So many things have happened in the past few months. A two month visit to the States, a move out of my in-laws' to our own rental apartment, as well as some other things going on in my mind which I will talk about later.
Brendan is currently 9.5 months old. He's able to pull himself up to standing position and take little steps while holding on to our hands. He's very observant and responsive, smiling when we talk to him, or angry when I am too tired to pick him up for the zillionth time. I spend my days looking forward to his nap time which I use to do housework or other miscellaneous things. Yet I also spend his nap times looking forward to seeing once again his bright round face peeking at me through the slats of his cot. It's a strange see-saw between tiredness and desire.
Today is my dad's birthday. I have been thinking a lot about my parents ever since I became a parent myself. What went through their minds as they once contemplated giving me up for adoption? What were their considerations back then as passionate young adults? Their hopes and dreams for themselves and for me... Did they have any for me? Or was the see-saw mostly slanted toward the side of weariness, a sense of hopelessness about their future? I try not to think too much about it because I now I know too much about my parents' personality (partially thanks to MBTI) to be positive about all these questions. I know the truth, but I don't really want to believe it.
I don't want to believe it, because I know that the moment I do, I will stop being able to dream big dreams for my children. I find that I am only able to dream big dreams for my children if I believe that my own dreams are attainable. But quite honestly, I have never given wings to any of my dreams. I have never believed that any of my grand visions could ever come true because deep inside, I know nobody ever believed in me. I suppose the outward passion I sometimes display comes from a deep-seated notion that if I strive hard enough, surely the stars will align and things will fall into place. But that has not been so and I am now twenty-six years wrong.
Still, I won't blame my parents or circumstances for what I take to be a rather bland and useless life. I'm a mother now. I feed my young and that is all. What of purpose? The Lord decides. It's depressing not to know while I live on, what in the world am I actually good at and should be doing. The Bible gives us the clichė answer: Love the Lord your God with all your heart and all your mind and all your soul.
Most days, I feel like a terrible Christian. I have a black eye from my last fight with Jerry and I'm not proud of it. He says we'll work on our temper. I've honestly lost my hope in him. I don't really have anything to show for my "christian life" these days other than my tendency to weep my eyes out to God, wailing about things and pleading for a way out of pain. Bible study? Going to church? Reading the Bible? Is this the recipe I am to follow for the rest of my life? Step one, step two, step three... Voilà! A perfectly baked cake. What if I don't want to be a cake?
I want to be a wild goat, standing on a beautiful mountain somewhere. Hopping from crag to crag, death below and life above. Hopping from crag to crag, light-footed and light-hearted.
Is this not for me?
