still blogging.

I wonder... Should I write it here? Post it here? Should I blog about my story? Not to make myself look like a victim, but just to tell my story....

When one stands face to face with the wall...
suffers in silence....
When one's pain is unbearable...
one's hope is dwindling away...

There is blogging.

So... I wonder. I understand that speculating is not really a very productive way to stay in the race. I understand that life's not fair. I understand that I'm not a victim. And I understand what Ghandi said about "nobody can hurt me without my permission."  I understand all these things.

And yet.

There are days when I want to run, run, run.
There are days when I wish things had been different.
There are days when I want my grief to go away.
There are days when I want people to listen.

There are those days when I question.

Why are they blaming me for his death?
Why are they taking everything away from me?
Why are they being so cruel to me?
Why can't I even bury my dead?
Why?

And so... my pain
my grief
my agony
my tears

They will always seek justice.
From whom?
From what?
From where?

I don't know.

But there's blogging.... and it's good enough for now.

Grief.

Dealing with grief is perhaps one of the most difficult things in life.

When Hubby met an accident and passed away on April 1st, my life has been on-hold. It has been like that for the past 6 weeks now. Some days are betters days... but there are those days & moments that had been quite devastating and difficult.

In the midst of this emotional turmoil, there are some people who thought they know better and told me how I should feel. There were also those people who had shown greed, pretense, unscrupulousness, and fake compassion.

Others have stayed away like I'm a terrifying leper from the Biblical times. And a chosen few have been so sympathetic and have said & done the kindest thing. Even in grieving, I have learnt a great deal about about life, people around me, and also about myself.

For example, losing Hubby has taught me that my grief is my own. No one knows how I feel or what I should feel. I can't even tell myself how to feel. The pain is raw and it goes with me 24/7.

So how do we deal with grief? That's the big question.

Garden talk.

So I was sitting outside with some new acquaintances in this beautiful garden west of Edinburgh. The sky all blue, the wind blowing everything away, and I was in deep thought when my attention was suddenly caught by someone speaking with a very distinct, Scottish accent.

Lady 1: I was at my GP today. You know what I read on her notice board? An article about angry people being more prone to having cancer.

Lady 2: (wide-eyed)  Really?

Guy 1: That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.

Lady 1: It absolutely makes a lot sense.

Guy 1: Nonsense!

Lady 2:  (somewhat confused now.)

Lady 1: Well, it says in that article that when people are angry, their bodies tend to produce more toxins.

Guy 1:  That's rubbish. Mother Theresa died of cancer. I don't think she's one hell of an angry person, was she?


Everybody fell in thoughtful silence. While I was trying to recall what caused Mother Theresa's death, I couldn't help but smile. This is Scotland, the land of the brave.

Dutch treat.

I posted a status on Facebook about April Fool's Day and how the expression Op een april verloor Alva zijn bril.



"On April 1, 1572 Dutch rebels captured the town of Den Briel from Spanish troops led by Lord Alva. This military success eventually led to the independence of the Netherlands from Spain. A Dutch rhyme goes: "Op 1 april/ Verloor Alva zijn Bril." This translates to: "On April 1st / Alva lost his 'glasses'". "Bril" means glasses in Dutch, but is also a pun on the name of the town, Den Briel. It is claimed that the tradition of pranks on April 1st arose to commemorate the victory in Den Briel and humiliation of the Spanish commander."



I got some reactions from friends who were inquiring about the origin of the phrase GOING DUTCH. So I googled and here's what I found:



A Dutch door (American English), or stable door (British English), or half door (Hiberno English), is a door divided horizontally in such a fashion that the bottom half may remain shut while the top half opens. The initial purpose of this door was to keep animals out of farmhouses, or keep children inside, while allowing light and air to filter through the open top.

It is said that it was from this concept that the phrase "going Dutch" originated, a term that indicates that each person participating in a group activity pays for himself, rather than any one person paying for anyone else, particularly in a restaurant bill. It is also called Dutch date and Dutch Treat.




In the United States, during the advent of second wave feminism, 1960s and 1970s, the Women's Movement encouraged women to pay their own way or to pay for men's meals. It is accepted by some that, on a date between a woman and man, the man takes initiative when it comes to paying the bill, meaning he is the one to pay


In the Philippines, it is referred to as KKB; an acronym for "Kanya-kanyang bayad" which means "pay for your own self".

Wil je met mij trouwen? (Will you marry me?)

While waiting for my turn at SPAR Supermarket today, a five-year-old kid was delaying everyone. He can't take his eyes off the 17-year-old cashier. He was about 3-feet tall and had his chin resting on the counter. He was sighing and sighing... and sighing, and was just staring intently at her.

Finally, there came a loud and very determined voice. The boy blurted out, "wil je met mij trouwen?" (Will you marry me?) He was still staring at her, and was waiting for her reply.

The cashier somewhat amused, played along and said without thinking, "wanneer?" (when?)

The boy replied quickly, "achtien mei" (May 18).

The young mom, all red and somewhat embarrassed, apologized and said in an irritated voice, "wat zei je nou?" (what are you talking about?)

They left the supermarket hurriedly.... leaving everybody with big smiles and a very good story to tell when they all go home.