Poem.
Mirrors & Hearts - By Bissme S
If a mirror
Breaks now
All of us
Could hear
But if a heart
Breaks now
None of us
Could hear
I can’t help asking myself
Why the suffering of
A broken heart
Is always silent.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
A Beast With Talent
a poem from me.
A Beast With Talent - By Bissme S
In a room of many mirrors
Dance a ballerina
In front of a invisible audience
God was kind enough
To plant the talent
To dance beautifully
In her soul
With God's gift
And her hard work
She managed
To rise to the top
In the world of ballet
Then God and society played
A cruel sad joke with her
She was involved in a car crash
Where she loses her beauty
Where her beautiful face had turn
Into a scary looking beast
Heartlessly, the world of ballet
Close their door to the poor soul
For they know the audience
Only want to see
A beauty with a talent
Performing on a stage
Not a beast with talent
On stage.
A Beast With Talent - By Bissme S
In a room of many mirrors
Dance a ballerina
In front of a invisible audience
God was kind enough
To plant the talent
To dance beautifully
In her soul
With God's gift
And her hard work
She managed
To rise to the top
In the world of ballet
Then God and society played
A cruel sad joke with her
She was involved in a car crash
Where she loses her beauty
Where her beautiful face had turn
Into a scary looking beast
Heartlessly, the world of ballet
Close their door to the poor soul
For they know the audience
Only want to see
A beauty with a talent
Performing on a stage
Not a beast with talent
On stage.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Born To Be Fathers
A Poem from me
Born To Be Fathers By Bissme S
Some men are born
To be fathers.
Sad to say
His dad is not
One of them.
He was scarcely
In his teens
When his dad abandoned
Him and his mother
For a younger woman.
His mom had to
Work hard
Day in
Day out,
To support her four children.
Her job takes
Most of her time.
She scarcely has time
For her children.
In many ways,
He lost his mother too
He hunger for
His mother and father's love
If his dad had played dad,
This would not had happened.
But then again,
Some men are not
Born to be fathers.
Born To Be Fathers By Bissme S
Some men are born
To be fathers.
Sad to say
His dad is not
One of them.
He was scarcely
In his teens
When his dad abandoned
Him and his mother
For a younger woman.
His mom had to
Work hard
Day in
Day out,
To support her four children.
Her job takes
Most of her time.
She scarcely has time
For her children.
In many ways,
He lost his mother too
He hunger for
His mother and father's love
If his dad had played dad,
This would not had happened.
But then again,
Some men are not
Born to be fathers.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
To Be His Lover
This short story has been translated in Bahasa Malaysia under the title Aku Ingin Menjadi Kekasihnya and has been featured in Aweks KL, anthology of short stories and poems.A big thank you to Ruhayat X for accepting this story and taking the trouble to translate the work into Bahasa Malaysia. Here is the original and english version of the story
To Be His Lover- By Bissme S
It was said that we can never be lovers. But I was determined to change this. I was obsessed with being his lover. I really believed I was destined to love him and no one else.
I have tried to love other men, but all the relationships failed to work out. The more I dissected my failed relationships, the clearer the picture became – at any circumstances and at any price, I had to be his lover. There was no two ways about it.
As long as I was not his lover, I would never find any peace. Sadness will always hang over my life like dark clouds. I am tired of dark clouds. I yearn for a rainbow. Only he can give me the rainbow that I want so desperately.
There are many nights when I cry myself to sleep, knowing the fact that we can never share a bed together. I am tired of crying. I want so badly to be happy. Only he can give me the happiness I search for.
Interestingly, I barely recall our first meeting. But as I got older, I developed an insane fascination for him. At first, I thought it was just a crush. With time, I thought it will melt away and I will find someone nearer to my age.
But I never got over him. As the years passed by, the fascination for him just grew. He had loved me. That I cannot deny. But he never loved me like a lover… like Romeo would love his Juliet.
I wanted him to love me as passionately and intensely as he had loved his dead wife. I wanted him to take me in his arms and utter sweet loving words into my ears.
I never met his wife. I had only seen at her photos. She died when I was born. At certain angles, I do resemble her. But still he didn’t loves me the way he had loved her.
