roughly 80+ years old. They're already in their 60s. So that's roughly 20+ years left? That's really not much time left. I really can't imagine what will happen to me once they're gone. I don't even want to think about it because it hurts too much. I really don't want to be filled with regrets when that day comes.

~~~~~~~~~~

I just had an extreme panic moment where I couldn't find the letters both my parents wrote to me when I was 15. I spent 15 minutes hunting around my entire room for them. When I finally found them, I started sobbing and panicking about so many things at once. Straightaway Skype called Matt in my sorry state and he had a fright because I was perfectly fine an hour ago and a mess now.

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, by Brigid

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Celebration of Learning

True Love

End Of Exams

Rest In Peace, Papa Harold

Last Day of School

6th Feb 2014. 7:13am.

Parents; Random Musings at 3am.

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