Self Deprecation

A little bit of self deprecation sprinkled here and there can help people feel more relaxed and connected.

However, you’ve also seen the flip and more extreme side of self deprecation. Whether it’s a family member constantly taking jabs at himself or a friend who counters every compliment with a sassy one-liner, self deprecation can often be a cover for a much deeper issue.

Thoughts, words, actions, character — they’re all connected. What you think and what you say matters, especially in regard to yourself. Every time you affirm something with words, it gains power. Continually trash talking the way you look, what you do and where you come from reinforces negative beliefs. Those beliefs shape how you see yourself and how others see you as well. Even in attempts to be funny, more relatable or relaxed, self deprecation can be a slippery slope.

Every time you disregard, belittle or devalue yourself you chip away at a positive self image. While it may seem like harmless humor, self deprecation often is what many people use to mask their insecurities or self loathing. In an attempt to deflect embarrassment, self deprecation is a way to hurt yourself before anyone else can hurt you.

Warning: If YOU insist you are UNWORTHY You Attract People Who Agree

— Terri Cole

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Sunday Wisdom

There are days you wake up thinking you can juggle the world between your fingers, and other days you wake up feeling the air around you intoxicates you to a point where you can no longer leave the premises of your bed. The nights in between, you shuffle between being a warrior and a slave; wondering whether you want to lose yourself to win the world, or lose the world to win yourself.

– Mohamed Kassem

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Morning Thoughts

For the first time in months, I slept whole night and woke up at six feeling refreshed. Opening the curtain to admit daylight, I saw there was a fine layer of snow covering almost everything outside. The winds have gone and the air was still and quiet, there was no drizzle to disturb the peace.  It was beautiful. As if the day didn’t awaken yet and still dreaming under the soft white blanket of snow, guarded by the pinkish glow of morning light.  Watching this little silent moment I felt humbled and inspired.

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Amnesia

Do you hold grudges or do you believe in forgive and forget?

Yes and No.

Yes I hold grudges when the offense is very personal, mean, premeditated, evil, repeatedly done without asking for forgiveness and the outcome is life changing and not for the best. 

I never forget. I am blessed/cursed with photographic memory and I am amazed to find out that after all these years words still have the power to hurt me.

Forgiving is depends upon the crime and how it is done. How can you forgive someone who says sorry for stepping on your toes but keep standing on them? How can You forgive people if they don’t ask forgiveness thinking it is their birthright to abuse you? How can you forgive someone when there is always something there to remind you of their cruel deed? How can you forgive your own blood for betraying you?

No. Some crimes don’t deserve forgiveness and some stay engraved in memory no matter how hard you try to forget them…

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Seasons

Summer.

The barbecue tasted great. The potato salad too. We sat in the garden enjoying the wine, his hand intertwined with mine. We looked into each other eyes, communicating without words. He was happy. I was happy. So were the bees and other insects around us, they zoomed tirelessly between flowers, collecting nectar. I laid my head on his shoulder, he gathered me in his arms. Together, we watched how nature works. We stayed there till late listening to the birds.

Autumn.

I was looking at the fire pit watching the flame. I lighted it earlier and sat in the gazebo waiting for him. He uncharacteristically late today. So, unlike him. The dinner I prepared and laid on the table turned cold, the candles had burned out. He finally came at eight looking different, haggard and somewhat worried. He sat opposite me and said he wanted a divorce. He is in love with someone else. Outside it started raining. Good. I didn’t have to water the plants.

Winter.

He’s gone. Packed his bags and left. He said he was going to stay in a hotel. I found out later that he moved in with her. I watched him marched through the garden with his suitcase. He stepped on my rose bushes on the way to his car. He probably didn’t notice they were there under the blanket of snow. I closed the curtain and laid in the dark.

I stayed there for days. Sometimes weeks, lying in my bed without moving. Standing up just to get more wine. And smoke. I took up smoking again. I found out cigarettes were good substitute for food. It filled my stomach and quieted my nerves. A good companion during those dark long lonely cold days and nights. I took the phone off the hook and disabled the doorbell. I didn’t want to hear or see anyone. I just wanted him to come back and say he made a mistake. I waited in vain.

Spring.

I went outside and found out that crocuses and snowdrops had pushed through the layers of snow. A little farther, cyclamens were also putting a good show. So was the grape hyacinths.  I lower myself to the ground and fingered them. Tough little flowers. Soon dutch irises and narcissus will be joining their efforts  and the garden will be alive again with riot of colors. I smiled for the first time in months.

