CRY
let it well up inside you
give up the pride in which you place so much value
crying doesn't make you less of a person
it just shows that you are only human
how can you turn your back on your heart?
when you know she was there for you right from the start
yes she's gone now, but hope still remains
and someday your paths might cross again
REACH
little boy with so much wonder
take what the world has to offer
do not tremble as the crowd roars
they are just voices with no real force
soon you'll know that they only preach
but they can't control what they can't reach
so rise up, son, the sea is ahead
plunge in the water, don't hesitate
I will be here as long as life gives me
everything'll work out, soon you will see
SMILE
pens, paper, breifcases and contracts
the job you hold dictates how you talk and act
your collegues think you're something else
and your boss thanks you for increasing his wealth
you think you're on the top of the world
then one day you brush pass this bewitching young girl
she takes one look at you and turns away
the weather takes a sharp turn from sunny to grey
you scrutinise yourself to find the turn off
shudders run through you as you look at yourself
when had those thin lines appeared on your face
when had that infallible charm lost its grace
worse of the worst were those once bright eyes
dark as the night and cold as the winter sky
your job has taken more than you expected
a hard, calculating man is what you have created
how can you justify this change in your being
when the boy you once were could still be heard singing
deep within the mind of the man
the spirit of the boy hatches a plan
he would find that girl and steal her heart
she won't know what hit her, it'd be off the charts
and so begins the journey to find what was missing
wasn't it time you really started living?
Thursday, 6 January 2011
Thursday, 7 October 2010
Circa March 09
Baby baby baby
she's a heavy contradiction
fast love professional
never sneezes less than twice
geek, heels, toast, makeup
shallow, materialistic, bold and beautiful
she's in your past but not in your future
trying to leave it all behind
not what you ordered
sugary sweet and bitter aftertaste
stylistic amateur without a preference
she's a heavy contradiction
fast love professional
never sneezes less than twice
geek, heels, toast, makeup
shallow, materialistic, bold and beautiful
she's in your past but not in your future
trying to leave it all behind
not what you ordered
sugary sweet and bitter aftertaste
stylistic amateur without a preference
Tuesday, 8 June 2010
In repair
take one day at a time
take it bit by bit
the bitter and the sweet
take one day at a time
take it nice and slow
try to go with the flow
take one day at a time
take it step by step
don’t stumble or fret
take one day at a time my friend
and soon you’ll find the strength
to stand tall, to stand proud
but most of all, to be happy on your own
take it bit by bit
the bitter and the sweet
take one day at a time
take it nice and slow
try to go with the flow
take one day at a time
take it step by step
don’t stumble or fret
take one day at a time my friend
and soon you’ll find the strength
to stand tall, to stand proud
but most of all, to be happy on your own
Tuesday, 27 April 2010
Possession
It was the one thing he coveted most, her attention.
Once, a long time ago, she had been his centre. It was a very long time ago, but she remembered it fondly and held those moments close to her. She was paranoid and afraid of mundane things, like the stain in the left corner, or the chill creeped over her in the middle of the night. There wasn't much that she could hold close to her anymore.
I will always love you, I have no choice on that matter, but I don't have to like you.
Her face was lined with bitterness, her voice cracking with sorrow. Every muscle in her body straining against her heart. Oh he was stubborn! And even in her anger she felt a cold sense of pride that was seeping through her body. He was stubborn just like her. He was going to marry her anyway, she could see it. But she needed him to see all the negative things that were going to be said. She needed to play the devil's advocate. She needed to open his eyes.
She never wanted to be estranged or cut off. She wanted to be the one to give him the support, and all the help that he needed. But things never do work out the way that you want them to. You can't always get what you want, so goes the song.
And now she had to sit aside, watching him and his famiy from afar. Hearing about his every move, worrying whether he might fall and need her. She was distraught. Why didn't he call? She wailed to herself when she heard he was scraping by with that new wife of his. Why didn't he call? Her heart filled with longing when she saw his newborn. And despite her warnings, despite her best efforts to protect him, it happened anyway.
