| Letters and Diary Fiction posted December 31, 2019 | Chapters: |
3 4 -5- 6... 
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When love can kill you
A chapter in the book The Book of Miracles
Jasmine
by Iza Deleanu
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Hello, my name is Jasmine. I am addicted to love and I am addicted to freedom. At first glance I don’t look different than any other average Jane: average beauty, education and life style, but I exceed at passion. I love life, more precisely, I love the imaginary life that I have in all the chat rooms where I am the Queen of the Universe. Here is where I am bloom to life, and where I am allowed to sing about my love.
Oh God, I‘ve tried to be normal - hiding my real self behind my parents' wish of arranged marriage. At that time I was too young and too scared to protest. After all, they were my parents they wanted the best for me, and being treated like a princess was the supreme match. In my parents' eyes that was the dream of every little Philippino girl. I got the dream man: old and rich. I got a daughter and a golden cage. I wasn’t allowed to work, I was allowed only to take care of my image. So I become the Queen of the gym. My body was perfect, but my soul was crushed because I was missing the joy of adventure. One day, I couldn’t take it anymore and I just ran away. You’ll say: bad mother. Well, I am not to be blamed. I was forced to get married too young. I didn’t have a taste of being on my own, being responsible for my own self. I’ve lost my daughter and my family disowned me. That was the moment when I woke up and I realized that I needed to get a job. I had some experience from my school years, so I’ve tried my luck for two years on a different continent. In Saudi is all about work and putting the money aside for later. Being a woman in that work environment it's not an easy treat. Don't expect respect and to have an easy way through life.
You know the saying: different place, different luck. All I wanted was to prove to my family that I can survive without them; as long as I have two hands and a clear head I can survive. I can defeat the harshness of my new life, swimming boldly against all odds.
When you are far away from all that you once knew, far from your child, brothers … it is a miracle to not lose your sanity. One day I couldn’t endure the silence of my room, and I decided to open the gate to the wild wide Web. I start surfing on different channels, assuming bold identities and hiding my loneliness and fear of being hurt. One day as I was talking in one of my favorite chat rooms, I found a glimpse of what - at that moment – I thought might be my happiness. Here I met my future husband, this time the choice of my own and from my own country. Every day we were talking and getting to have the imaginary life of a married couple. We started to have our routines and customs. It was there on my second year; things at work where starting to shake, so I quit and ran to my love to the other end of the chat room, back in my original country. I am always moving back and forth between my country of origin, the country where I’ve spent my childhood, and my adoptive country where I’ve gain my freedom and sanity.
We got married and had a daughter. He became the best father and husband in the world. He wasn’t rich, and he taught me how to follow my dreams. I stayed a few years in that magical dream, lying to myself that I live in heaven, that I have the perfect husband and the perfect life - but life kicked me some more.
What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I stay committed to my new family? What am I craving for? My true self is bored to death of my little odyssey. In that moment I was given new wings and a new goal. I have to go back to my adoptive country - Canada. I need to make a living for my small family. So here I am, all by myself trying again to find meaning, understanding, and questioning my fate. I was happy, I was working and I was sending money back to my little family from far away. Soon my daughter got used to seeing me behind a screen, in fact, she got so used to her imaginary mum instead of saying “love ya” she kept singing “bye, bye mummy”.
After a while I just got tired of my lonely pillow. My “cry me a river” mood was depressing, covering the joy of having an interesting job and a reputation to care for. I was the providing mother and the providing wife. But I needed some warmth in my life; I needed to feel alive again, so I run back to my safe house: The Chat Rooms. In there I was able to assume different identities and have sparkling conversation. I forgot to tell you, I love music and I love to sing, so if you want to get to my heart, just pick up a guitar and sing to my soul. You don’t have to be a mariachi, all you need to have it's a nice voice, some tattoos and the bad boy look and you got me from the first chord. One of my friends, who knew my preference in heart matters, convinced me to land in a different chat room that I was trying to avoid. Don’t get me wrong, none of my previous husbands had tattoos or sang. Maybe this is the reason I couldn’t stay too long cemented to their arms. But this cricket had the sparkle and a certain je n’est ce quoi! I opened the Pandora Box: one look to that singing cricket and I was charmed. From that second on, I become Suicidal Jasmine. One look and I was lost.