Sometimes I can’t help feeling jealous of his late wife. Her fingers had gone through all his intimate places. She had felt his warmth, tasted his lust and carried his child. I wanted badly to be in her shoes.
But then, if his wife were alive, most likely, there would be some detachment between him and me. Perhaps I would not feel for him the way I do now. I believe I would have been more concerned about her feelings.
With my old face and given name, there is no way he would take me as his lover. So I changed everything about me; my face, my name and myself. I adopted a total different identity.
I still remember what the plastic surgeon told me when I wanted him to alter every single feature on my face.
“I never had a beautiful woman walk into my office and ask me to change her entire face,” said the surgeon .
The surgeon did a perfect job. I barely recognised myself when I looked into the mirror. I felt like a stranger was staring back.
Prior to my surgery, I staged my own death. To the world, I died when my car skidded and plunged into the river. My body was never found.
A year after my “presumed” funeral, I returned to my hometown with a new name and a new face. From Phallavi, I became Pooja. No one recognised me, not even him.
They all believed me when I said I was a copywriter attached to a well known advertising agency, who was tired of the city and looking for a quiet life, far from the madding crowd.
I expressed a keen interest in taking up piano lessons which I abandoned years ago as a child. Naturally I was introduced to him. He was a well known pianist.
I pretended to know nothing about an instrument that I had played since I was five years old. Ironically, he was my piano tutor then.
The piano lessons were just a charade to be reintroduced to him and slowly win his heart.
I knew him so well; the right subjects to be bring up during our conversation. We got along famously. We laughed a lot. I knew exactly the right things to say to make him laugh.
Soon enough, love was blossoming between us. A dream came true for me. For once, I had his love the way I dreamt of.
Initially he was not comfortable with the difference in our ages. I was 25 while he was 50. It took sometime for me to convince him that love breaks through barriers of race, religion and age.
In less than two years since we met, he proposed and I accepted with joy. Finally I was becoming more than his lover. I was becoming his wife.
******This year marks four years we have been together as husband and wife. Truly, it had been the happiest years of my life. Finally happiness has entered my life and sadness has disappeared into the thin air.
He is still in the dark about my true identity. He has no clue that we have met long before our first piano lessons.
He really believes that fate had brought us together. But in reality, I had manipulated my way into his heart. It was a manipulation at the highest degree.
I hope he never finds out the truth. He will have a hard time digesting the facts. There will be regret, remorse and grief over what transpired between us.
Like many, he would regard what we had done as not right. As for me, I am not bothered about what is right and what is wrong. I have no regrets at all.
I was tired of living a life of misery. I was tired at not getting what my heart desired. I was tired of living by the law that was written centuries ago.
So I did what my heart craved for without bothering about the consequences. When the time comes, I will be ready to face God’s wrath, his punishment and his hell .`Looking back now, I feel it was not entirely my fault. I never asked to be born as his daughter. More than his daughter, I wanted to be his lover.
To Be His Lover- By Bissme S
It was said that we can never be lovers. But I was determined to change this. I was obsessed with being his lover. I really believed I was destined to love him and no one else.
I have tried to love other men, but all the relationships failed to work out. The more I dissected my failed relationships, the clearer the picture became – at any circumstances and at any price, I had to be his lover. There was no two ways about it.
As long as I was not his lover, I would never find any peace. Sadness will always hang over my life like dark clouds. I am tired of dark clouds. I yearn for a rainbow. Only he can give me the rainbow that I want so desperately.
There are many nights when I cry myself to sleep, knowing the fact that we can never share a bed together. I am tired of crying. I want so badly to be happy. Only he can give me the happiness I search for.
Interestingly, I barely recall our first meeting. But as I got older, I developed an insane fascination for him. At first, I thought it was just a crush. With time, I thought it will melt away and I will find someone nearer to my age.
But I never got over him. As the years passed by, the fascination for him just grew. He had loved me. That I cannot deny. But he never loved me like a lover… like Romeo would love his Juliet.
I wanted him to love me as passionately and intensely as he had loved his dead wife. I wanted him to take me in his arms and utter sweet loving words into my ears.
I never met his wife. I had only seen at her photos. She died when I was born. At certain angles, I do resemble her. But still he didn’t loves me the way he had loved her.
