I take pride in having no regrets because it points to a
life well-lived and to decisions that may have led to unwanted places but still
came from the heart. But there is one
decision that haunts me, one regret that taunts me that I had made a grave,
unforgivable mistake. I regret going back to the Philippines for three
years. I regret choosing to live in
Serendra when we could have lived in Clark.
I regret that night at Starbucks when all hell broke loose upon the
fabric of my family. I regret reading the
letter that confirmed all my fears.
There were no surprises given the complicated, overly
dramatic family background. In the first
place, I did not want to go back to the Philippines at all because I knew my
husband would not pass the standards of my mother and I did not want my family
to see “my difficult marriage” up close.
But my husband convinced me that we needed to try out living in the
Philippines if only for my grandmother who was ill and my father who missed us. My husband wanted to find a business
opportunity as well but in the three years he was there, nothing panned out
except for permanently damaged relationships.
What I regret the most is that my mom and dad’s relationship
is ruined beyond repair. They had
survived a bitter divorce and managed to become friends through time that
heals, but now it is back to where it was when they separated the first time
and probably even worse. My dad is
painted as a devil in my mom’s eyes just as my husband is (and if I may add
just as her eldest brother and to a certain extent, her mother is). That’s how my mom is when she puts extreme
labels on people and I know only a miracle and grace can change that. It’s all perfectly understandable if you know
our family history. However, accepting this scenario does not go down too well
for me despite rationalization and psychological analysis.
I want to regret marrying my husband but I cannot because we
have two wonderful sons who make everything, even this unpalatable debacle,
worthwhile. I can’t shake off the feeling that I wish there was a rewind button
I can press. I want to go back to that tragic
night and wish my dad stayed for the meeting that would change everything. It was so strange of him, so unlike him not
to stay like it was God’s deliberate joke on me. I want to go back to that point when I was
choosing where to transfer and wished I took a firm stand on Clark instead of
caving in to my dad’s suggestion of Serendra which was pure temptation to be in
a paradise-resort setting. I wish I
could have convinced my husband more forcefully not to stay in the Philippines
then we wouldn’t have had to suffer through senseless, unnecessary inferno.
Finally, I wish I didn’t have to read that letter from my
mom that validates from a person outside myself and in writing that I am what I
think I am – a failure in many ways. I
went from cancer-surviving hero who protected the life of her unborn child to the
most ungrateful daughter in the world whose sense of entitlement and choice of
husband disappoints and disgusts her mother.
I enjoyed the three months in Singapore and the one year in
Serendra but two years in Paranaque took more than its unintended toll.
They say suffering is good and makes you grow. They say God will turn the bad into
good. I am waiting for that day I’m sure
will come because God keeps promises, though these are days simply riddled with
doubt and regret – not all the time but it creeps up now and then.
When I arrived in China after three years in the
Philippines, as a coping mechanism, I viewed Frozen’s “Let It Go” innumerable
times and it helped a lot because of the cathartic lyrics. Maybe I need to sing it again and again until
it leaves a stronger imprint on my brain and the regrets fade. Maybe I haven’t
been praying enough and need to pray more.
Maybe I need to write more, hence this blog entry which I cannot post on
my blog.
I’ve started envying my students who have the time to
express themselves on paper and I didn’t because I was too busy checking their articles
and preparing for their classes. Now,
I’ve carved out these precious few hours to vent in black and white, and it’s
relaxing in a way but it needs an audience, a stage where it can play out its
beautiful ugliness to the hilt.
P.S. I found a version of Let It Go that might be stronger
medication:
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