First Prayer

A chain smoker. A decade-long drug addict. An abusive and unfaithful husband. An irresponsible father.

Yes. That’s me.

It is surely surprising for you to see me here. Seating in the middle of your holy house.

Honestly, I never planned to go to you. I have never went to you, in fact. Maybe the first and the last time that I stepped into your sacred home was when I was christened. And then just a day after that you killed my mom. Then my abusive and irresponsible dad, well, like father like son, left me too.

That’s how unfair you have been to me!

I learned to steal food to survive, even when I’m just three. I have evolved to a full-blown criminal with gangs as the family that you never let me have. I never get married, I have loved one woman only, but that doesn’t mean I was a good partner.

You cannot blame me, though. Because you’ve been unfair to me. Until now… you’re unfair to me.

So why the hell am I here?

For her, the only person that loved me despite my dark side.

For the first time and for the last time, I am begging you to please let her live.

I will not blame you, though I really badly want to curse you because you’ve been unfair to me! But for the sake of my five-year-old granddaughter, I am down on bended knees, please let her live.

She is the reason why my daughter let me live with them. She is the reason why her mom accepted me. It’s because of her, why I am now with my family after so many years.

She’s the only person who talks to me. She’s the only kid who considers me as a family. Her smiles are like sun rays. Her laughter are like chimes from heaven. She is my joy, she is my light.

And… she’s so young.

You can take me because my life has been wasted ever since. So come on! Take me!

But please… oh Lord… let my granddaughter live.

11.20.2015
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash
Originally written for Blogging University’s WRITING 101 Day 15 Assignment.

Last Choice

I have lived a well-planned life. My mom used to tell me that I have my own decisions, ever since I’m a toddler. I choose what will I wear. I choose what will I eat. I choose anything and everything. Yep. My parents never win.

My student-self is as picky as my toddler-self. I grew old with a few good friends. I grew old with a few but definitely awesome-in-my-eyes wardrobe. I grew old with the hobbies that I truly enjoy. I grew old with a pre-determined path.

I’ll finish a degree of my choice, I’ll work at my dream company and then I’ll get to write my own love story. I’ll get married. I’ll have three kiddos, the eldest should be a boy then a girl and a boy again.

We’ll leave in a humble yet beautiful home with a grand terrace and a modern kitchen. We’ll have two cars, black for my hubby and white for me. We’ll have picnics. We’ll fight but we’ll reconcile. We’ll have our own happily ever after.

Those are just my wishful thinking. Because now, I am left with no choice.

Just last month, after I finally got my dream job, my plans were shattered, destroyed, wrecked, crushed, into tiny little pieces I can’t even recognize.

I have a big ‘C’. Stage four. Hopeless case. That I know.

No words of encouragement can make me believe that I’ll get better. Sorry, I’m not dumb.

I am left with nothing but this sickness that I have never ever planned to have.

My mind is quick, though. I still have one last option left.

Yes, cancer have destroyed everything that I have planned for. And it is destroying me, too, slowly but surely. But, I won’t let it win.

I’ll choose when will I die.

And that chosen date… is now.

11.04.2015
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: mascontext
Originally written for Blogging University’s WRITING 101 Day 03 Assignment.

Big ‘C’

photo-1417915134192-0194508577ac

Life’s light
mood’s bright
heart’s fine
when soul’s
only mine.

Then you came,
hijacked every cell
you stumbled upon
which drove me
insane.

Now life’s hard,
heart has died,
soul’s really tired,
frivolity hunches-
hides.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Matthew Brodeur


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