Life’s Little Ironies

The smell of white Malaysian moms permeates the air. Women scurry like rats, busying themselves the flower preparations. The red carpet lies at the corner waiting to be rolled and the wedding bells are freshly dust. A few hours from now, on this church, a wedding is to take place. A young woman will mark the start of her new life. Will she be happy? Or will this be another sad story to tell? Questions that are better left unresolved.On the last pew of the same church, a young girl sits unmoving and seemingly devoid of emotions. Her life is a shattered glass and she, a little girl with tiny bleeding hands trying to put together of what was left of the broken pieces. Too many words unsaid by this little girl. Too many sad, sad stories untold. Yet her countenance does not reveal the hurts, fresh wounds and old scars. On usual days, she put on a smile and a contagious laugh. But in silent moments such as this, the head bows, the smile fades and shoulders stoop. Ironic indeed that on this same place a life is to begin and another is slowly ending.

The little girl on the last church pew turned to the boy beside her. “I have this friend…”, she began to speak. The boy stood up indicating that he wanted to look for the third companion they were waiting for. Moments later he returned.

“I have this friend…”, she again struggled to speak.
“And?”, he asked almost mechanically.
“She tried to slash her wrist but in the middle of it she realized she’s too much a coward to continue.”
“And?”
“I’m afraid sooner or later she’ll have the guts to finish what she started.”

Silence. No reply from the boy. She looked away. If only she believes in the images of the saints that surround her, she could have flung herself to them and wept all her lamentation. But she isn’t one to believe in images or the power they hold. So she sits. She longs for comfort, for words to make her feel better. She never asked for anyone to take all the pain in her life away. She just wants someone to listen and to tell her what he thinks of her life and all the trials she’s been subjected to. She wants to tell him so many things.

In the stillness and in the silence of her mind she tells him this: I know my problems are not about you. They neither involve nor include you but could you please listen and tell me how you feel now that you see me slowly breaking apart. My father got sick for three weeks. Three days from now it’s going to be my birthday. I want it so much to be a big celebration but, you see, it doesn’t feel right to ask Papa for money.

I want to tell you about a friend whose name you’ll never know but whose story you shall hear. She really tries hard to be a good girl but circumstance keeps pushing her to go the other way. I understand her completely and it hurts me every time I see her fall. I just want to tell you this because I have been keeping her secrets and lately they’ve been taking their toll on me.

I want to tell you about my waning spiritual life. Did you know that it has been a month since I last went to church service? There’s this guilt that’s eating me and this little voice inside my head telling me that I don’t deserve redemption. My life is plagued with mistakes, regrets and slaps in the face. But I’m trying to care and struggling to get up with my own two feet. I am tired of this cycle of stumble-crawl-stand. I have been this way ever since I could remember. I know you can’t solve my troubles and you can’t make it go away, but could you please just listen and tell me how helpless you feel every time you see me cry.

These are the words she wants to tell the boy beside her. A cry for help doesn’t always come in a loud and weepy package. Sometimes in silence you hear a quiet whimper. A hushed voice asking for help. But she knows he too is tired of hearing the chronicles of her life and her never-ending battles. So she sits in silence and stares at the crucified image of Christ. She finds little solace from the fact that someone had it worst than she did.