She left him. She left him after countless nights of arguments and tears, after she had been rejected again and again, and couldn't understand how he could be so flippant, so damned complacent about the entire thing.
And here was the outcome, plain and simple. She had been right. She had been right from the start, that a 20something year old girl from a different background, a different class, will never fit into his cookie-cutter simple life. All he wanted was to have a happy family. She knew that. As his mother, she saw into his soul. She knew exactly what he was thinking and where he wanted to be.
So with him sitting before her on the sofa, she tried not to let her feelings show. She tried hide her hope and her happiness that he was finally back into her life. That once again, she mattered to him again.
"Its okay, we don't have to talk about what happened," she offered him a release.
"I'm a wreck mum. I have no one to turn to," he crumbled in front of her. "She wants half the house."
"That's ridiculous. Don't worry, I know some people, we'll sort this out," she took his hand. "I know its hard."
And help him she did. She set the wheels in motion for settlement without going to court. She put aside some money every month for her grandson that she never held. She also tried hard to put aside the feeling of regret and betrayal, but none of that mattered more than having him back into the fold.
Then one morning she received a call. It was her, asking if she would like to meet for coffee.
"I don't think there's anything left to discuss," she said stiffly.
"I just wanted to set the record straight. I know you always thought I was bad news."
"You were," there was no room left for doubt in her mind. "You smoked, dressed like a slut and came from the wrong side of the river. And then you left him just when he needed you most."
"I left him because he spent half the time systematically drinking and fucking his way through the entire company!" her eyes flashed in anger. "When he promised to help support Aiden I thought he still cared, but I haven't seen a penny."
Its a curious thing when your beliefs are shattered. When your trust and faith in the one person you thought you knew falls to pieces. She had raised him to respect women, instead he had used them. But he was still her son. Still, her everything.
And she was forced to do the very thing that she swore not to do. She stood by him. Because he wasn't her husband, he was her flesh and blood. Later that night, she confronted him, and said the words that she had said before to shock him, but this time she meant it.
"I will always love you, I have no choice on that matter, but I don't have to like you."
Once, a long time ago, she had been his centre. It was a very long time ago, but she remembered it fondly and held those moments close to her. She was paranoid and afraid of mundane things, like the stain in the left corner, or the chill creeped over her in the middle of the night. There wasn't much that she could hold close to her anymore.
I will always love you, I have no choice on that matter, but I don't have to like you.
Her face was lined with bitterness, her voice cracking with sorrow. Every muscle in her body straining against her heart. Oh he was stubborn! And even in her anger she felt a cold sense of pride that was seeping through her body. He was stubborn just like her. He was going to marry her anyway, she could see it. But she needed him to see all the negative things that were going to be said. She needed to play the devil's advocate. She needed to open his eyes.
She never wanted to be estranged or cut off. She wanted to be the one to give him the support, and all the help that he needed. But things never do work out the way that you want them to. You can't always get what you want, so goes the song.
And now she had to sit aside, watching him and his famiy from afar. Hearing about his every move, worrying whether he might fall and need her. She was distraught. Why didn't he call? She wailed to herself when she heard he was scraping by with that new wife of his. Why didn't he call? Her heart filled with longing when she saw his newborn. And despite her warnings, despite her best efforts to protect him, it happened anyway.
She left him. She left him after countless nights of arguments and tears, after she had been rejected again and again, and couldn't understand how he could be so flippant, so damned complacent about the entire thing.
And here was the outcome, plain and simple. She had been right. She had been right from the start, that a 20something year old girl from a different background, a different class, will never fit into his cookie-cutter simple life. All he wanted was to have a happy family. She knew that. As his mother, she saw into his soul. She knew exactly what he was thinking and where he wanted to be.
So with him sitting before her on the sofa, she tried not to let her feelings show. She tried hide her hope and her happiness that he was finally back into her life. That once again, she mattered to him again.
