Some things are for sure:
sunrise, sunset, rent next month—
like clockwork is life.
I’ve signed up for the Incredible Blogger Marathon Challenge. It’s a ten-task-challenge that can span up to fifteen days. This post is my response to the fourth challenge: Hunt a Haiku. The challenge is to write an interpretation of the following haiku:
the sun will set slow
people go home for shelter
sun will rise again
“Hey, Jude! Did you hear? Hilary lost, Trump won!”
Oh hey, Jason. Trump won, you say? That’s such a surprise. When did this happen, anyway? I must’ve been living under a rock or something. I can’t believe I didn’t know he won. Well, it’s not like I had stayed up watching the three debates live or had discussed with my friends in the US about Trump’s chances. No, thanks so much for letting me know that Trump won the election. You’re my only news source. I wouldn’t have known otherwise.
By the way, how’s that project coming along? Do you realise that our client doesn’t care about the outcome of this election? How far are we on that?
Oh, we haven’t started yet? That’s brilliant. No, that’s fine, we can tell them it’d take a while. After all, we were busy watching the US elections and so was the whole world — our Russian client won’t mind at all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get back to my email.
What’s that? Oh, you just watched Trump’s speech on YouTube? Cool. Huh, the comments say he was high? Well, I don’t know. And you know what, maybe I don’t care. He was scary, you say? Sure, it’s not like I watched his speech live or anything but whether he smokes or not is his problem. Nope, I did not watch the recorded version. You think it was better than watching him live?
Anyway, thanks for the chat. I had been working for ten minutes straight and needed a fifteen-minute power break. By the way, since you know so much about the elections, do you know when Trump’s signing in as president?
Well, that’s weird. How come you didn’t know that there would be an official peaceful transition of power? You’ve been so religious about the election news so far today that I thought you’d know. Anyway, never mind. I guess it’s on the 20th of January. Well, it doesn’t matter anyway, check your mail. The client just emailed us asking for the report. Would you reply to them? And don’t forget to tell them you were busy with the elections.
“No matter what happened, this would be a historic day,” Kevin thought to himself as he adjusted his tie for the fourth time that morning. Everything had to be as perfect as planned. His had his suit custom-made so that not a stitch would be out of line. It was an important day.
A few blocks down the street, Mary was examining her long dress in the mirror. She wanted to make sure nothing had gone amiss. If anyone noticed even a small flaw in her dress, it would become her nightmare. Her parents would be disappointed and her brother even more so. She couldn’t afford anything going wrong. It was an important day.
All the hard work of the last few months had led to this day. For far too long now, they had both given up their personal lives, working through long days and longer nights. And as they both looked at the unmistakable dark circles under their eyes, they thought, with a tinge of regret, of the barrels of coffee they had drowned. It had led them to this. It was an important day.
They left their buildings at the same time. He in his Hyundai Sonata with his best friend at the wheel, and she in her Chevrolet Cruze cruising down the street towards the same towering white building.
It was an important day. Over a year of campaigning and cheering and jeering had resulted in the whole world talking about the election. And yet, no one knew that the lead staff of both candidates were just about to get married.
“No matter what happened, this would be a historic day,” the pastor began.
I love my parents. Well, who doesn’t? They raised me all these years, taught me what’s good and what’s not good, tried to teach me to make my own bed, and even instilled in me some values of cleanliness. They are the best parents I could’ve ever asked for, and I even considered giving my dad a “World’s best Dad” mug for his sixtieth birthday—which is all so normal and obvious.
That’s what parents are like; sweet, caring, nurturing, and deserving of our affection and compassion. Nothing wrong with any of those things.
All these aside, though, I still have second thoughts about visiting my parents. I can’t stand the thought of them looking up and down at me with crinkled eyebrows, and commenting I’ve lost far too much weight. I cringe to think of spending two days trying to endure their manipulating talks about saving up to build a house, gaining weight so I look my age, and not cutting my hair any shorter. Home for me is just a weekend of torture.
Is it just me, I often wonder.
And I realise it’s not just me. Most of my friends are like me: Dreading visiting parents. But then I spoke to another colleague. She loves to visit her parents. She plans her weekends in advance and allocates time for everyone that matter to her. She’d set up a movie date with her mother, a dinner with her schoolmate, and a tiny lunch party with the entire family. And when she comes back from home, she’d be downcast for a couple of days in the least.
It was a wonder to me.
And then I realised I don’t hate my parents. Despite being reluctant to visit them, I still care for my parents. So much so that I’d call them up to ensure they take their medication on time. I love spending time with them. I love the little chats my mother and I share while we make a mid-day meal. I cherish holding my dad’s hand while we walk to the grocery store. I crave for those moments when I catch up with their stories, smile at their weak attempts at making jokes, and even when I help them navigate the technology I have trouble with myself. I value those little hours we spend for each other. Nevertheless, every time I enter the house, I also look forward to leaving.
People talk so much about parenting, the rules, and best practices of being a good parent. But not enough people realise the challenges of being a daughter, a child. It pains me to yell at my mother who calls me at work because she’s bored at home. How would I tell her to do something for herself, something she’d enjoy doing (other than talking to me)? That is, alas, a question no one can answer. Good “daughtering” is all about finding the sweet spot between spending too much time and too little time with your parents. And I’m still looking for it. Any advice? Please shoot.
