It was one fine night when our parents took us for dinner in the finest restaurant in hometown. It was Manokwari, a house-like eatery that stood quietly by Gembong River, the biggest river dividing the town into two.
Everything is still vivid in mind. The dim room with huge dining tables and tall chairs, classic chandeliers and thick smell of jasmine mixed with fragrant cooked meals from the kitchen.
I remember climbing up the chair, sitting nervously as the table was almost touching my jaw, and my feet hanging a couple of inches from the floor. The large white porcelain plate in front of me seemed intimidating.
Years after, we came again to dine there. It was still a lively restaurant with dim light and classic decoration. The tables seemed in an “okay” size, the chairs also not as big and tall as years before. I could then put my feet down and had a perfect level to my plate on the table. I smiled. Everything seemed smaller than I used to remember. But apparently, it was just that I grew older and taller.
It was another lovely family dinner. The sweetness of growing older.
I’m feeling bad today. Kind of feeling I never have and never want to have. Yet it nests there in my soul and got me weary.
I’m feeling I can never be a mother, let alone a good one. It’s a horrible feeling, let me tell you. So – damn – terrible. I mean… if you are a (adult) woman and you can’t picture yourself to be a mother then you’re doomed. I am doomed.
As a single woman living in this big city alone, I often imagine how nice it could be to settle down one day, having my own family with lovely kids and a wonderful husband. But after recently hosting my sister with her three kids (7, 4 and almost 2-year old) for three nights and four days, I learned that I probably can never do that. I mean… parenting. I really don’t know if I have the patient, the time, the soul, the touch, the care, the all-nurturing-bearing. Love is probably the only thing I can be sure of. I have lots of it. But mere love won’t be enough, no. Oh damn.
I feel like crying when writing this down. It’s like I no longer have a dream to reach. It’s like all I do is useless and I’m just wasting my time. It’s like I was thrown into this world with no noble purpose. It’s like I’m just one teeny tiny creature for someone’s entertainment. Oh yes, I can have all the joy of making a good living (still I don’t want to call myself a career woman). And yes, I can help out other people using all resources I have. Definitely yes, I can have all the fun with some guys but then what? I’m getting older and getting less and less useful. I’m all alone and living all this by myself for myself.
Now is the time for questions to pop out of my brain. Is this the reason why I am still single till now? Am I not designed to be a wife nor a mother? Am I not equipped with the aptitude and skill to mothering? Is this a curse or an endowment instead? Should I now trash this one dream to be a normal woman?
Oh, feeling hopeless is terrible, my friend.