"Its okay, we don't have to talk about what happened," she offered him a release.
"I'm a wreck mum. I have no one to turn to," he crumbled in front of her. "She wants half the house."
"That's ridiculous. Don't worry, I know some people, we'll sort this out," she took his hand. "I know its hard."
And help him she did. She set the wheels in motion for settlement without going to court. She put aside some money every month for her grandson that she never held. She also tried hard to put aside the feeling of regret and betrayal, but none of that mattered more than having him back into the fold.
Then one morning she received a call. It was her, asking if she would like to meet for coffee.
"I don't think there's anything left to discuss," she said stiffly.
"I just wanted to set the record straight. I know you always thought I was bad news."
"You were," there was no room left for doubt in her mind. "You smoked, dressed like a slut and came from the wrong side of the river. And then you left him just when he needed you most."
"I left him because he spent half the time systematically drinking and fucking his way through the entire company!" her eyes flashed in anger. "When he promised to help support Aiden I thought he still cared, but I haven't seen a penny."
Its a curious thing when your beliefs are shattered. When your trust and faith in the one person you thought you knew falls to pieces. She had raised him to respect women, instead he had used them. But he was still her son. Still, her everything.
And she was forced to do the very thing that she swore not to do. She stood by him. Because he wasn't her husband, he was her flesh and blood. Later that night, she confronted him, and said the words that she had said before to shock him, but this time she meant it.
"I will always love you, I have no choice on that matter, but I don't have to like you."
Thursday, 13 August 2009
Last minute revelations
I sat alone with my grandmother on the eve of her death. Breathing alone took so much out of her that I found it hard to breathe myself. The doctor had said that she was fading, and the grownups had all gone to prepare her last rites. Absurd, I thought. Shouldn't they be with her now more than ever? Imagine having to leave alone.
Well, as they say, we all arrive and leave alone. A voice in my head whispered.
Not true! My heart defiantly answered. Arrivals are met with joy and celebration, babies are snuggled into their mother's warm embrace, affection lavished and given freely. Departures are met with sorrow, regret and tears. Love comes and leaves with us!
Between the beeps of life support systems and her laboured and ragged breathing, her grip on my hand remained constant, and I took comfort in the surprising strength that she still had in her. She was holding on to me as though I was her only anchor to the physical world. As if she would float away at any moment. Her eyes rolled around at me once in awhile, and she nodded and rasped a few illegible words everytime she saw me, satisfied that I was still there.
We were so close in those last few moments. This was odd because I was never what you considered to be my grandmother's pet. Me, the long awaited last hope of my family's name. Mother had failed and grandmother was not pleased. Oh she was fond of me yes, but never in the affection that she showed to her daughter's sons. Who weren't any use anyway, since they wouldn't carry the family name.
Grandmother clutched at me again, her wrinkled fingers spreading up my arm, squeezing my flesh almost painfully. Her clouded eyes travelled the room, still holding on. I tried to release my hands, thinking that I should call my parents or all the numerous uncles and aunts who should be here.
She gestured at me when she saw me punch in the numbers on my phone, shaking her head and pulling me closer. It was as if she knew that her time would soon be over. Don't waste time, her eyes seemed to tell me. She reached out, and I realised she wanted to say something.
Her last words were in her native dialect and hard to understand. At first I thought I didn't hear her properly. I was struck still while the life support systems sounded their alarm and brought nurses and doctors into the room. Everything later was a flurry of motion, crying, wailing, and flailing. It was hard to make sense of it all.
At the wake, alone with my drink in my hand, I thought back to what she said. It dawned on me that she might have mistaken me for someone else. My grandmother, married at 22, 3 daughters and a son, paragon of virtue and humilty, backbone and martriach of my family. There was a photograph in her drawer that she used to take out, more often after grandfather died. I looked at it now, questions flooding my brain. My grandmother and a woman, dressed in old fashion tunics, hand in hand, looking happily into the camera.
