My Sacrifice for My Airman

Time’s 12:06 AM on my computer. Rain hasn’t stopped at all since last night, amplifying this gloomy loneliness in the midst of Oklahoma thunderstorms. Alone in the dark, with no one’s voice but those on TV or the Beethoven I’ve been playing on my phone now and then.

Today I’m 23 weeks pregnant, with emotions like roller coaster. I almost snapped on a lady working at a store for looking at me from top to bottom. “What are you looking at? Never seen a pregnant Asian lady carrying umbrella?!” I wish I did. But at least I have my dignity intact. Still, going out all day and watching movie, watching people passing by, didn’t erase this isolation.

I was born, and grew up, in a dead-end street where the house at the end of the street were my father’s and one of his little brother. My siblings were far older than me so I went out a lot since I was little. Late night dining, midnight movies, and night clubs since I was 7 years old. As if it wasn’t enough, the house was never quiet. There was always guests from mid-day to midnight, with Karaoke or men playing cards. It was a happy time, however turbulent.

I have three cousins next door and the eldest would play ‘Emergency Room’ scene with my four dolls or play open a restaurant where I’m the chef and she’s the customer. We’d go out to hang out in cool places, telling stories of first kisses, life at college for them, a place to runaway when I got scolded at home. I was never lonely, especially with school friends often coming by for meal or just to hang out.

But here I am. Alone. Serene, yes. Fulfilling, no. I guess this is the reason why I haven’t write anything in months, until I am literally alone.

Being a military spouse, it’s not just about having to move from places to places. Apparently, it’s also about when they suddenly need someone someplace far away, no matter how long, no matter what they’re leaving behind. It’s about not knowing who your spouse’s colleagues are, since they’re working with a lot of different people from different area, it’s all just a bunch of new names. No faces you can put who your spouse is working with, but a few. No means of communications when they had to leave their phone behind, not knowing when they’ll return to contact you until they do.

They’ll tell you about spouses groups, support group, key spouses, and all that. Good if it works out for you, which would make life easier if you live on base housings. Apart from that, you’ll never hear anything from them. I’m still as clueless as I was 2 years ago when he first entered military, where the Spouse group meets once a week for Bunco, whatever that is (yes, I’m not American so I never play it nor am I interested in it). At the end of the day when all that’s over, you’d still come home to an empty house. Lying in your bed all to yourself and the bare ceiling, staring back at you. Wait, was it just me?!

I was the one who encouraged my spouse to try military. So why am I complaining now? Well, back then I wasn’t pregnant with monstrous anxiety, and I still believed different States could offer me something I could work with. Well, it’s been over a year in Oklahoma, and I’m still feeling as isolated as the first month we arrived. Somehow, the way people look at me, the way the traffic merges, the way the neighbors treated each other, it all seemed… superficial. I’m just being sensitive. How do you suppose I would survive his first deployment with a month old baby coming up in a few months if I’m like this even now? God help me.

When one’s soul is crushed, inspirations are lost, and hope beyond reach. Idle, simply revolving around the ticking clock. Waiting for another day to pass by unnoticed. Until the day he comes home. This is my sacrifice. Is there a way out of this bitterness? Maybe. One day. Ideas to improve moods are most welcomed at the moment! It’s his first unofficial Father’s Day; makes me smile a little.

half a life
feeling blue and half alive


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