I see the wind playing with the leaves
I hear the trees crying
I feel the colors of the rainbows on my eyelids
I smell the clouds pregnant___
with rain I taste coming.
My words will either attract a strong mind or offend a weak one.
Success isn’t about how your life looks to others. It’s about how it feels to you. That’s what it means to be true to yourself.
I am my biggest critic. It’s me I have to please, no one else. If I am not satisfied with anything, I will continue to work towards improvement regardless of what others think or say. It is my life after all. It is me that has to live with myself till the grave, day and day out. I have to be comfortable in my own skin before I can be any use to anyone. Same with designing your own space. You are the one who is going to live there not other people. So why should you try to impress others when it’s not even their own abode. Do what you like, follow your feelings, decorate according to your taste, design according to your needs, dress up according to your personality and live the way you see fit. As long as your not harming anyone by being yourself, who cares?
Let them judge and let them talk.
It makes me think of something I’ve read somewhere. That coins make a lot of sounds while paper money is silent or something like that. And bells ring hard because they are shallow or something along those lines. What it is that Steve Jobs said:
Don’t let the noise of other’s opinions drown out your own inner voice and our time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become.
Isn’t that great?
We are all born terminal. We are all going to die sooner or later. We are living on borrowed time. Don’t you think we better spend it on experience than accumulating earthy possessions? I remember what my then friend M. said to me a long time ago. She said: “With all that money you are spending on globetrotting you could have been a millionaire by now.” I just looked at her because I didn’t understand her point of view and I didn’t bother to explain mine because she would not understand, and I mighty glad I did what I did because with my current condition and limited situation if I did not follow my heart and invested on experience, I will not have something to remember and fall back on when the going gets tough. Those cherished memories keep me sane and I’m grateful for that. I said to myself then: I don’t want to lie on my death bed wondering about ifs and what could have been. At least now I could honestly say to myself that I’ve been there done that twice over and back. No regrets.
Oh, I know, some people are hard-set to accumulate material things for the sake of legacy. To leave to their descendants, to give them a fair start in life as my aunt used to say. Granted. But I personally believe that the best foundation you can give to your own children is the gift of one thing no one can steal and they can never lose: education. Coupled it with a decent upbringing and nuggets of wisdom here and there, proper morals and values and they will be okay. Earning and finding their place in the world has to be the fruit of their own labor, not yours. They will follow their own paths anyway no matter what we told them to do. I, for one thing, don’t want my children to live up to my expectations. I rather that they live up to theirs. I will never live through my children. I don’t want them to make my dreams come true. I want them to realize their dreams no matter how disappointing it is for me because it is their lives. As long as they are happy, I’m happy. Isn’t it what love is all about, seeing someone happy?
The bottom line is:
We have just one life, why not live it the way we see fit?
Live and let live.
So forget about image and keeping up with the Joneses because:
The feelings that hurt most, the emotions that sting most, are those that are absurd – The longing for impossible things, precisely because they are impossible; nostalgia for what never was; the desire for what could have been; regret over not being someone else; dissatisfaction with the world’s existence. All these half-tones of the soul’s consciousness create in us a painful landscape, an eternal sunset of what we are. —Fernando Pessoa
My son said to me yesterday that the things I remember most from my childhood are not memories but longing and those that bordering on supernatural are brought on by psychosis. I remember them clearly not because it did really happen but because I believe they did. Memories are seldom complete he said. Most of the times we fill in the blanks and it becomes our reality.
Needless to say, I don’t believe him. I know what is real and what is not. And If I would fantasize or imagine anything it would not be one of my experiences. I will conjure up happy thoughts so I could fly away to Neverland. There are things that cannot be explained by any logical or scientific means. My son has to understand that. Other memories of mine that have nothing to do with paranormal or supernatural, I could believe there are some holes in it. But I don’t fill them up with my own imaginations, I just can’t remember the whole picture. Sometimes they are just a blank canvas, others have snatches of colors and outlines of some forgotten scenes often too vague for me to recognize.
I never have a desire to be someone else, but rather I have longings for different circumstances for myself. Perhaps being born into another family, country, situation, been given different chances in life, things like that. Nostalgia for something that never was I have experienced only once. I wrote a book about it. I sometimes still think about what could have been if what never was is a reality exactly the way I’ve imagined it but know only too well that it is next to impossible to happen. Perhaps it could once upon a time but interference from people and fate rendered my wish futile.
My painful landscapes consist indeed of the feelings that hurt most, absurd or not, but from different nature than those that had been mentioned above. They are both from memories and experience and I can sum them up easily in one word: betrayal- in all sense of that word.
How I wish there is an eternal sunset on my painful landscapes. It is preferable over the total darkness of what I am…
When you grow up by the sea, you spend a good deal of time looking at the horizon. You wonder what on Earth the waves might bring – and where the sea might deposit you – until one day you know you have lived between two places, the scene of arrival and the point of departure. ~Andrew O’Hagan
I grew up by the sea and Indeed I spent a good deal of time looking at the horizon sitting on the breakwater my father had built waiting for the water to reach my feet. I never wonder what on earth the waves might bring but I once had a friend who gave me this copper ring which he made himself but had to throw it in the sea to keep me from being drowned by someone who wanted the ring so much. He said the sea will give it back to me when the time is right. The waves will deposit it at my feet wherever I am.
