Saturday, April 30, 2011

Looking Inside

Of the few things I am sure about, the fact that I am always unsure of myself is what I am sure of.

I wonder where this all began? I wonder if this can be reversed? 

Alone, thoughts of fear and uncertainty taunt me. In a crowded room, an insecure stance is what I carry. It's something I hate. It's a feeling I dislike very much. So on nights like this one, lights off, kids sleeping, I sit and wonder how I can become better. How can I learn to believe in my decisions, be confident with my actions.

Because of that, I feel like I am trying too hard most of the time - to please others but maybe more of to please myself. I am always overly concerned with what people around me think about me, what they think about the things I do or how I handle myself.

I need to believe in me. Although far from perfect, I know there are still things in me that make me a good person, a loving mother, a respectful wife. It's a difficult, awful feeling. 

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Me. The Real Me.

Well, I guess the trick is to never stop because if you do, you won't know how to start. And when you finally get the courage to start, you end up feeling like never wanting to start again.

Blogging. That's what I'm talking about. 

Have one liner tweets or a few sentences as facebook statuses taken over our want to sit down, put our thoughts together and write paragraphs and paragraphs about our day, our feelings, our experiences, our troubles, our joys?


I deleted my facebook account a few months ago. While it has connected so many long lost friends, relatives or has become a way of people to get to know each other or for some, a selling place for shoes, clothes, gadgets, etc., I just couldn't take so much of the drama that would ensue in the lives of people I was in one way or another connected to. Not that I don't care, I just felt like there were some issues that need not be taken out of the closet and made fo everyone's consumption - but for some, they just felt the need to just let it all out. No offense meant, this was just a personal decision I made because I felt that it would do me better. 

ANYWAY. Where have I been? Goodness. 7 months has been way too long. I actually am starting to feel the groove again as I am writing this. 

Last year, my househelp of 6 years decided to leave. It was heartbreaking for me because I became so emotionally attached to her. It affected me and I had such a hard time looking for a replacement. In 12 months, I've had 9 helpers come and go. It is very frustrating when both my husband and I have to work and I have to think of where to leave my 3 kids while at work. But we've been managing with the help of relatives.

On the homefront, my kids have grown so big, so fast. The eldest turned 9 last February. The middle guy is turning 5 in May and will be in kindergarten. And the littlest one turned 2 last March and is expanding his vocabulary everyday. Married life hasn't been too easy -- which is probably why I also shied away from blogging for a while. I did come to realize that a big part of what I blogged about were the good times - the happy times where I talked about how awesome my kids were, the funny times where I wrote about the crazy happy times of life, the good times where I posted family pictures of all of us smiling. But I never wrote in depth about the pains, the hurts the heartbreaks. Maybe because I felt the need to project myself as the happy one with a happy family and happy kids and a happy home with a happy husband. Privacy, some may say. I will go slow. I do not know how far I can also bare myself but I have come to realize that writing is me. 

A week ago, I met up for lunch with my bestfriend from grade school. When I sat down, she handed me this really thick huge envelope. She told me to open it. I opened it and found hundreds of letters I had written to her starting when we were in 3rd grade all the way to when we were in highschool. I tried to read some although most I couldn't bring myself to continue reading as those letters were just full of myself and my crushes and the shallow things of life. She asked me if I remembered writing those letters. I sat back and looked back and it came to me - I didn't remember what all those letters were about, but I did remember the feeling I had every time I would write a letter. 

Writing was me. Writing is me. It make me who I am. It's my way of being me.

So, hello. It's nice to be back. 

It's nice to write again.