Sometimes I can’t help feeling jealous of his late wife. Her fingers had gone through all his intimate places. She had felt his warmth, tasted his lust and carried his child. I wanted badly to be in her shoes.
But then, if his wife were alive, most likely, there would be some detachment between him and me. Perhaps I would not feel for him the way I do now. I believe I would have been more concerned about her feelings.
With my old face and given name, there is no way he would take me as his lover. So I changed everything about me; my face, my name and myself. I adopted a total different identity.
I still remember what the plastic surgeon told me when I wanted him to alter every single feature on my face.
“I never had a beautiful woman walk into my office and ask me to change her entire face,” said the surgeon .
The surgeon did a perfect job. I barely recognised myself when I looked into the mirror. I felt like a stranger was staring back.
Prior to my surgery, I staged my own death. To the world, I died when my car skidded and plunged into the river. My body was never found.
A year after my “presumed” funeral, I returned to my hometown with a new name and a new face. From Phallavi, I became Pooja. No one recognised me, not even him.
They all believed me when I said I was a copywriter attached to a well known advertising agency, who was tired of the city and looking for a quiet life, far from the madding crowd.
I expressed a keen interest in taking up piano lessons which I abandoned years ago as a child. Naturally I was introduced to him. He was a well known pianist.
I pretended to know nothing about an instrument that I had played since I was five years old. Ironically, he was my piano tutor then.
The piano lessons were just a charade to be reintroduced to him and slowly win his heart.
I knew him so well; the right subjects to be bring up during our conversation. We got along famously. We laughed a lot. I knew exactly the right things to say to make him laugh.
Soon enough, love was blossoming between us. A dream came true for me. For once, I had his love the way I dreamt of.
Initially he was not comfortable with the difference in our ages. I was 25 while he was 50. It took sometime for me to convince him that love breaks through barriers of race, religion and age.
In less than two years since we met, he proposed and I accepted with joy. Finally I was becoming more than his lover. I was becoming his wife.
******This year marks four years we have been together as husband and wife. Truly, it had been the happiest years of my life. Finally happiness has entered my life and sadness has disappeared into the thin air.
He is still in the dark about my true identity. He has no clue that we have met long before our first piano lessons.
He really believes that fate had brought us together. But in reality, I had manipulated my way into his heart. It was a manipulation at the highest degree.
I hope he never finds out the truth. He will have a hard time digesting the facts. There will be regret, remorse and grief over what transpired between us.
Like many, he would regard what we had done as not right. As for me, I am not bothered about what is right and what is wrong. I have no regrets at all.
I was tired of living a life of misery. I was tired at not getting what my heart desired. I was tired of living by the law that was written centuries ago.
So I did what my heart craved for without bothering about the consequences. When the time comes, I will be ready to face God’s wrath, his punishment and his hell .`Looking back now, I feel it was not entirely my fault. I never asked to be born as his daughter. More than his daughter, I wanted to be his lover.
Friday, September 25, 2009
A Little Less
A Little Less By Bissme S
When I was 15, my father changed drastically and dramatically. He stopped loving everyone around him including me, his only child. He become almost like a robot, who went through life, without showing any signs of emotion.
To a certain degree, his wife, my mother, was responsible for his radical change. My mother had promised him that they would be together forever. But my mother failed to keep to her promise. My mother left him and my dad couldn't accept this fact.
On the day my mother left, my father shed tears uncontrollably and was raving like a mad man. That was the last time I saw any emotion outburst from my father.
He begged my mother to stay. He prayed that God would change his fate.
But both, God and my mother, disappointed my dad, tremendously. My father had become a broken man...too broken to have love in his heart anymore. He stopped believing in love. He stopped believing in God. He stopped believing in happiness.
Since my mother's departure from our lives, my father and I rarely had intimate moments any more. He left the responsibility of bringing me up in the hands of nannies, maids and tutors. I saw more of them than I saw my own father. He buried himself in his work. He hoped that his work would distract him from remembering the pain in his life... his wife, my mother.
Over the years, my father and I have become more like strangers. Many times I had tried to bring down the barrier between us. But I failed miserably.
