I live in a place where it rains a lot. We have frequent visits of typhoon too. But, thanks to our mountain, these visits do not last long. I usually associate rain with sadness and trials. When I was younger, I used to think that the sky is crying when it rains because people had been bad.
I would spend the afternoon by the window just looking at it pour down and then I would end up lonely and bored.
Boredom….
Bored… bored… bored..
I guess the word is a common denominator between me and my siblings. While our youngest, Teobets, just groans a lot like an ogre (quite annoying too), my brother Al who is four years younger than me would ease his ‘nothing to do’ by meeting women.
As for me, shamefully and not being proud, three times I had committed suicide.
The first one was twenty years ago, during my sophomore year in high school. The second time was during college – my third year in Pharmacy. I was constantly diligent with my studies and was always stressed out. Life had been boring for me by doing the same thing over and over again. Mercifully, I was spared by some funny circumstances.
The third attempt had opened my eyes entirely. It was seven years ago, I was already married and had my two kids. I was bored again but during those times more frightened. I cannot go on anymore – too many problems and I was fed up dealing with these.
Then, I thought of my children. I realized myself being selfish…. All those years, I was just focusing on myself alone.
I started praying and asking forgiveness to God and to everyone I could think of. I had been given everything but there I was, always asking for something more.
That day I found my inspiration to live on.
I was thinking about my third and youngest child while writing my poem Coming Home. But, writing this memoir, I found out that, the poem was actually inspired by my loved ones – by my husband who usually understands and by my adorable three children who always make me happy.