We started to talk for hours, I forgot about my other life; I was seeing only him, my USA Army man, who wasn’t a gentle giant as my second husband, but a rough sweet pain. I was enchanted. I carried him virtually from Skype to my work, to my bedroom, to my bathroom. He was on me, controlling my schedule, getting mad when the bus was not on time and I was arriving a few seconds late. He became possessive and jealous. But I was in love and I took the extra step flying to see him. I was leaving La Vida Loca. I came back, but my heart was on his palm, myself stayed behind. I offer my love, my life and even my money. He became the reason I wanted to live. I was breathing through my love. Lonely on this side of the wall I started to be depressed. I didn’t care, all I wanted was him. It’s funny how lost you can be dreaming about a guy who lives thousands of miles away.
I loved the image, the sound of his voice. I really was his slave in real life. My cricket sucked my blood, my money, my sanity away. Then one day, he just disappeared. I got mad. I started calling him, tracking him down to all our virtual meeting places, asking all my friends what happened. I got scared so I went home, drank a bottle of my favorite blueberry vodka, took a knife and started carving my hands. I was crying, screaming that I wanted to die, that I can’t live without my cricket. I phoned my friend from work and she made me sing, trying to distract me from my suicidal dream. In the meantime, my roomate received the message and ran into my room.
We fought for the knife, she finally took it away. I tried to bang my head on the computer screen and my other friend was screaming over the phone: “Stop! That computer is innocent, hurting yourself is not going to bring the cricket back. Calm down and go to sleep”. Exhausted I fall on the hard floor, hugging myself and rocking my dreams back and forth: What I am going to do without my cricket? As I was sitting on the floor, a light come down on me and a sweet voice was saying Jasmine, you have your daughter - you have a reason to live. Wake up! Let it go! It's not worth it!
Tired and in a weak voice I said: "but I love him! I can’t let it go. I am going to die. ” Finally I fall asleep. My daughter come into my dream: mummy I need you, come back to me.” The next day, I wake up. I was tranquil. I finally realize that this is not going to work destroying myself. I close all my communication channels and restart my life. I know nice tattoos and sexy guitar is trouble, so I am running as fast as I can when my heart goes to fast on the bad boy myth! Run away, Jasmine! Stay away from the cricket.
Non-Fiction Writing Contest contest entry
Oh God, I‘ve tried to be normal - hiding my real self behind my parents' wish of arranged marriage. At that time I was too young and too scared to protest. After all, they were my parents they wanted the best for me, and being treated like a princess was the supreme match. In my parents' eyes that was the dream of every little Philippino girl. I got the dream man: old and rich. I got a daughter and a golden cage. I wasn’t allowed to work, I was allowed only to take care of my image. So I become the Queen of the gym. My body was perfect, but my soul was crushed because I was missing the joy of adventure. One day, I couldn’t take it anymore and I just ran away. You’ll say: bad mother. Well, I am not to be blamed. I was forced to get married too young. I didn’t have a taste of being on my own, being responsible for my own self. I’ve lost my daughter and my family disowned me. That was the moment when I woke up and I realized that I needed to get a job. I had some experience from my school years, so I’ve tried my luck for two years on a different continent. In Saudi is all about work and putting the money aside for later. Being a woman in that work environment it's not an easy treat. Don't expect respect and to have an easy way through life.
You know the saying: different place, different luck. All I wanted was to prove to my family that I can survive without them; as long as I have two hands and a clear head I can survive. I can defeat the harshness of my new life, swimming boldly against all odds.
When you are far away from all that you once knew, far from your child, brothers … it is a miracle to not lose your sanity. One day I couldn’t endure the silence of my room, and I decided to open the gate to the wild wide Web. I start surfing on different channels, assuming bold identities and hiding my loneliness and fear of being hurt. One day as I was talking in one of my favorite chat rooms, I found a glimpse of what - at that moment – I thought might be my happiness. Here I met my future husband, this time the choice of my own and from my own country. Every day we were talking and getting to have the imaginary life of a married couple. We started to have our routines and customs. It was there on my second year; things at work where starting to shake, so I quit and ran to my love to the other end of the chat room, back in my original country. I am always moving back and forth between my country of origin, the country where I’ve spent my childhood, and my adoptive country where I’ve gain my freedom and sanity.