After my mother, he was afraid to get too close to anyone…. He was afraid that I might leave him the way my mother did. He was not ready for another disappointment… He was not ready for another heart-break.
My father did everything in his power to forget my mother. He put away anything that reminded him of my mother in the attic including all her pictures and her portraits.
No one was allowed to speak about my mother in his presences. For him, my mother was a forbidden subject to be discussed at any cost. He treated my mother as if she never existed in his life.
But strangely enough, on his dying bed, my father never stopped calling my mother’s name. It was enough to paint a picture that my father has never successfully erased my mother’s memory. It cannot be denied that my father had loved my mother with all his heart.
I remembered my mother once told me: "Simran, I am the luckiest woman alive. I hope that when you grow up, you will be as lucky as me to have a husband to love you as much as your dad loves me."
Still, my mother had left him. I learned the hard way that love is not enough to sustain a relationship. But I cannot fully blamed my mother. If she had her way, she would not have left my dad.
It was fate that, cruelly, separated us. My mother was involved in a car crash and the best doctors failed to save her life . She was hardly 40 when she died For the doctors, she was just another patient that they lost.
But for us, her death changes our lives forever. All the love and happiness in our house and our heart was buried with my mother. Looking back now, I really believed that my mother, my father and I should learned to love each other a little less.
Perhaps then, my mother’s death won't have a drastic consequence on my father and me. Truly, we should learn to love each other, a little less.
When I was 15, my father changed drastically and dramatically. He stopped loving everyone around him including me, his only child. He become almost like a robot, who went through life, without showing any signs of emotion.
To a certain degree, his wife, my mother, was responsible for his radical change. My mother had promised him that they would be together forever. But my mother failed to keep to her promise. My mother left him and my dad couldn't accept this fact.
On the day my mother left, my father shed tears uncontrollably and was raving like a mad man. That was the last time I saw any emotion outburst from my father.
He begged my mother to stay. He prayed that God would change his fate.
But both, God and my mother, disappointed my dad, tremendously. My father had become a broken man...too broken to have love in his heart anymore. He stopped believing in love. He stopped believing in God. He stopped believing in happiness.
Since my mother's departure from our lives, my father and I rarely had intimate moments any more. He left the responsibility of bringing me up in the hands of nannies, maids and tutors. I saw more of them than I saw my own father. He buried himself in his work. He hoped that his work would distract him from remembering the pain in his life... his wife, my mother.
Over the years, my father and I have become more like strangers. Many times I had tried to bring down the barrier between us. But I failed miserably.
After my mother, he was afraid to get too close to anyone…. He was afraid that I might leave him the way my mother did. He was not ready for another disappointment… He was not ready for another heart-break.
My father did everything in his power to forget my mother. He put away anything that reminded him of my mother in the attic including all her pictures and her portraits.
No one was allowed to speak about my mother in his presences. For him, my mother was a forbidden subject to be discussed at any cost. He treated my mother as if she never existed in his life.
But strangely enough, on his dying bed, my father never stopped calling my mother’s name. It was enough to paint a picture that my father has never successfully erased my mother’s memory. It cannot be denied that my father had loved my mother with all his heart.
I remembered my mother once told me: "Simran, I am the luckiest woman alive. I hope that when you grow up, you will be as lucky as me to have a husband to love you as much as your dad loves me."
Still, my mother had left him. I learned the hard way that love is not enough to sustain a relationship. But I cannot fully blamed my mother. If she had her way, she would not have left my dad.
It was fate that, cruelly, separated us. My mother was involved in a car crash and the best doctors failed to save her life . She was hardly 40 when she died For the doctors, she was just another patient that they lost.
But for us, her death changes our lives forever. All the love and happiness in our house and our heart was buried with my mother. Looking back now, I really believed that my mother, my father and I should learned to love each other a little less.
Perhaps then, my mother’s death won't have a drastic consequence on my father and me. Truly, we should learn to love each other, a little less.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
He & She
He & She By Bissme S
He told her, a secret of his that was buried in his heart for ages. She was shocked. She was speechless. She went into her room and cried her hearts out. She refused to discuss the matter any further.