"I'll always love you, I'm sorry."
Well, as they say, we all arrive and leave alone. A voice in my head whispered.
Not true! My heart defiantly answered. Arrivals are met with joy and celebration, babies are snuggled into their mother's warm embrace, affection lavished and given freely. Departures are met with sorrow, regret and tears. Love comes and leaves with us!
Between the beeps of life support systems and her laboured and ragged breathing, her grip on my hand remained constant, and I took comfort in the surprising strength that she still had in her. She was holding on to me as though I was her only anchor to the physical world. As if she would float away at any moment. Her eyes rolled around at me once in awhile, and she nodded and rasped a few illegible words everytime she saw me, satisfied that I was still there.
We were so close in those last few moments. This was odd because I was never what you considered to be my grandmother's pet. Me, the long awaited last hope of my family's name. Mother had failed and grandmother was not pleased. Oh she was fond of me yes, but never in the affection that she showed to her daughter's sons. Who weren't any use anyway, since they wouldn't carry the family name.
Grandmother clutched at me again, her wrinkled fingers spreading up my arm, squeezing my flesh almost painfully. Her clouded eyes travelled the room, still holding on. I tried to release my hands, thinking that I should call my parents or all the numerous uncles and aunts who should be here.
She gestured at me when she saw me punch in the numbers on my phone, shaking her head and pulling me closer. It was as if she knew that her time would soon be over. Don't waste time, her eyes seemed to tell me. She reached out, and I realised she wanted to say something.
Her last words were in her native dialect and hard to understand. At first I thought I didn't hear her properly. I was struck still while the life support systems sounded their alarm and brought nurses and doctors into the room. Everything later was a flurry of motion, crying, wailing, and flailing. It was hard to make sense of it all.
At the wake, alone with my drink in my hand, I thought back to what she said. It dawned on me that she might have mistaken me for someone else. My grandmother, married at 22, 3 daughters and a son, paragon of virtue and humilty, backbone and martriach of my family. There was a photograph in her drawer that she used to take out, more often after grandfather died. I looked at it now, questions flooding my brain. My grandmother and a woman, dressed in old fashion tunics, hand in hand, looking happily into the camera.
"I'll always love you, I'm sorry."
Wednesday, 10 June 2009
That's what friends are for
"They're like chocolate cake, like cigarettes; I know they're bad for me, but I just can't leave them alone."
She pauses at the corridor, the plush carpeting was a soothing distraction for her aching feet. Damn the man who invented heels and the women who covet it. She slipped off her shoes and sighed as her toes sunk into the welcoming cushion of almost 5 star upholstery.
The door opens just as she relaxes.
"You know, you look hot in heels, but so much more comfortable barefoot."
He knelt down and picked up her bejeweled heels, touching the curve of her leg.
"Damn you're sexy."
They didn't fuss with pleasantries. He leaned forward and kissed her without ceremony, tentatively at first, questioning, giving her a chance to back out. His hands lingered on her thighs, feathering up to the beginning of the curve of her back.
She kissed back shyly, unwilling to make a conscious decision, though her body was already responding, opening up to his caresses and becoming soft and pliant in his arms.
He let out a little growl at the back of his throat, time's up kitten. His hand reached up and grabbed her breasts underneath her blue satin shirt, unbuckling her bra in one swift move. She closed her mind to emotion and let instinct take over.
God, it had been too long.
Soon they were naked, his dark skin contrasting against hers. She bent down and swirled him in her mouth, just like she did earlier with the straw in the lounge. He had been watching her, and she knew he was seeing through her. She had started the game of seduction long before it became a conscious decision. When she uncrossed and recrossed her legs, the heels she wore that night showing off her ankles, when she tucked her hair behind her ear, the way she bit her lip when he asked her how she liked her drink.
He grit his teeth, flexing his muscles as he did so. She was so careful, so gentle. So damned soft.
He wanted to tear her apart.
