Create

That’s my personal fix_ creating something. I am addicted to it – better even- I was born with it in my blood. If you ask me where did I get or inherit the fix, I would say I don’t know. I don’t remember my parents creating something aside from us. They were not even able to provide a proper home for us or a proper upbringing. What the heck they didn’t even managed to have a decent relationship with each other. It could be also that my memories are clouded with emotional and physical traumas brought by regimented fostering I cannot remember things correctly.

Not that they don’t have the talents for it. My mother could draw anything beautifully and her aquarelles were legendary, or could be if she has dared to do something with it but as far as I can recall, I only saw her once doing it. She kept a sketchbook in her chest of clothes though full of inspiring images she I suspected created from imagination because they didn’t look like anything I’ve seen around or perhaps she might have seen them before there were us. Anyway, aside from that one occasion when she had drawn me a cow for a school project, I never witness her doing it again.  Maybe real life was difficult to combine with her art (that I can understand) maybe she had enough work with the six of us. Maybe that’s why she hated us (except one) Maybe I am exaggerating again. I don’t know. My father… my father could build a shack, on his own, using whatever available materials he could find. And he once turned a bog into a proper garden. Yes, the two of them had talents to create, if only they set their minds to it instead of… too many and too painful to mention.

Back to me.

A day without creating something beautiful and preferably tangible is a day wasted for me. I love to see things materialize before my eyes by the power of creation. I enjoy the process of designing anything that will produce beautiful results. That’s why I love gardening and why I got into design business. Mind you, I can draw and paint as well. Even better than my mother. She could not draw portraits, I can. All of us can draw but only me can do portraits. Why I didn’t do something with it? Nerves. Nerves and self-confidence. Don’t ask me. It is a long and complicated story and I hate long and complicated stories that’s why I dislike myself. I think.

Anyway, creating sits deep in my soul and has me on its grip from the cradle on. I remember finding a broken truck front light when I was young and bringing it home turning the glass upside down and made the thing into an aquarium complete with fish and water plants. My father scolded me for it saying the fish belonged in the pan not in my far-fetched vision. It didn’t stop there. I created playhouses wherever possible and decorated them with the things I could find lying around. I filled big shells with water and floated colorful flowers on the surface, collected bottles of shampoos, powder, lotions, anything I fancy that have washed up on shore and I could use to beautify my private place. I made handbags from scraps of fabrics nobody wanted and filled them with paper money I fashioned from old newspaper and pretended I was shopping or going to the bank. The pink piggy bank I bought from my Christmas money was doubled as a vase for the wild flowers I gathered from the side of the road. I see beauty in everything and believe in endless possibilities of re purposing materials. Nothing is impossible. If I can think it, then it must be doable or otherwise how can I come up with the thoughts in the first place?

Once I was so despaired about our crumbling little shack I tried to elevate the place by planting colorful wild plants in empty milk cans I gathered from the neighborhood and put them on the front of our house at eye level so they were more pleasing to the eye. I also planted creeping ground cover in shades of purple and green placing them just under the eaves so I didn’t have to water them much for water where we lived that time was a precious commodity. Even then without proper training, I instinctively know what goes together. When it comes to design I have only one motto: If it looks good, then it’s good. I don’t care much about the process, what’s important for me is the result. Rules can go to hell, as long as the end product achieve what it needs to achieve then breaking design rules means nothing to me.

I would like to say more about the topic but duty calls. First thing first. I will come back and edit this piece if necessary and perhaps add a sentence (or a paragraph) or two to complete the thoughts. But for now I have to go. I really, really have to. At least even with this incomplete monologue you got ideas already what create (or creating) means to me.

BRB

(first time I wrote this abbreviation and it sounds like the things those pretty girls who are working on cam will write on a piece of paper and prop against the back of a chair to let their viewers know they don’t disappear forever only indefinitely. Maybe I will tell you sometime how I come to know this. Signing off for now)

EarthDay

Puncture

If you ask me this is what happens to most relationships_ a puncture here and there brought by little disagreements, irritations, minuscule fissures of disappointments, tiny holes of dissatisfaction, awakenings, disillusions and before you know, the once voluminous affair full of dreams, passion and false hopes is nothing but a depleted space that keeps growing between you two till it become unbridgeable, irreparable and there is nothing left but to accept the fact that the once had been will never be the same again.

Most people separate. Some brave it through and stay together even though the relationship is over waiting for it to die a natural death. They stay for the children, for financial reasons, for image, for family, for any excuse they can think of in order not to join the statistics. The lucky ones have friendship to fall back on and content themselves with platonic alliance, living like brother and sister side by side bound by mutual respect and care for each other fuel by the memories of how it was once upon a time. Those like I said are the lucky ones.