But a few hours later, she was standing in front of him, looking calm and composed. The first thing she did was to hug him. Both of them had tears in their eyes. Wiping away his tears, she said to him: “Do not worry, I will find a cure for you. Once you are cured, God will forgive your sins. God is very forgiving.”
He did not protest. Like always, he let her run his life. She wanted him to change. She wanted him to be a better man. She sought the church’s help. He was send to a religious rehabilitation program where he can repent his sin and finally walked the road the Jesus wanted him to walk.
Every day of the 100 days in the rehabilitation program he was subjected to lectures where a world of hell awaits for sinners like him. The only way out was to repent and never to repeat his sins again. He felt like he was in a torture chamber. Fear dance in his bones each time the lecture was over.
He had nightmares where the fire of hell was burning him, alive. He was shouting in terrible pain and nobody shown mercy, not even God. He learned the hard way that God may not be as forgiving as she had painted him to be. God can be a merciless punisher.
***
When he returned home, he lied. He pretended that he was cured. He had embraced God and all his teaching with an open heart. He was a better man.
He didn’t want to go back to the rehabilitation program at any cost. He was tired of listening to sermons about hell and punishment. He just wanted the nightmares to stop.
She believed every word he said. No question asked. She really believed God has saved him and showed him the right path. Sometimes lies are easier to believe than the truth.
In front of her, he learn to wear a mask of lies Sometimes he asked himself If God wanted him to be straight why did God make him have this feelings. He never found the answers. Perhaps some questions are never meant to have answers.
He had more room to breath when he got a job in a city where there is less discrimination against people like him. Slowly he learned to throw his mask away. He learned to love himself more. He felt like a slave who finally gets to enjoy his freedom.
But whenever he goes back to his hometown to see her, the mask of lies will be on his face again. He will enter in a world where he will be a stranger to himself. She suspects nothing. Out of blue, came a day, he was tired of living a life of lies. It was a time to end the charade. He felt the time has come for her to know the truth and learned to accept him for what he is.
But the truth didn’t go well with her. She was furious. She wanted to send him to the rehabilitation program again where he will repent, reform and be a better man. Boldly he refused her request. She threw him out of the house.
“Do not come back till you have repented,” she said.
He really believed he would never see her again. But he was wrong. Six months later, on his birthday, she was standing at his front door. He was speechless. She wanted to mend their broken relationship. She wanted to be his mother again.
She even brought some of her famous porridge that he likes as a peace offering. It didn’t take him long to hug her and welcomed her into his apartment. All was forgiven and forgotten.
Only after eating the porridge he had realized that he had invited his own death instead of the woman he called his mother. The porridge was poison. She came to his house with only one aim… the aim of killing him.
She has given him time to change but he did not change. So she took matters in her hand. By raising a gay son, she felt she had sin. From what she understood, there is no heaven for sinners like her.
She wanted forgiveness. She wanted redemption. She wanted heaven. By killing him was her way of getting forgiveness from God …was her way getting redemption…was her way getting a place in heaven
After he had taken his last breath, she left his apartment and took bus to her house at their hometown. There was no remorse. There was no sadness. There were no tears. She had convinced herself that she did not kill her son but a devil in disguise.
PS This story is fiction.
He told her, a secret of his that was buried in his heart for ages. She was shocked. She was speechless. She went into her room and cried her hearts out. She refused to discuss the matter any further.
But a few hours later, she was standing in front of him, looking calm and composed. The first thing she did was to hug him. Both of them had tears in their eyes. Wiping away his tears, she said to him: “Do not worry, I will find a cure for you. Once you are cured, God will forgive your sins. God is very forgiving.”
He did not protest. Like always, he let her run his life. She wanted him to change. She wanted him to be a better man. She sought the church’s help. He was send to a religious rehabilitation program where he can repent his sin and finally walked the road the Jesus wanted him to walk.
Every day of the 100 days in the rehabilitation program he was subjected to lectures where a world of hell awaits for sinners like him. The only way out was to repent and never to repeat his sins again. He felt like he was in a torture chamber. Fear dance in his bones each time the lecture was over.
He had nightmares where the fire of hell was burning him, alive. He was shouting in terrible pain and nobody shown mercy, not even God. He learned the hard way that God may not be as forgiving as she had painted him to be. God can be a merciless punisher.
