You been in to so many things lately, too busy you didn’t have the chance to pause for a rest, to slow down, to while away time and do what you really want. I caught you one time, staring blankly. You are thinking of your crazy work load, juggling one task to another so you can finish everything on time and make all people around you happy and satisfied. After all, who would do it if you wouldn’t, right? So may be this is just pointless. But may be not. Truth be told, no one stop you because you make them feel you’re okay. Were in fact, you’re not. I almost heard you cry for help, for a break in your seemingly endless, physically tiring routines. And what’s worse? You feel guilty if you stop.
Finally, you rest. No, make that lie. On the bed, with fever that shakes you up and down, with headaches that won’t go away. The doctor said it is some form of infection, I say, it’s a relapse. I haven’t seen you laugh this much, smile this often or just be happy. I see traces of that happy, giggly girl you used to be. I see glimmers of those sparkles in your eyes. It’s nice to see her again. It’s nice to hear her laugh again. I know that you already missed the freedom of having your own time. Is it such a bad thing, you wonder? Of course, not. It's human. Don’t fret over things you can’t do, that you are not reasonable if you will spend time alone. Don’t take that individuality loses when motherhood comes. Husband and children are bonuses. Only they come with great responsibility. But they should be as much fun as they are challenging. Just grab the moment where you can read as many books, magazines, novels you want, watch a movie, spend time with friends, go window shopping and buy that bag your longing for the longest time for heaven’s sake! Just let go and not think everything to death. You have procrastinated enough.
The bottom line: I love you. I love who you are, just as you are. I don't ever want you to change for anything or anyone. Just be happy. Be spontaneous. Be bold. And try to live for the moment. If only once.
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