With a snarl he threw her on her back, but his teeth were slow and tantalising, his fingers callused but tender. Pushing her. And pushing her. Close, but never letting her go. She gripped at a pillow in frustration. Moans tearing out from her throat unwillingly. She needed this. She needed to feel again.
"Please..!"
He stopped for a fraction of a second, and she gasped audibly.
"No!"
In one swift movement, he plunged into her. He nearly lost control. She was so wet, so ready for him. Her muscles created a suction that nearly drove him to insanity. She was relentless, but he did not move.
"Is this what you want?"
She gazed up at him, her mouth dry and her back arched. She moved underneath him, and he fought to regain control. She clutched at his shoulders, the shoulders she had admired from a distance when she walked past the gym countless of times. Her eyes pleaded at him, her body yielded to him. All the while letting out tiny whimpers of desperation.
Unable to fight it any longer, he pulled her head back and pushed as far as he could go. Slowly, inch by inch, he took from her as much as he gave. Until they both reached a point that could not be contained.
It did not take her long, her face was contorted as if in pain, but she let out a groan of contentment as she was finally released. He looked down at her in the midst of his own joy, at that moment, not needing to hide the love he felt for this girl who wanted so much to become a woman, but whose heart was torn and unappreciated by another man.
She wasn't ready for anything more than this.
He wasn't worried, he had time. He could wait. And she could never know, not before she was ready. He would remain her friend for now, because anything more would push her away. And he needed her. He had always needed her. Now his plan was to be indispensable to her, the way she had crept into his heart without either of them realising. Yes, patience. She will grow to love him in the end.
Lying in his arms, she felt a sense of peace and relief. It had been too long.
She pauses at the corridor, the plush carpeting was a soothing distraction for her aching feet. Damn the man who invented heels and the women who covet it. She slipped off her shoes and sighed as her toes sunk into the welcoming cushion of almost 5 star upholstery.
The door opens just as she relaxes.
"You know, you look hot in heels, but so much more comfortable barefoot."
He knelt down and picked up her bejeweled heels, touching the curve of her leg.
"Damn you're sexy."
They didn't fuss with pleasantries. He leaned forward and kissed her without ceremony, tentatively at first, questioning, giving her a chance to back out. His hands lingered on her thighs, feathering up to the beginning of the curve of her back.
She kissed back shyly, unwilling to make a conscious decision, though her body was already responding, opening up to his caresses and becoming soft and pliant in his arms.
He let out a little growl at the back of his throat, time's up kitten. His hand reached up and grabbed her breasts underneath her blue satin shirt, unbuckling her bra in one swift move. She closed her mind to emotion and let instinct take over.
God, it had been too long.
Soon they were naked, his dark skin contrasting against hers. She bent down and swirled him in her mouth, just like she did earlier with the straw in the lounge. He had been watching her, and she knew he was seeing through her. She had started the game of seduction long before it became a conscious decision. When she uncrossed and recrossed her legs, the heels she wore that night showing off her ankles, when she tucked her hair behind her ear, the way she bit her lip when he asked her how she liked her drink.
He grit his teeth, flexing his muscles as he did so. She was so careful, so gentle. So damned soft.
He wanted to tear her apart.
With a snarl he threw her on her back, but his teeth were slow and tantalising, his fingers callused but tender. Pushing her. And pushing her. Close, but never letting her go. She gripped at a pillow in frustration. Moans tearing out from her throat unwillingly. She needed this. She needed to feel again.
"Please..!"
He stopped for a fraction of a second, and she gasped audibly.
"No!"
In one swift movement, he plunged into her. He nearly lost control. She was so wet, so ready for him. Her muscles created a suction that nearly drove him to insanity. She was relentless, but he did not move.
"Is this what you want?"
She gazed up at him, her mouth dry and her back arched. She moved underneath him, and he fought to regain control. She clutched at his shoulders, the shoulders she had admired from a distance when she walked past the gym countless of times. Her eyes pleaded at him, her body yielded to him. All the while letting out tiny whimpers of desperation.
