Lately there seems to be an increased of tragedies related to guns. Tied in with that, the perpetrators more often than not, suffer from some form of mental illness. And every time someone takes a person's life driven by psychosis, I am still amazed that I am still alive today. While the fear is no longer raw, it is ingrained in my mind. Having to turn my back to make sure he was not there. Having my heart jumped out of my chest when I saw a shadow that resembles him. Having to stay quiet when he came knocking at my door. Those were some very unpleasant years. But here I am. Alive and well.

We were innocent lovers. He was a sweetheart and never in my wildest dream did I ever imagine that he could be ill. And when it hit, it gave me no warning. He went from someone with spunk and rough on the edges, to someone with hollow eyes, hyperventilating, and living in fear of everything that moved. Living in fear that someone was going to harm him. Every move was a threat. Every color was signs for a violent act. Every gesture meant imparting some form of secret messages that he was fearful of. Anyone who was within his eye sight was potential victim. Anyone who drove by his house, was following him. As he became progressively worse, his thoughts were finally put into actions. Started with a push of a random stranger in the street, to burning down a bus stop. Over time, I had to admit that my life was in danger. That at any time, I could be a target. At any time, he could turn on me. That's when I began to plot for my departure.

I remember that day so vividly. I got dressed. Left the house like I was going to work while he left to look for a job. I went to the beach instead. It was a work week. The beach was quiet. I sat on the rock. I looked down at my feet with tears streaming down my face. Then I looked over the horizon. I saw hope. I looked at my watch and it was time to return. I knew my window of opportunity was small. Met up with 2 friends. We took my personal belongings. I looked at our apartment, bit farewell, and walked out the door. A friend took me in. Gave me a bed. That night, I could finally breathe a sigh of relief. I looked up the ceiling and cried my eyes out.

I did it all with friends by my side. No support from anyone who was suppose to be my family.

What makes a bitch a bitch? That is the question? For some reason, what makes it okay for some people to slam others and have no remorse? I am encountering one at work right now. I don't know if she is a true bitch or if she is just abrasive. What differentiates the two? Well, the true bitch feels entitled and will get what she wants at any cost. The abrasive one is just clueless and has no social graces, which I can tolerate. In fact, I have ended up as good friends with some of the abrasive ones. So far, I'm not sure if I should confront this person, let it go, or wait and see. But I'm almost certain that I need to bring it up to the attention of my immediate supervisor. Gotta cover my b.e.h.i.n.d.  Maybe next time she "lecture" me, I will have to call her out.....in a nice way. Cos' I'm not a bitch, just by choice only when necessary.

Joel Osteen “ you may have made choices that delayed your destiny, but you can still become who God has created you to be.”

This quote ring so true to me. In my life time, I have to delay just about every aspect of my life. Had to delay my education because I had to save enough money to do so. I had to delay having a family because I messed up the first time. Had to delay having children because I immigrated and had to get my career going first. After 40 plus years, things are finally falling into place.

It is rather interesting, at every stage of delay, I felt like I was so far behind. After high school, it seems that all my peers have a path set out for them. I was very envious as I had nothing set out for me. I knew if I wanted a higher education, I had to hustle and I did just that. Got a job, save my butt off and went for it. During that whole time, I didn't know how and when that dream will ever come true. It was extremely daunting.

When I had my first job, I was four five years older than my peers.I felt like I had missed opportunities being the “older” one in the group. But looking back, the four five years is not that big of a deal anymore. Today, professionally and personally, I am right where everyone is. In fact, working before going to school gave me a different perspective of life that my peers didn't have. Now I appreciate the detour but back then, it was unsettling.

When my first marriage ended , again I felt like having had missed opportunities. I was surrounded by my younger peers who had just found love. Who had just bought their first home and expecting their first child. At the time, everyone had someone and I felt that I will never find anyone. That I will never have a home to call my own. It was extremely painful to have to walk away from everything. To have to walk away with nothing but a suitcase and the clothes on my back. At the time, I never thought I will ever be able to pick myself up again. But I did and I did find someone. The home, the house with a yard, a dog and a cat all just happened like we've never missed a beat.

Soon after that we immigrated. I ended up taking jobs that I was over qualified for. I had to pursue higher education to get back in the field I was practicing for over 5 years. I had to suck it up and it took 7 years for all things to fall in place. Through it all, I was very aware of my biological clock ticking. We took no precaution and there were no results. Finally, the reality of infertility set in especially when I started to realize that friends who married later are beginning to have their 2nd, 3rd, or even 4th child. It was a humbling experience. Through different twist and turn, we finally have our first child 8 years into our marriage and now, 4 more years later, we are expecting our 2nd child. 12 years in the making.

Just like how I reacted to my previous delays, this delay also made me feel like I may have started a little too late. I start to question if I am too old for taking such risk. If I will be around long enough. I can't help but see my peers talk about their children applying for colleges, or at least high school. My eldest is only 4. He is not even in first grade. But like every twist and turn of my life, I have to trust that things will fall into place. That I am really not that far behind. That there is no such thing as missed opportunities.

Today I just have to trust the Almighty. Once I was the one who is a step or two behind, today I feel like I am a few steps ahead.  A loving husband, a beautiful son, another on the way, plus a dog, cat, and turtle in the mix, a home to call my own, a self sustaining career, and many many more other blessings. If delay takes me here, the wait is well worth it.

