this is becoming a necessity...

I think there's much hope in my continuing this blogging because I am beginning to feel, once again, the need for catharsis through writing.
With a stale cup of lukewarm earl grey tea nearby for afternoon sustenance, I shall write on.
I start with this notion that I heard in last Sunday's sermon:
"Idealization: Love answes all!"
By this age (3o, no less), I have realised more, not less, that love is not solely based on romantic moments or eternal promises of companionship and happiness. Love is about hard work, perseverence, the knowledge that there are good days, bad days, better days, worse days, but if you love truly, you stay the course through them all.
However, it is also true that knowledge does not naturally translate into easy application, and I am still guilty of much childish trantrums and immense self-centredness. Which brings me back to one important aim of this online journal: to remind me to be a better wife to a long-suffering husband (ok, not that long-suffering yet..we've been married for a mere 6 weeks), and a better daughter to long-neglected parents.
On those quiet days (which are frequent for these few weeks), I'm moved and at the same time filled with fear at the realisation of life's transience and its unpredictability. I therefore don't want to run so blindly through my life anymore, taking all who love me so dearly and whom I love too for granted, subconsciously deluding myself that these loved ones will be around forever and forever.
My husband's returning in 20 minutes, I've got to postpone my thoughts till tomorrow..
But I end with something I chanced upon just now in my afternoon reading:

/LOVE IS NOT ENOUGH/
Leong Liew Geok

Not that I don't want to be
A loving wife, a good mother.
Not that I can't sacrifice
Like all women before or after.
Not that I don't love.
Not that I can't cook.
Not that I won't please.
Not that I shan't share.

Love is not enough.

At home, husband
And children lodge,
Biting, munching, gnawing
Bone, bloody and bare.

Dream-monsters trip me
At work, smirking of home;
Past midnight, in a kitchen
Emptied of sound and smell
Tangled in knots,
I see him upstairs,
Asleep, alone.

Must bearers-wearers always ache?

Hard and white, I grate
Like half-cooked rice.

(I haven't chosen the poem because it echoes my reality. It's chosen because it provides some food for thought. I shall think about it and share tomorrow. Sleep well, Stranger, dream right.)