Unable to fight it any longer, he pulled her head back and pushed as far as he could go. Slowly, inch by inch, he took from her as much as he gave. Until they both reached a point that could not be contained.
It did not take her long, her face was contorted as if in pain, but she let out a groan of contentment as she was finally released. He looked down at her in the midst of his own joy, at that moment, not needing to hide the love he felt for this girl who wanted so much to become a woman, but whose heart was torn and unappreciated by another man.
She wasn't ready for anything more than this.
He wasn't worried, he had time. He could wait. And she could never know, not before she was ready. He would remain her friend for now, because anything more would push her away. And he needed her. He had always needed her. Now his plan was to be indispensable to her, the way she had crept into his heart without either of them realising. Yes, patience. She will grow to love him in the end.
Lying in his arms, she felt a sense of peace and relief. It had been too long.
Block 2
The door was shut but that hardly kept out the sounds of persistent fucking that were coming o
ut of the 2 bedroom apartment. The neighbours of Block 2B had varied opinions. The men lived vicariously through the owner's indiscretions and thought he was a right stud. The women gave him dirty looks whenever he was around and gossiped viciously about the girl that was with him.
They usually arrived seperately, him in his gold four-wheel drive and her in her black sedan. But they walked hand in hand through security, she the blushing ingenue, and him the self-assured gentleman. They usually gave him a thumbs-up followed by a cheeky grin if they were feeling particularly sociable. The women said that the innocence was a facade. She was a gold-digger, trying to get her manicured claws deep into the man who was obviously well off.
But something was different today. She was sitting outside the pad-locked door, alone and waiting.
Mrs. Unit C had been watching her for 3 hours. And all she had done was stare resolutely in front of her. At times her eyes were brimming with tears but as the minutes ticked by they became dry again. Mrs. Unit C continued to keep watch, taking a good look at her in the process.
No fancy nails or designer purse. She was wearing her hair up with a simple tank and shorts. Her breasts were firm and her hips soft with the gift of youth. Was this the picture of a vile mistress that they talked about during the day? In spite of herself Mrs. Unit C opened her door and spoke to the girl behind the grille.
"You can get the key from security if you want."
The girl was surprised, but smiled at her and shook her head.
"No, that's alright. I don't want to bother anyone, I'll just wait here for him. I'm not the owner anyway, I have no legal right to the keys."
She looked down as she said it, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
Not knowing what else to say, and surpressing the urge to comfort her, Mrs. Unit C closed her door, feeling conflicted at her view of Unit 2B. The next day she mentioned it over coffee with the other women of Block 2.
"She looked so sad."
Mrs. Unit A looked at her in disbelief. She was a single mother whose husband had left her for his secretary. The affair was very distressing and all, but the most painful thing about it for her was that it had been so cliche. Because she had never thought they would fall into that pattern and into that box. Mrs. Unit A certainly had no illusions about love, but she didn't begrudge it either.
"The minute she got involved with him she made her choice. She has no one to blame but herself."
Her voice hardened.
"Tell me, what kind of a person gets involved with a married man? Its like eating someone's leftovers!"
Mrs. Unit C tried to defend her.
"But maybe she really loves him?"
"How you feel is not a choice, but staying with someone is a choice. Having an affair with a married man, now that's a choice, not something that is beyond your control."
"But when love comes into play, shouldn't all logic go out of the window?" Mrs. Unit D chimed in, always keen to be the devil's advocate.
"Everybody has a choice. He made a choice when he married his wife. He made a choice when he chose NOT to divorce her. And he makes a choice everytime he fucks her. WE'RE the ones without a choice and are forced to listen everytime they're here!"
They grimaced together.
Mrs. Unit A continued softly.
"My ex-husband had a choice too, and he made it so quickly that sometimes I wonder if what we had meant anything to him at all."
