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after easter

for the past 2 years, easter has always been significant. i’ve always dreaded it before though. because come easter sunday, i would have to leave the beachfront i was basking in. but 2 seasons ago, the road to richmond started during easter season and ever since that year easter signified new beginnings. i was waiting for such a turning-point this year, hoping it would be something i could look forward to. a new pathway to life so to speak.

 i was hoping….i’ll bag a job. but unsurprisingly, i did not. the quota for h1b 2008 was filled up on its first day of opening. a record-breaking 150,000 applications by april 1, the cap was set only at 65,000 for 2008. the visas then would be distributed via a lottery system to these 150,000 applicants. imagine just 5 years ago, no such quota existed. i think the US government would have to revamp this system – they’re killing themselves with this one.

i was hoping i was pregnant, because i really want to be …. but i’m not. though i’m still not sure about that, given my condition and all. i would have to wait until end of the month to really know the deal.

 instead i got two things. which, as per my easter tradition, really are life-altering in ways that is still beyond my comprehension.

 i found out my father died. of a heart attack they say, though i believe he has been sick for the longest time – i’m not sure. i haven’t seen him for more than 10 years. friends who knows the drama of my broken family life would be familiar with the apathy i have felt for my father for most of my thinking existence. for days i was out of my body looking in. i couldn’t really talk to anyone, i was trying to understand what i was feeling. for years i have been accustomed to my father’s non-existence. i have comfortably tucked him away together with all those memories (painful, yes they were) of him and how non-idyllic our family life was. now he’s really gone. suddenly i was dumbfounded with a feeling that i could only relate to as a certain form of grief which was beyond its classical interpretation, if there is ever such a thing.

a death of a father is something you tell your friends about right? but how can i? all my friends knew my parents were separated. some of them were with me during those crucial apathy-forming days of my youth. how can i share with them what i was feeling, when i don’t even understand what it is. i cannot say i am over it now. but i’m writing about it. and as crazy as it may seem, my journal-writing self know that this is a good thing.

which is something i couldn’t do for my other easter disconcert.

i think i once said in this blog that i write to remember my truth. i write to record myself as i go along, which is really my only true way to remember me. but this, i don’t want this to be true. it would defeat all the hopes i have conjured for a lifetime.

i will pray. but i will never be strong enough to accept it.

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