For most of us the once paradise becomes a prison, living with fellow inmates whom like themselves are bored to death but terrified to venture out there and explore the unknown even though the door is never been locked. If you are living too long in one condition, options are terrifying prospects. The uncertainty of freedom is paralyzing so, better to stay indoors where everything is safe and familiar. The devil you know is better than the devil you don’t. And so they say.

Mind you I can’t blame them. Relationship like love is a verb. It needs constant tending in order to flourish. If you don’t stoke the fire it will die down sooner or later. They say passion lasts only two years, maximum. No one can sustain a passionate relationship for too long. It is time and energy consuming and hazardous to physical and mental health not to mention emotional and psychological well-being (or is it the same thing?) Anyway, real life is far from romance novels. There are bills to pay, children to feed and send to schools. And between work, social, family life and mortgages screaming for constant attention, the first to suffer and disappear is the time for romance. Funny how people forget the most important thing in the midst of chaos. Most don’t realize that without a healthy dynamics between couples, the rest will eventually die as well.

What to do to keep the balance?

I would say find out what works for you and keep doing it. Maybe for you setting a date  for romance once a week will do. For others who love spontaneity (like me) whenever it itches scratch it. Forget about everything for a moment. The dirty dishes and laundry will not run away if you spend a 15-30 minutes (or how long it takes to satisfy the cravings) private moments with your other half. You would be surprise what a couple of unplanned little us-time could do to boost your relationship and add colors to your days.

Other things that might work are giving compliments, saying thank you telling each other your appreciations for what the other does for you and your family, smiles, unexpected little kisses on the cheeks, spontaneous hugs, little notes left in lunch boxes, post-it messages on the fridge. Tease and play with each other, sweet and naughty text messages, anything that shows that despite of your busy schedules you don’t forget your sweetheart exists.

Those are the tapes that sealed those little punctures when you quarrel or have disagreements. When you see a hole or created one, see to it that you repair them before it is too late. Unless you want the whole thing to collapse and be depleted.

P.S.

Did not edit this piece. Any mistake you see, please be lenient.

Businessman-and-businesswoman     

Taper

A candle is lit

In a solitary, dark room

Full of

Paper bag memories

Wrinkled and strewn about

Smoke fills the air

Suffocating high hopes

And possibilities

To start anew.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Close your eyes

And hide in the darkness

Of corners that the candle

Flame barely illuminates

And slowly breathe in

The poetry of lost promises

As the candle burns

Leisurely into oblivion.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wave goodbye

As you drift into

The darkness

Of black and white memories

That have since been lost

In the candle smoke…

~ found poetry

A woman participates in a candlelight vigil in support of women safety in Mumbai

Volume

Does size matter?

I bet there are more answers than one.

And all of them can be right.

Or wrong according to preference.

I heard a long time ago that when it comes to a certain matter it is not the size of the boat but the motion of the ocean. Before, I would have contest it but experience taught me that it is indeed so. Is it important? Up to a certain degree it is. But not enough to rock a solid foundation.

What about our recent bench mark on beauty? The thinner the better? Thigh gaps and all?

Let’s talk about possessions.

Bigger houses bigger cars bigger balance in bank accounts

How about goals?  Not Citius, Altius, Fortius but Altus, Grandis, Immanis or it is Ingens, Bumelia, Magnus?

Just give me real, lasting and cozy. Harmonious, respectful, loyal and trustworthy. Quality over quantity. That’s good enough for me.

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Daily Prompt

Revelation

This is a note of thank you to all the men who never had the balls to claim me.

Although I am a strong and independent woman, I have a secret cavern inside my heart that is open to be claimed—but never owned.

And while I realize I still have so far to travel on this journey, I also feel immensely thankful for all those “maybes” and “what ifs.”

I’m thankful for those that were intimidated by my wild heart because it taught me that I have two choices in life—to either live within the boundaries of their comfort level, or to say f*ck it, and be my own self—wild and all.

Thank you for teaching me to embrace, love and revel in my wild.

I am appreciative for those who I made uncomfortable with my truth. It was only through learning how much others don’t like the truth exposed, to learn for myself how much I crave its very existence—if truth were a drug it would be my favorite high.

Thank you for teaching me to never be afraid of the darkness that the truth may hold.

I’m gratified for each and every time that I felt I wasn’t getting what I needed from a man—because in fact I wasn’t. It was only through looking at what I didn’t have that made me realize what I do want. While I may travel along empty back roads by myself at times, I also have realized that it’s okay to not accept less than what I deserve, regardless of if it makes sense to others or not.

