Battles Within

My mother met my dad at the tender age of seventeen. She fell head over heels in love with him from the first moment she laid her eyes on his handsome face. Despite the challenges, of which there were many, she was determined to win him. With sheer perseverance she bombarded heaven with prayer petitions to get what she wanted and succeed, she did. It has been over fifty years now since that momentous meeting but the decades spent together has not faded the magic between them. To this very day, they are both still deeply in love with eachother. Where one is, the other is also. They are inseparable.

I of course consider myself very fortunate to have them for my parents. Growing up I was secure in the fact that no matter how often they fought and argued they would somehow find a way to kiss and make-up. Their mutual commitment to uphold their vows have kept them steadfast and faithful to one another throughout the roller coaster ride of their marriage. It is a joint achievement I find most admirable.

Naturally, I too want to attain the same kind of success they've had. I also want mine to be a fairytale with a happy ending. I, more than anything else, want to provide my children with a solid home from which they can build their roots upon. But times have changed so much. What used to be black and white now is fast becoming a confusing array of grey. No longer is there a clear demarcation line between good or evil, right or wrong. The answers are lost in individual translations, all arguably correct depending on what angle you're looking at.

The relationship I have with my husband suffers greatly due to our conflicting personal points of view. As is commonly the case, man often thinks he is right and so does woman. Both stubborn in our ways, we are unwilling to budge from the spot on which we stand. He has his ego to protect and I have my feelings. Which of the two is more important?

For sure, head-on collisions will benefit neither of us. Ultimately, the children are the ones who are caught in between the cross fire. They are the ones who will bear the brunt of the war. They are the innocents who will be most injured and scarred. It is because of these reasons that I regularly find myself giving in. My surrender, though painful to me, will spare them from further suffering. And so, waving the white flag, I must bow my head and lower my eyes in humility. For peace's sake, someone's got to.

I have energy enough and ample ammunition to fight to the death. I have a formidable strength of spirit within me waiting to be unleashed; waiting to prove itself a capable victor. But if my sole aim is to prevail in as many battles as possible, will it necessarily mean I am guaranteed to win the war? What use is the reward of that if I lose the man I love and in the process tear the family apart?

Perhaps the real champion is the one who gives in.