***
When he returned home, he lied. He pretended that he was cured. He had embraced God and all his teaching with an open heart. He was a better man.
He didn’t want to go back to the rehabilitation program at any cost. He was tired of listening to sermons about hell and punishment. He just wanted the nightmares to stop.
She believed every word he said. No question asked. She really believed God has saved him and showed him the right path. Sometimes lies are easier to believe than the truth.
In front of her, he learn to wear a mask of lies Sometimes he asked himself If God wanted him to be straight why did God make him have this feelings. He never found the answers. Perhaps some questions are never meant to have answers.
He had more room to breath when he got a job in a city where there is less discrimination against people like him. Slowly he learned to throw his mask away. He learned to love himself more. He felt like a slave who finally gets to enjoy his freedom.
But whenever he goes back to his hometown to see her, the mask of lies will be on his face again. He will enter in a world where he will be a stranger to himself. She suspects nothing. Out of blue, came a day, he was tired of living a life of lies. It was a time to end the charade. He felt the time has come for her to know the truth and learned to accept him for what he is.
But the truth didn’t go well with her. She was furious. She wanted to send him to the rehabilitation program again where he will repent, reform and be a better man. Boldly he refused her request. She threw him out of the house.
“Do not come back till you have repented,” she said.
He really believed he would never see her again. But he was wrong. Six months later, on his birthday, she was standing at his front door. He was speechless. She wanted to mend their broken relationship. She wanted to be his mother again.
She even brought some of her famous porridge that he likes as a peace offering. It didn’t take him long to hug her and welcomed her into his apartment. All was forgiven and forgotten.
Only after eating the porridge he had realized that he had invited his own death instead of the woman he called his mother. The porridge was poison. She came to his house with only one aim… the aim of killing him.
She has given him time to change but he did not change. So she took matters in her hand. By raising a gay son, she felt she had sin. From what she understood, there is no heaven for sinners like her.
She wanted forgiveness. She wanted redemption. She wanted heaven. By killing him was her way of getting forgiveness from God …was her way getting redemption…was her way getting a place in heaven
After he had taken his last breath, she left his apartment and took bus to her house at their hometown. There was no remorse. There was no sadness. There were no tears. She had convinced herself that she did not kill her son but a devil in disguise.
PS This story is fiction.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
The Unfaithful Wife
The Unfaithful Wife By Bissme S
I have been married for the past seven years. And in all those years I have not been faithful to my husband. I had slept with countless dashing man that had shown any slight interest in me and the worst thing is, I feel no guilt. If anything, I am proud of my affairs. I regard them as an achievement, as an accomplishment - some kind of trophies that I won.
I have been married for the past seven years. And in all those years I have not been faithful to my husband. I had slept with countless dashing man that had shown any slight interest in me and the worst thing is, I feel no guilt. If anything, I am proud of my affairs. I regard them as an achievement, as an accomplishment - some kind of trophies that I won.
Being born beautiful, I was never lacking with admirers. When you are beautiful, it doesn't take much to seduce men into your bed. Men are so easily seduced and I am simply baffled on why they are known as the stronger sex.
"Jhanvi, your beauty is so breath taking - it is like watching a peacock spreading it beautiful feathers."
That was what one of my many admirers said. He was a poet and naturally, he was more creative in his words in describing my beauty compared to my other admirers. Of course his aim is no different from my other admirers - his hands touching every part of my beautiful naked body.
Interestingly, I have no fear of my husband catching me with my skirt down. I am confident that my husband will not throw me out; he will never divorce me. He can't live without me. He needs me more that I need him.
Initially I went to single bars, waiting for men to pick me up. Then internet enters the picture, and things became easy. I found one of those websites where people are looking for purely sex and no strings attached. I learned that most men are like dogs - they will never refuse a bitch in a heat. The men I choose are rather rugged looking, manly, sexy and most of all can be trusted to keep a secret.
I bought a luxury condominium and I turned it into a love nest... where I will take my lovers for passionate and lustful lovemaking sessions. Most of my lovers loved the way I decorate the apartment - with mirrors almost every corner of the house including my bathrooms.