We got married and had a daughter. He became the best father and husband in the world. He wasn’t rich, and he taught me how to follow my dreams. I stayed a few years in that magical dream, lying to myself that I live in heaven, that I have the perfect husband and the perfect life - but life kicked me some more.
What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I stay committed to my new family? What am I craving for? My true self is bored to death of my little odyssey. In that moment I was given new wings and a new goal. I have to go back to my adoptive country - Canada. I need to make a living for my small family. So here I am, all by myself trying again to find meaning, understanding, and questioning my fate. I was happy, I was working and I was sending money back to my little family from far away. Soon my daughter got used to seeing me behind a screen, in fact, she got so used to her imaginary mum instead of saying “love ya” she kept singing “bye, bye mummy”.
After a while I just got tired of my lonely pillow. My “cry me a river” mood was depressing, covering the joy of having an interesting job and a reputation to care for. I was the providing mother and the providing wife. But I needed some warmth in my life; I needed to feel alive again, so I run back to my safe house: The Chat Rooms. In there I was able to assume different identities and have sparkling conversation. I forgot to tell you, I love music and I love to sing, so if you want to get to my heart, just pick up a guitar and sing to my soul. You don’t have to be a mariachi, all you need to have it's a nice voice, some tattoos and the bad boy look and you got me from the first chord. One of my friends, who knew my preference in heart matters, convinced me to land in a different chat room that I was trying to avoid. Don’t get me wrong, none of my previous husbands had tattoos or sang. Maybe this is the reason I couldn’t stay too long cemented to their arms. But this cricket had the sparkle and a certain je n’est ce quoi! I opened the Pandora Box: one look to that singing cricket and I was charmed. From that second on, I become Suicidal Jasmine. One look and I was lost.
We started to talk for hours, I forgot about my other life; I was seeing only him, my USA Army man, who wasn’t a gentle giant as my second husband, but a rough sweet pain. I was enchanted. I carried him virtually from Skype to my work, to my bedroom, to my bathroom. He was on me, controlling my schedule, getting mad when the bus was not on time and I was arriving a few seconds late. He became possessive and jealous. But I was in love and I took the extra step flying to see him. I was leaving La Vida Loca. I came back, but my heart was on his palm, myself stayed behind. I offer my love, my life and even my money. He became the reason I wanted to live. I was breathing through my love. Lonely on this side of the wall I started to be depressed. I didn’t care, all I wanted was him. It’s funny how lost you can be dreaming about a guy who lives thousands of miles away.
I loved the image, the sound of his voice. I really was his slave in real life. My cricket sucked my blood, my money, my sanity away. Then one day, he just disappeared. I got mad. I started calling him, tracking him down to all our virtual meeting places, asking all my friends what happened. I got scared so I went home, drank a bottle of my favorite blueberry vodka, took a knife and started carving my hands. I was crying, screaming that I wanted to die, that I can’t live without my cricket. I phoned my friend from work and she made me sing, trying to distract me from my suicidal dream. In the meantime, my roomate received the message and ran into my room.
We fought for the knife, she finally took it away. I tried to bang my head on the computer screen and my other friend was screaming over the phone: “Stop! That computer is innocent, hurting yourself is not going to bring the cricket back. Calm down and go to sleep”. Exhausted I fall on the hard floor, hugging myself and rocking my dreams back and forth: What I am going to do without my cricket? As I was sitting on the floor, a light come down on me and a sweet voice was saying Jasmine, you have your daughter - you have a reason to live. Wake up! Let it go! It's not worth it!
Tired and in a weak voice I said: "but I love him! I can’t let it go. I am going to die. ” Finally I fall asleep. My daughter come into my dream: mummy I need you, come back to me.” The next day, I wake up. I was tranquil. I finally realize that this is not going to work destroying myself. I close all my communication channels and restart my life. I know nice tattoos and sexy guitar is trouble, so I am running as fast as I can when my heart goes to fast on the bad boy myth! Run away, Jasmine! Stay away from the cricket.
This is a true story I witness parts of it. This is the story of one of my friends that allowed me to write it down for her. The names I used are not the real names. Thank you for reading and as always any grammatical corrections or style suggestions are welcomed.
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