My recovery was slow. I call it a recovery because for me, I knew that I had fallen into the depths of an abyss. For those around me, to them, I had only withdrawn temporarily. But they did not share my experience, nor did they understand my destined road.
I used to scoff at these terms: star-crossed, fate, destiny, kismet, providence. I knew I was in control of my fate. I made everyday decisions that propelled me in the direction I determined was my own making. But when my mother passed, it was an event that rocked the world as I knew it. Just when you thought things could not get better, BAM! You don't believe you will wake up one morning to lose someone near and dear to you. When this happened, I avoided religion, I turned away from those who gave their spiritual explanations and I even repelled my own soul. But the noise never went away. The whisperings of my inner sanctum kept me awake at night and made me more vigilant during the day. No matter how hard I tried to ignore it, the more they came.
They? What? Who? What the heck is she talking about? Well, I learned when the going got tough, the tough tried to push it away, just for it to boomerang back and slap me in the face. So you wonder, what is up with the bird? Why tell the story? How on Earth could a bird help me understand my plight? Was he a bird whisperer? How funny is that? Or is it? Now I am not going to tell you that this bird whispered things to me leading me to self-discovery or understanding the situation I was in. But he was a sign. I saw many signs that year. And they came to me only when I was not looking.
It was now October 1990. The month I was born. But this month and year would be a pivotal one, because my entire future was about to change, once again.
My father and I resumed somewhat of a cordial relationship but it was still frayed by tension. He was happy that I had gained some weight and that the colour had come back into my cheeks. But I know he longed for our quiet walks, accompanied trips out in the city and the jovial person I used to be. When I became social again with the same friends who I had abandonned, each one of them had not given up on me. They continued to call and inquire about my health and upcoming nuptials. But one thing in common was their concern --that I had changed. The light that once radiated from my being was missing, my usual cheeriness and the ability to avert the negative. Instead, they observed my pensiveness, impetuous and mercurial behaviour. I laughed it off but deep down, I understood their concern. And I needed to do something about it.
One night, as I sat alone in the TV room flipping through the stations, my father came down to join me. He asked me to turn off the TV because he wanted to talk. I was dreading the inevitable.
"I think you know why I am here to talk to you," he started off. I felt my head throbbing already. The interesting thing about my father was that when he was about to begin a huge speech, it was as if he needed to summon all the powers of Mount Olympus. Essentially, he needed to warm up but when he was in the thick of things, he was running with the torch.
"I want you to think very carefully about the step you are going to take. You need to understand the consequences of your decision." His choice of words implied that I was about to make a huge mistake.
"Are you talking about the caterer I have selected for the engagement?" I innocently asked. I knew that would tick him off. I folded my arms. I was now in defensive mode. My father sighed heavily. I was not about to make this easy for him. He sat back in his seat for a moment and stared up at the ceiling. He raised his palms up.
Oh, for crying out loud Dad! Melodrama. He was pretending to pray! My father was infamous at psychological guilt trips. History showed that the numerous times we argued, he would grab his chest and announce that his Will was located in his night table. I would respond back by asking which night table. The one on the right or left? He would storm out of the room at my sarcastic humour. It was the way I survived his interrogations.
"I accept him. If you are happy, I am happy." He looked at me with glistening eyes. I looked down and made circles in the carpet with my foot. What was happiness? I forgot what it was like to be happy. My heart had been virtually sinking since the year before. I would wake up every morning and ask no one in particular, When will I feel happiness again? Happiness. Such an arbitrary word. And as I sat there and thought, while my father was staring at me, the sinking feeling came back. No matter how hard I fought him, his ideas, his values, his decisions, his control--everything that he represented was the truth. And for many months, I was in denial and God was showing me this in many signs. And because I was in denial, my happiness would never come to fruition because I was deceiving everybody, including myself. Of everyone that I thought had my back, it was my nemesis, my own blood, of all people, that knew me better.
"My darling, are you happy?" he inquired. The circles in the carpet became blurred. It was a simple question. How dare he ask me. But he had every right. He was the only one to ask me the questions that mattered. I was about to respond. I tried to formulate the answer in my mind but the words were unable to reach my lips.
And suddenly, it came. My chest was heaving so much that my father got up and put his arms around me. The force was so strong that I could barely control myself. It was Fate and it finally opened the door that I kept locked and hidden behind all these months.
"Oh Daddy!! What have I done?!?!"
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