"I am vain and I loved to look at myself." I justified my decoration taste, wittily.
Besides the mirrors help to spice up the sex acts and that keep the men happy. Of course I have my own manipulative reasons for the countless mirrors around my condominium. Behind every mirror there is a camera that records all my lovemaking sessions. Of course my lovers are ignorant of this fact.
Oddly enough, I have never seen any of these visuals. Pornography has never been my cup of tea. It baffles me that men find pornography so fascinating. With my husband, it is a totally different story. My husband is always eager to see what the camera has captured.
In fact my husband is the one who coaxed me to be unfaithful.... to satisfy his lust. He gets a big turn on when he sees strangers making love to me. The only time he will touch me is after a stranger has made love to me. He wants to smell other men's lust on me. I loved my husband too much to disappoint him... to break his heart.... to turn down his request. For my husband's sake, I became the unfaithful wife.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
A Mother's Love
A MOTHER'S LOVE By Bissme SNot all mothers are meant to love their children. My son has a hard time accepting this fact. All his life, he did everything in his power to win my love. But in the end, he failed miserably.
The disappointment was so much for him to bear. One night, he just ended his life. He ran towards a running train, completely naked. He was hardly 22.
In his suicide letter addressed to me, all he wrote was: " I hope you will at least cry at my funeral service.” Once again I failed my son. I didn't show any emotions at his funeral. I just stood there like a mannequin, lifeless and expressionless.
His death does not make any difference to me. In some ways, I had a sense of relief that my son was dead and I was no longer a mother. I feel like a caged bird that managed to escape and finally got his freedom to fly at the free sky.
Everyone at the funeral thought I was too grief stricken to show any emotions. They felt pity for me. They felt the God has been unkind by taking away my only child. They never stopped hugging me. They never stopped consoling me.
If they have known the truth, they would have less sympathy. They would have likely spat at my face and call me unkind names. Frankly speaking, I just can’t wait for my son's funeral service to be over.
I just want to go back to the comfort of my own home...perhaps watching my favourite television shows ...perhaps watering my flowers... perhaps reading one of my novels.
My son failed to understand that you could not forced someone to love you. Love must happen naturally. Strangely enough, when I first learned I was pregnant, I was jumping with joy. I wanted to be a mother so badly.
But once my son was born, it was a totally different scenario. I was no longer excited. I wanted him not to be born. I just felt becoming a mother was the biggest mistake I did in my life.
Of course I never express my thoughts to anyone. I was afraid the people I loved might thought I have gone mad and locked me up in some asylum. Everyone expects a woman to love her own flesh and blood and any woman who doesn't is seen as abnormal.
The society has less tolerance for anything that is abnormal. It is not that I am incapable of loving. I loved my husband very much. When he died in a car crash, my world came tumbling down.
It took some time before I can fully accept I had become a widow and moved on with my life. I cried a bucket of tears when a car ran over my cat. When my mother passed away, I spend days in bed, depressed and crying my eyes out.
But my son just doesn’t evoke any love from me. It doesn’t make any difference to me whether he was alive or dead. My life goes on....
Yet I must confessed that I have not neglected my duties in looking after my son. I fulfilled all his needs. I fulfilled all his wants. The only thing I didn’t give him was a mother’s love.
“Sometimes you act like my maid, not as my mom,” my son said to me.
You can fool the world that you loved your children… that you adore your children … that your children are the most important things in your life.
But you can never fool your children. And children are very instinctive. They know if their parents loved them or not. My son knew I have never loved him.
"What is wrong with me! Why can't you love me?," my son asked me.
I didn't have any answers to give my son. I was clueless on the reasons for not loving my son. Truly, there was nothing wrong with my son. He was perfect in many ways. Many parents will die to have a son like my son.
In school, my son was a brilliant student, always getting straights As. In sports, he was winning one medal after another. He was a popular kid in school where everyone was dying to be his best friend. He was an obedient child, always listening to the elders.
Sometimes I wished my son wasn’t so perfect. Sometimes I wished he would be one of those naughty kids who droved his parents up the wall. At least then, I would have a valid reason for hating him.
Now I am seen as a villain for not loving my perfect son. But then again, must all mothers love their children?
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