They say that a moth represent a visit from the one who passed.

It was merely a day or two after my mother passed, there was a moth at the screen door that opens up to my front door. I was rather taken aback, almost shocked by it when I was greeted by the big creepy eyes on it's wings. My first gut reaction was to say "what's the point of visiting now when you weren't interested when you were alive?" I then closed the door. That moth never came back.

My father passed away a few weeks before my trip back to see him. We were just busy packing and getting ready for the 20-30 hours trip. We went about as usual and after visiting friends and my family, we went back to one of closest friend's home. We were visiting at her dining table and a moth came fluttering in. I said, "that's my dad." She said, "how you know it's not your mum?" I said, "because my mum had already came." It was then, that her husband walked in, saw the moth, picked up a magazine and started to swipe at it. My friends hollered at her husband, "leave it alone!" and he did. He left the moth alone, and soon, it fluttered away. This moth was smaller and didn't have the evil eyes.

Haven't seen another moth since.

We just found out that we are expecting our 2nd child. It is yet another answered prayer. This time I will carry this child without the existence of my narcissistic mother. She was never there through my miscarriage and the whole pregnancy of my son. So one would say that there is no difference this time from the last time. But there is a HUGE difference. This time, I don't have a debbie downer. I don't have to carry the pain of wanting her affection. I don't have to yearn for what was never there. I don't have to try to be nice only to be shot down with the most hurtful accusation. I don't have to live knowing that my narcissistic mother don't care if I live or die. I don't have to experience her jealousy towards my son, her own flesh and blood. This time, I get to carry this child without her shadow casting on my back. The thought itself gives me a tremendous sense of serenity.

Her name was YS. My parents rented her a room while she was teaching at a local high school. She lived with us for several years and was like an older sister to me. Soon, she fell in love. She had a lover's spat when he had his eyes on another more attractive teacher. But they got married and moved to a nearby town. It was right around that time, my parents were kicked out of the synagogue. We moved to the same town and I went to the same high school that she was teaching. She ignored me completely the entire time I was there. As if, I never existed. I despised her from then onwards and my feelings towards her have not changed to this day.

That name resurfaced years later. My mother had nothing but good things to say about her. She gave my mother money. Sponsored my nephew and niece for camps. She let my oldest brother stayed at her house when he was working momentarily at the town she was living in. My mother went all out to convince me to like this person that she once had nothing good to say about her. How quickly her perception changed for a few dollars. She wanted me to visit her. She kept saying how great YS was.
I told my mother that I would never visit her. In reference to her hospitality, I told my mother that I would rather sleep in a car than sleep at her house.

I soon found out that she just started a new church and her effort was nothing but an attempt to recruit for new members. There was nothing genuine in her effort. She still never cared. She was nosey and inquired about the money that I sent to my parents. She tried to convince a few others to leave their church and join hers. It was ridiculous. Others were not swayed. Not like my mother.

My mother lived her life like a little kid in the playground. All it took was a candy to buy her affection. Childish and shallow.

It just occurred to me that I don't keep a regular contact with either one of my brothers. One I have little respect of but I also know he has a soft spot for me. One, who is completely in line with me in terms of my perception of our family dynamics. I don't ever discuss with my oldest brother regarding my true sentiment and I wonder how he would react if I simply send him the link to my blog. Would it be a rude awakening? Would it make him mad? Confused? I don't know. I might just do that in time. My second brother has the link but I don't think he is reading it on a regular basis. If he is, he has made little comment or reference to it. I also realized that each time we spoke, it is always about how crazy our parents were. It has become a broken record for both of us. Other than that, we don't really have anything else in common. Even if we do, we don't really know how to relate to each other in a healthy way. It is rather bizarre. For the first time, I am beginning to question, what a healthy sibling relationship should look like?

I've heard time and time again about others who are very close to their brother or sister. I used to be very close to my oldest  brother. When I first joined the airline and living in another country, I used to call home and spoke to him hours on end. There was a tremendous amount of ease when communicating with him even when we never had anything truly in common.  My relationship with my second brother when we were little was often overshadowed by sibling jealousy. He always wanted to be the best and I always trumped his card. Always getting more attention being that I was the only girl and always doing a little better than him in school. My brothers' relationship with each other is not even an option to consider. They were on the opposing team from the get go and it had been so to this day.

These days, I thread very lightly with my oldest brother. He had publicly echoed my mother's sentiment about me on social network site. In person, he was very much the same older brother that I knew. My relationship with my second brother was more intimate when we were living in the same country. He visited at least once a year and was here when my son was born. Since he left, our contact with each other have dwindled rather significantly.

Today, we are three grown adults in three parts of the world. Doing our own thing, having our own history, and licking our own wounds. What would we do if one of us need a kidney and the other one is the perfect match? Would we be willing to sacrifice to preserve the life of another?  I think we would be very judgmental.  I am beginning to wonder how I can start to initiate a healthy relationship with my brothers. Maybe I need to make it a point to connect with my brothers on a more regular basis. Maybe I need to get in touch with them and just be a sister. By doing so, maybe we can start to create new memories away from our past.