Thank you for showing me everything that I don’t want, so that when I finally come face-to-face with what I do want—I’ll have the courage to go after it.

I am thankful for the insecurities that your actions brought out in me, because if it hadn’t, I wouldn’t be the woman I am today. In looking at what emotions the behaviors of the others were triggering in me I had the ability to look at myself and make the choice on how I wanted to feel. It was only through this experience that I learned no one can make me feel a certain way unless I give them permission to do so.

Thank you for helping make me into the strong confident woman that I am today.

Even though at the time it is never easy, I am simply so grateful that you never loved me enough. We never love the same way twice, and while I know in your own way you did love me, it wasn’t the kind that could keep me warm on a blustery winter’s eve. Thank you for showing me that I don’t want someone to be only half in love with me, or to merely appreciate me—but to leave them breathless.

Thank you for teaching me that the love I seek is the one that is extraordinary.

I am so grateful that I was able to feel what it was like to be trapped by normality, because it taught me that I will never fit into any sort of box or label. I was not put here to make others feel comfortable, but instead to make them feel alive.

Thank you for never appreciating me for my individuality and spirit, because it taught me how important it is to stay true to myself.

Although being alone was tinged in isolation at times, I realize now that it was in those moments that I was able to take root and bloom into myself. Finding our own way in this world where so many think they know what is right for each of us is the most difficult work we will do. I will always be grateful for you trying to change me so that I was able to realize I am exactly as I should be

Thank you for leaving me with my loneliness so I could find my way back to myself.

I am so appreciative for you having tried to make me the woman behind the man, because it was there in the shadows I learned that I am meant to be a partner and nothing else. I can create a lot more trouble in this world next to a man who appreciates the burn of originality.

Thank you for attempting to dim my light so I learned that I needed to burn as bright as I could.

Thank you for being afraid of the power of my sexuality, and the mysteries of my eyes because it taught me that only those who can match my passion should be allowed to share in it with me.

Thank you for being scared of my intelligence and the depths of my mind, because it taught me there is a difference in loving how I look, or how I make you feel versus loving who I really am.

Thank you for not being the man that I needed, so that instead I was able to see the woman I already was.

Thank you for never having the balls to stake a claim on my heart, because it left the space and opportunity for someone who will be brave enough to take a chance on the wonderful desire of the unknown—someone who will cultivate every trait you tried to suppress.

Thank you for being all wrong, because it showed me what right will look like—and for that I will always be eternally grateful.

“The right man will love all the things about you that the wrong man was intimidated by.”  ~ Unknown

~Via Kate Rose

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Tender

Who believes in tough love? Sometimes we have to be cruel to be nice. Every decent gardener knows that. And anyone who has a half-sense knows also when and when not to apply it. Every situation is different and has to be handled appropriately and accordingly. I don’t really know what I’m saying, I’m about to take a quick nap and a bath afterwards to be fit shopping for outfits for the silver jubilee of a company tomorrow. I think what I’m saying is I don’t care much about tender. Green finger that I am I seem not able to keep houseplants alive. I’m killing them with TLC. And when it comes to romance, give me a skin scorching passionate all consuming fiery kind of love affair. I tend to find tender and sweet boring. Believe me I’m living it because they are the kind of relationships that last and you can build something on. What keeps them alive? Extra marital sidelines if you can afford. Thank God I’m over that now and so I keep telling myself as if being older means you lost appetite for excitements and resigned to the situation (read: cliche) that once you reached middle age you have no right to feel anymore. Not appropriate. Not the done thing. To hell with the done thing I say to myself often till I get into troubles for not doing the done thing like wearing distressed shorty shorts and why not when it becomes you. I’m getting sidetracked again. Anyway, TGIF enjoy your weekend and believe you me it doesn’t always have to be tender. You know what I mean. 

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Neat and Tidy

It’s always nice to see things arranged in a proper order. Easy on the eye. Inviting. Inspiring. Shot worthy. Last Christmas I saw in the Supermarket rows of rows of gift wrapped chocolates. I am not fond of sweets but I can’t help but admire the colourful display. They are so tempting, neatly and appropriately dressed up for the holiday.  

 

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Polish

Last night D. and I touched the topic of confidence, mainly self-confidence. He knows I have a problem with low self-esteem, lacking of self-love and general dislike of my appearance. Funny because everyone who knows me (including D.) swears I am Miss Confidence herself, and I understand where they are coming from because though I am insecure about my looks I never doubt (not even once) myself or my capabilities. I always know who I am, what I believe, what I want and where I want to go. I never question my thoughts or my decisions. For some people I come on strong and very assertive and in some ways I am because I only open my mouth if I know what I am talking about and sure of my rights, otherwise I shut up.