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Itchy Feet

When I was growing up we moved a lot.

We never had a real home or time to settle and grow roots. My memories of home are vague snippets of strange places with different people sometimes I doubt if they are real or imagined.

I never want to go abroad. It was never my dream. I was happy where  I was.

When I was 17  I found myself in Europe. What a strange place. I can’t get used to the food and the weather. I came from the land of endless summer. Here, it is mostly cold, the trees bare and looking like Blair Witch Project.

For the first time I stayed longer in one place, twenty  years.

Eleven years ago, I moved again. This time in an apartment. After 3 years I moved once more to a terraced town house. I stayed there for another three years before I settled in a six bedroom Edwardian house in the country. It took me five years to move to a suburban villa where I am currently living.

Last week I started looking for houses. I have appointments to view some of them this weekend. Yesterday I saw two and was disappointed. 

I guess, I’m moving again.

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Possessed

“In the hour after midnight, a man is more than the madness inherent in the sunless expanse of a night wired with creative storms, lightning strikes neon against a void of light as the writer casts words to page in fevered pace, morning a curse he awaits in sleepless states”

~from humble shadow

Who can relate to this? I think everyone who writes can. Why it is that great ideas come mostly during wee hours? I remember a saying that goes If we can only realize those ideas we have when we cannot sleep, everybody would be rich. Or something like that.

True isn’t it? I am more productive when I’m suffering from insomnia. I might be a walking dead, feeling like swimming in a thick syrup, living in a dream or in the outside looking in or inside looking out but those ideas come pouring in non stop.

Funny thing is, if we don’t record those thoughts while they are fresh, we tend to forget most of them the moment we sleep. We can still recall the concept, the gist of what  it’s all about but not the exact genial arrangement of words. And anyone who writes knows that this is very important: arrangement of words. It affects the whole story and will determine the outcome of the final product.

I’m writing a book at this moment. After too much deliberation and waiting for years, my son finally convinced me to put my ideas on paper. Yesterday I was dead tired and couldn’t really write. Lying in bed, ideas for a crucial conversation between an important character and the leading role came to mind. I knew I had to write it down but I thought I know this scenario, I played it in my head countless times, I device this whole thing, how can I forget it? Wrong! 

Today, trying to write the exact arrangement of words  based on how I remember them prove to be difficult. It just didn’t flow naturally. It felt strained and forced. Like a rehearsed conversation between two bad actors. Too smooth, memorized, it just didn’t feel right.

You might say I learned my lessons by now. I thought so too. But speaking from experience, I know I will have those sleepless nights again full of brilliant ideas I am too lazy to record but will regret not doing so the next day.

How about you? Did you experience something similar?

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Beam me up, Scotty

If you could split your time evenly between two places, and two places only, which would these be?

I will be between past and present correcting my previous mistakes savoring what I have missed and checking the outcome if the result is not so much life changing it will erase my two children away from me. Anything but that.

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Trio

I saw this trio of lighted orbs during one of my visits to garden centers. They were mesmerizing. I can look at them for hours. The lights were low, couldn’t use a flash, it was difficult to take a proper shots but I tried anyway and somehow I managed.

If you want to see more, check out my other entries here in my photography blog. See you there.

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Travelling Solo

“Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens.”

— J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

My life so far had been a long and arduous journey. Still is. Most of it, I did on my own. No friends, no family.

Along the way I’ve met and overcome all forms of evil. I didn’t come out of the experience unscathed. Some wounds are still bleeding.

On this journey I have met exceptions that restored my faith in humanity. But those are few and far between. I  cherish and carry them with me to guide and keep me on track. There will be no hope if there is no faith. We have to believe in something to sustain hope. We need hope to go on. We have to go on if we want to stay alive. So simple is that.

I have chosen to go on no matter what. It doesn’t mean I don’t entertain the idea of giving up. At times, like now I am ready to end it all. Something keeps me from doing it. I don’t know what. Maybe hope.

Halfway the journey, I’ve met Sam. Frodo’s Sam. 

Innocent, childlike, inexperience and not without faults. But loyal and dedicated. In his own ways, courageous. He refuses to give up. His continuing support, unconditional love and understanding baffled me. When the going gets tough, I told him to pack and go home. He’s still here. Good.

Together, we hope to reach Mordor and break the curse. Wish us a safe journey. 

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