why hello. it seems centuries since i last updated. to be completely honest, i wasn't having a writer's block but i was blocking myself from writing. it's been a rough week. i'm finally declaring war with math. it was once a companion. a comforting voice, which admiringly whispers and sometimes shouts conquer. the satisfaction is no longer there. so often i get frustrated i blame the unknowing source of my stupidity. so often too, i let myself drown in my own sea of frustration.
just when i feel awfully stupid, i uttered the unthinkable. it's well established that Syaza Hasbullah is soccer illiterate. don't bother trying to explain because the countless of times my family and friends did, soccer remains a word. but what i did was completely shameful. i was at Buffalo Wild Wings with Hariz and Syahira when i innocently (really) mistaken Hernandez and Chicharito for two different guys. i remained silent throughout the game.
anyhow, when i thought that the week will end with blunder, i received positive criticisms for my 500 word-scene paper. it was the paper i dreaded writing because the prompt given was typical. John Wooden, 44 years old, a doctor, married with two kids, born and raised in 1950s, likes golf, secretly has a mistress.
if only uncertainty is plausible life would've made more sense. but then again, what will we learn?
Daughters
I grew up watching my father drenched in sweat and howling gibberish every night he came home from work. Ever since he caught mom in their bedroom - the holy shrine, as mom would giggle whenever I want to share the bed - my father befriended alcohol. He needed comfort and our love wasn’t enough. He loved us, he said. My brother and I grew up looking after each other. I was determined then that I am not to become like my father. I was too determined and I ended up becoming him. Today, I let my daughters down. Today, I failed.
“It’s like sleeping with your own daughter!”
Anna slams the door. I watched her leave. David, her boyfriend waited outside in his red Toyota. I could hear Anna cursing, pacing angry footsteps towards his car. They’ve been dating for almost a year now. She grew up accompanying me play golf at the resort where we reside every weekend. That’s where she met David, one of my acquaintances’ sons. I watched her leave with a heavy heart. My daughter is ashamed of her father.
Lost in my own frustration, Lila, my eight year old, poked me with her blue huggable dinosaur. She calls her Boppy. She said it reminds her of Baby Bop in Barney & Friends. Lila set her eyes on Boppy the moment we stepped into the toy store on her sixth birthday. She pats Boppy as I stroke my fingers through her blonde hair. They say she’s the spitting image of me.
“Daddy… Anna said you’re leaving us. Is that true?” she asked.
“No, baby. Why did Anna say that?” I asked.
I was drowning in her soft pitchy voice as she repeated Anna’s simplest explanation of my adultery. I’m so proud of Anna for looking after her baby sister that I could only gather a smile as Lila kept ranting about her big sister’s tantrum the morning before my arrival. It sounded like a tall tale when Lila retold it but it is the truth. I cheated on their mother and that I have been having an affair for seven years.
I am here today with our baby daughter on my lap, in our living room. I am here today with my eyes closed, remembering the first dance we had, in our living room. I am here today with you across the coffee table, in our living room. You sat there patiently waiting for my signature. Soon we will no longer be Mr. and Mrs. Wooden. Anna is right, I should know better than to have an affair with a candy striper. It started with a kiss and ended like this. Unlike my father, I chose not to solve my marriage affair with alcohol. Just like my father, I forgot to weigh the love of my child.
Today, I let my daughters down. Today, I failed.