About my appearance, I long make peace with it. I don’t care if I’m ugly. Putting on weight only bothers me because of the inconvenience it brings: new wardrobe, uncomfortable clothing, my ankles swell up and so on. I don’t care much how I look. For my part I can walk outside naked or wearing either jogging suits or pajamas. It’s the people that bothers me, their reactions to how I look.

I see myself as… let’s say a firefly. Others (I presume) can only see my light but not my shape or what I am. To me I am race-less, colorless, gender-less and ageless. I am me and me is neutral. I go on with my days thinking/feeling like this till other people make me aware of the reality, their reality. That a poor immigrant colored middle aged woman has a lot to prove in order to be treated right in this society. Then (and only then) I (time after time) realize that I need to be polished in order to be taken seriously that I have to look natty to belong, to get some respect and to be heard. Looking normal doesn’t do the job. Being normal get you only that far. Closer to the bottom of the ladder than halfway up there. In this society which is obsessed with appearance and fashion, looking normal is not the norm. You have to be polished, fashionable, glossy and all that jazz to be included and counted. First impression counts and first impressions are (sadly) always based on appearance.

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Natty

When they are going to realize up there (where fashions are created and determined) that real people want comfort and trends to go hand and hand? They say one must suffer to be beautiful. I heard one stylist said: “If it’s comfortable [referring to clothing items] then it’s not good.” I can never wear pumps and stilettos. I don’t want to spend hours every morning in front of the mirror using eleven different brushes and endless pots to deem my face ready for public viewing. I hate the fact that people treat you according to the clothes you wear and things you own. And most are slaves of fashion and think they have to follow it in order to belong and if you are not part of the herd then you’re (what else?) automatically an outcast and not worth a penny. Do we always have to look natty to be respected? Can we not be ourselves and still be part of the tribe? Do we have to exchange our individuality and originality for a place within the group even though it means we will be lost in anonymity?

Unfortunately it is the case. Unless you are rich and famous and can justify your own fashion if not your own brand of clothing. Then whatever you might wear or do is forgiven because you are the fashion, you are the ‘it’ thing of the moment no matter how ridiculous it looks and sounds. Labels and boxes. We’re fond of it. We feel safe once we categorized everything and sorted them out in proper order according to our tastes and preferences. And I’m afraid I’m getting carried away again so I will stop here. You know what I mean.

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Monday Thoughts

We are in a society that hates emotions. They are rejected as being anti-intellectual, anti-political, anti-everything. We are animals with brains. People all over the world have inherited the disease firstly of feeling that money is the answer to their life’s problems and secondly that intellectualism is an answer to their problems.

We need to stop intellectualizing so much and rely on what we feel. If you feel something, it’s true. The only truth you can really know is something emotional that you feel. When we lose our instincts for truth, we are nothing.

– John Cassavetes

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I’m Back

Been a while since I write my own thoughts. I’ve been away for almost four weeks basking in the sun soaking the atmosphere enjoying the weather admiring the views immersing myself in a different culture and generally doing nothing but what I love to do in that moment. I crisscrossed the island on foot, drove around, swam in lagoons and tasted the food. I’ve been in a hospital also. Cost me a fortune but my health insurance will pay me back only  I don’t know when. They say it may take a while since it is a large amount of money but I see it as saving; money I don’t have in my hand so therefore I can’t spend.

I’m home now with tons of laundry and lots to do in the garden. At least the slugs and snails didn’t devour my entire population of plants like I expected them to do. My chocolate mints died. D. said he upended small bottles of water in the pots but he said it was not enough to last for the entire time we were gone but I suspected he had forgotten to do it because I didn’t see any indentation on the soil next to the plants. So, today I drove to the garden center to get new ones but like always I purchased more than I needed. Believe you me I will have second thoughts buying anything for myself but will not hesitate to acquire something for the garden or for the house. I’m crazy that way. It gives me so much joy to shop for both and see them transform a space. The plants which are damaged by late frost are struggling to survive. They are still there but most of them become sort of bonsai, little miniature examples of their former selves. I hope they will totally revive next year. 

I reckon it will take me a week to go back to normal. I will return to writing after everything settled. But first I have to attend two big parties. One is the silver jubilee of a company and another is a retirement event for my father-in-law. The first one calls for a dress code. ‘Future’ is the theme we have to abide. Lots of shining garments dominated by silver and white in casual attire. I don’t know yet if I’m going to attend since parties are not my thing but let’s see when it’s time to go. Maybe I will and then again maybe not.

I wrote this piece without pause and without edit so if you spy some mistakes, look the other way. Until next time and enjoy the warm weather.  

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