PICKING UP PIECES

I'm back.

Though still very much a bitter person,

but i'm turbo charged with determination.

The fight's still on.

Quest continues.

Another saga unfold.

I tell myself that i still have 42 months before i hit 40.

Now faithless, i'm resolving to rely on my bazi for guidance.

World-renowned bazi master saw my bazi and augured that herbal medicines is the cure - wood element - to resolve the child-bearing clash indicated in my bazi.

So it is, Chinese medicine.

Unlike western treatment like IVF - which are tactical solutions - TCM is a long distant marathon.

I have commenced TCM treatment with a TCM gynae from China and i am hoping fervently that she would be The One to cure me with the treasure of the 5,000 years-old traditional Chinese formula for woman's wellbeing formula.

Also my bazi indicated that i have entered a new ten-year cycle of Output. Which means these are going to be the years that i will, literally, produce, be it my creativity @ work, music, novel-writing and most desired of all - a baby.

TCM (wood) + Ouput (water) = baby (finger-cross)

IN GRIEF

My 2nd IVF attempt miscarried on 16 April 2010. All three tiny lives had lived just one week longer than the first triplet's. This second attempt lasted exactly four weeks and four days from embryo transfer date. Technically, i was really pregnant for only a month - from fertilization with triplets thriving at eight-cells when they were put back into my womb.

On the very same day of my loss, i'd, sadly, celebrated the birth of my younger brother's first child. Aside from hubby, i had told no one about my miscarriage. I had faked a joyous face throughout this day as it was a historical day for my family because this baby boy is also my parent's first grandchild, a.k.a. the third generation. Baby Hong-Hong is a epitome of my yearning, my desire, my longing and my depression.

As much as i am happy to welcome a new life into the family, i was also submerging in tremendous grief with my loss. My weight dropped drastically, tipping the scale to 8kg. I couldn't bring myself to blog and work life was monologue. I let myself grieved without reserve; i'd stayed reclusive, pensive, wistful, hurt.

Unfortunately, i still haven't emerge, even till today. I am as bitter as before. I snapped easily. I can taste sour in my tongue whenever i see women my age or younger walking by with a proud baby bump. I detour whenever such women came onto my path.

I never thought i can actually - and literally - 'taste' failure. And now i have. It makes me want to loathe. It makes me want to find fault at something...someone. It makes me want to scream my head off.

Despite not getting any of those achieved, at least it has successfully made me turn my back on religion or all things spiritual. I am able to say it out loud, to anyone, that i think religion or GOD or any faith are just a psychology illusion people conjure to cushion self in moments of weakness.

"Religion is an illusion and it derives its strength from the fact that it falls in with our instinctual desires. At bottom, God is nothing more than an exalted father."

Sigmund Freud.

I couldn't agree more. I can truly feel and understand it's extent at this junction of my life when i have had finally got down on my knees at numerous times, prayed and begged for help to secure the second IVF. Poignant prayers despite heartfelt pledges. No miracle happened. The atrocious gushes of red came, flushing out my previous triplets, my dream, my yearning, along with my honest belief of faith.

Today, i am able to lift my fingers to blog. Probably out of hatred, out of revenge at everything that stands in my way to mother a child. Maybe i should congratulate myself for coming out of grief and promoted to anger. Maybe i am telling myself i should not be giving up so soon. Maybe i need the anger to fuel my determination to fight on. Maybe i need the fire to fuel my next book: Do we need GOD?