When I don’t feel good (for whatever reasons) I like to lie in bed under the sheets doused in white flower concoction; a Chinese wonder medicine in a small fortified bottle. You can smear it on almost anything. You can even drink it although it is clearly indicated on the prescription that that thing is for external use only. But if your parents say swallow, you better do it or else… Confused what I’m talking about? If you know tiger balm then white flower is a liquid equivalent of it. Capisce?
While lying under the sheets, I am thinking of a lot of things mixed up together. No category. Sometimes I think how lucky I am to be able to lie there without somebody bothering me. No grand/children, no nosy neighbors and needy cousins, no noisy crew or a controlling paranoid ex. Not even a husband, for my current knows and accept my weird ways of doing things as I accept his. Live ad let live. We understood that cliché too well.
There was a time that I had a pseudo-best friend who understands that if the phone is off the hook when she called it means I didn’t want to be bothered. So, she would drive straight to my house and would do everything in her power to coax me out. My ex called us Thelma and Louise.
I had and still have a real best friend who deals with the problem with a more direct approach. She would come to my place, barged in my room and pulled me literally out of bed.
I had also an Iranian neighbor who used to take whatever she needs from my pantry without asking for permission. She always replaced them though. A beautiful woman she is. Used to watch me while showering and criticizing every move I make in a caring way. Like she didn’t understand why I want to walk in the rain even though I told her rain is a natural moisturizer.
They are gone now. I changed life and I moved on. And I prize my solitude.
But other times I question my choice. Like today. I was lying under the sheets again ( oh, I forgot to mention that my ex had an aunt who saw my “lying under the sheets” as a sign of “it’s time I go back to my native land.” She is dead now.) and I thought: I could be lying here dead and no one would know let alone care. Is that good or bad? Do I still like my loneliness too much? Am I still happy being on my own? Probably not when I start questioning it, no?
What is the point of all of these, me telling you nonsensical things… Nothing really. I am sharing you my thoughts, that’s all.