It’s pouring heavily outside as I sit at my workstation and pretend to be working and writing something of utmost importance that would benefit the organization when in fact my mind is clearly thousands of miles away.
I like to listen to the sound of the pouring rain, accompanied by Johnny Tillotson’s Rhythm Of The Rain.
I keep visualizing knots and lines. How do we know where to draw the line when there’s a very fine line in knowing where do draw the line?
Do you get what I’m saying? Let’s just pretend that you do.
Can I share a story with you on this rainy Tuesday afternoon where the rain is pouring outside and you wish you could just jump silly and try to catch the rain? I wish I could.
There is a story that is going through my mind right now. A story where the husband brought his girlfriend into his marital home during a time when the wife was back in their hometown. It was also a story where the husband went away to UK for a month and took his girlfriend with him, leaving his wife and their 3 kids, the youngest one being only 6 months old, high in an apartment, where if you stand on the balcony of this said particular apartment, you can see the twin towers and a highway with a steady stream of cars inching along ever so slowly.
This story is laced with bitter anecdotes of the husband telling his wife that she hasn’t been a good mother to their children, that home for him became hell and that was the reason why he needed to seek solace in the arms and comforts of a girl he met in a karaoke lounge. There was a short chapter in the story where the husband had one of his friends to give the wife a call and tell her that he is acting upon instructions given by the husband which is to look for an apartment to be ready upon his return from the UK. He is moving out but he doesn’t want out, yet. Or perhaps he does?
I keep thinking of this story. I ask myself, where should the lines be drawn? You see, I might have differing views because I am simply looking at it from a single girl in KL’s point of view. My views are simple, hurt me and lose me. But that would not be practical now would it? Because obviously marriage needs a lot more work than that. A lot more sacrifice you say, bucket load of tears. Think of the children you say. I wouldn’t know..because I am not married some say therefore I can’t be objective about it.
But then again, I’m thinking that I don’t need to be married to know that I don’t deserve to be treated like scum, or worse like a fungus. The fungus the feeds upon the scum.
Then please, do pray tell, because I haven’t got a clue, if I was playing the wife in the story, where do I draw the line? Or maybe there is no line to be drawn? I should just embrace the bitterness and fight for what is mine to begin with?
Fight until all dignity and pride is drained out?