Her words hung in the air. It was the first time she had talked about it openly since it happened. The other women had noted that there had not been any arguments or shouting that came from Unit A. In all appearances it had been a happy and fulfilling marriage, and at all group functions they had seem the most well adjusted and were doting parents. The divorce came out of nowhere, but they naturally assumed that there had been problems within their walls.
Now they realised that perhaps Mrs. Unit A had been the most shocked of them all.
Mrs. Unit C reached out and touched her arm. She looked up, a resolute smile on her face.
"Don't worry, I chose to move on."
ut of the 2 bedroom apartment. The neighbours of Block 2B had varied opinions. The men lived vicariously through the owner's indiscretions and thought he was a right stud. The women gave him dirty looks whenever he was around and gossiped viciously about the girl that was with him.They usually arrived seperately, him in his gold four-wheel drive and her in her black sedan. But they walked hand in hand through security, she the blushing ingenue, and him the self-assured gentleman. They usually gave him a thumbs-up followed by a cheeky grin if they were feeling particularly sociable. The women said that the innocence was a facade. She was a gold-digger, trying to get her manicured claws deep into the man who was obviously well off.
But something was different today. She was sitting outside the pad-locked door, alone and waiting.
Mrs. Unit C had been watching her for 3 hours. And all she had done was stare resolutely in front of her. At times her eyes were brimming with tears but as the minutes ticked by they became dry again. Mrs. Unit C continued to keep watch, taking a good look at her in the process.
No fancy nails or designer purse. She was wearing her hair up with a simple tank and shorts. Her breasts were firm and her hips soft with the gift of youth. Was this the picture of a vile mistress that they talked about during the day? In spite of herself Mrs. Unit C opened her door and spoke to the girl behind the grille.
"You can get the key from security if you want."
The girl was surprised, but smiled at her and shook her head.
"No, that's alright. I don't want to bother anyone, I'll just wait here for him. I'm not the owner anyway, I have no legal right to the keys."
She looked down as she said it, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
Not knowing what else to say, and surpressing the urge to comfort her, Mrs. Unit C closed her door, feeling conflicted at her view of Unit 2B. The next day she mentioned it over coffee with the other women of Block 2.
"She looked so sad."
Mrs. Unit A looked at her in disbelief. She was a single mother whose husband had left her for his secretary. The affair was very distressing and all, but the most painful thing about it for her was that it had been so cliche. Because she had never thought they would fall into that pattern and into that box. Mrs. Unit A certainly had no illusions about love, but she didn't begrudge it either.
"The minute she got involved with him she made her choice. She has no one to blame but herself."
Her voice hardened.
"Tell me, what kind of a person gets involved with a married man? Its like eating someone's leftovers!"
Mrs. Unit C tried to defend her.
"But maybe she really loves him?"
"How you feel is not a choice, but staying with someone is a choice. Having an affair with a married man, now that's a choice, not something that is beyond your control."
"But when love comes into play, shouldn't all logic go out of the window?" Mrs. Unit D chimed in, always keen to be the devil's advocate.
"Everybody has a choice. He made a choice when he married his wife. He made a choice when he chose NOT to divorce her. And he makes a choice everytime he fucks her. WE'RE the ones without a choice and are forced to listen everytime they're here!"
They grimaced together.
Mrs. Unit A continued softly.
"My ex-husband had a choice too, and he made it so quickly that sometimes I wonder if what we had meant anything to him at all."
Her words hung in the air. It was the first time she had talked about it openly since it happened. The other women had noted that there had not been any arguments or shouting that came from Unit A. In all appearances it had been a happy and fulfilling marriage, and at all group functions they had seem the most well adjusted and were doting parents. The divorce came out of nowhere, but they naturally assumed that there had been problems within their walls.
Now they realised that perhaps Mrs. Unit A had been the most shocked of them all.
Mrs. Unit C reached out and touched her arm. She looked up, a resolute smile on her face.
"Don't worry, I chose to move on."
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