It didn’t happen of course and until this very moment I don’t know yet if I have lived between two places and I’m not sure if I understand where are the scene of arrival and the point of departure and how on earth I am going to recognize these places when the time comes. Perhaps it’s about being born and dying. Maybe the day you will understand you have lived between these two points is when you realized it’s your last day here on earth and it’s time to say goodbye.
The sea didn’t deposit me anywhere but a plane did. I traveled by air to hell in order to be saved. In a sense, I did live in two places and experienced both worlds. None of them is an ideal place to live but I never complain. There are worst situations than mine. There is no horizon to look at where I am now. In order to see it, I have to travel far, and when I reach there the view is often disappointing. How I wish I could say how I long for the peace and quiet of my childhood when sitting on a breakwater whole day was my only concern, but I would be lying. So, I would wish for peace of mind instead and hope it comes before I know I have lived between two places.
This is what I keep telling myself lately, find your old companion guts and get reacquainted damn you!
Where is the girl I used to know? The one who never stops at nothing to follow her heart. The one who didn’t let forces of nature detained her if she wants to gallivant. Now, a mere rain is enough to keep you inside? Pathetic!
You used to be fun, full of ideas and never have a qualm to put them in action. Remember the time you started hiking at four in the afternoon despite the thunder and lightning and the torrential downpour? You had to change clothes in the car because you were soaking wet. How about the time you went into the mountains to search for the missing head of a student who had been raped. You did it at one in the morning so nobody could see and stop you because an unauthorized person wasn’t allowed on the premises and they said it was dangerous. You armed yourself with a big bolo and head on. Where is that brave girl now?
Remember the cemetery? How about the collapsed subdivision where a lot of people had been buried alive. You sneaked in past the guard and spent the night there because you were convinced that where there are catastrophes and human casualties the odds of having contact from the other side are stronger and perhaps you’ll get lucky and could communicate with one of them.
And the time you rowed a boat for four hours to spend a night in an abandoned lighthouse in the middle of the ocean and got caught by a tropical storm and had to find your way to the nearest shore in the dark. How about that?
Others might say it is not bravery but foolishness and it may be so but that is not the point. The point is the fact that you changed beyond recognition. Not even the shadow of your former self which is preferable than totally disappearing altogether.
Where is the spontaneity, the passion, the drive the hunger? The hunger is there alright but you are trying to quench it with pseudo replacements. The doubt, the worry, the fear… where it is coming from? Is it called getting old, like your daughter stated a long time ago which you refused to acknowledge? Your niece whom you adopted and brought up to keep from following the footsteps of her mother (and failed miserably) told you once upon a time when you first got together with your now second husband that you became boring as hell. You didn’t acknowledge that too. Now, there is no choice left but to admit it.
What happened? What changed?
Okay, the situation is different so is the status and they go hand and hand with compromises but to forget who you are and become a totally different person is unacceptable. You can make loads of excuses but they will not justify what you have done to yourself. You are an embarrassment to all the free-spirited women out there. You call yourself a gypsy, a nomad? Once upon a time maybe but not anymore. Not for a long time. You become a hothouse flower, an invalid, a kept woman, boring and unimaginative the only adventures you are embarking are those that in your head. I despise you. I hate what you become. Where are your guts? Why you are existing (because I cannot call what you are doing living) against your principle and everything you believe in? For what? For security? For comfort? Bullshit! Nothing is secure in this world. You of all people should know that. And if I recall correctly, it was you who said you would rather live in the streets than be caged. Do you still think that way? Apparently not.
Your son said it is better to live and die than not to live at all. He told you that after you voiced out your fear for his safety backpacking two months in India and going on camping trips to war zones and being in the midst of a rally in Paris. That son of yours is a male version of you in every way. The once upon a time you. The wanderer adventurer fearless you. Look at you now.
Don’t cite age as an excuse. There is no such thing as too old for this and that. Age is just a number. And your condition? All the more reason to live right here and right now before you reach your expiration date. Live now that you can still walk and enjoy. Go out there and live without regret. That is what you supposed to be doing instead of being a prisoner in your own home.
You are not some caged exotic animal. You were born and brought up in the wild. That’s where you belong. Not in a fancy house with a fancy car full of fancy gadgets and designer items. Since you care about them anyway? Big houses and big cars and expensive things mean nothing. You can’t bring them where you’re eventually going. What matters is how you spend your borrowed time on this earth. I am telling you, find your fucking balls and reattach them before it’s too late.
Word I have learned today:
stealthy, subtle, surreptitious, sneaking, cunning, crafty, Machiavellian, artful, guileful, sly wily, tricky, slick, deceitful, deceptive, dishonest, underhand, backhanded, indirect
My ex-husband said to me that I pretend to be intelligent but the truth is I’m stupid really. I think what he meant was I lack the qualities that are mentioned above. Virtues that in my experience most women I know possessed and I seem to be lacking. I never learned to use my gender as a weapon of advantage, like I never learned to sway my hips while walking or say things but mean another. In my world, I say what I mean and mean what I say and I learned to walk with a purpose: getting where I want to be as fast as possible and leave when it is not necessary anymore to stay. I am stupid indeed.
I have nothing to offer to a man.
My ex said that too. According to him I just lay there like a corpse. I told him it takes a real man to make me moan in bed. He didn’t like that. I wonder why.
The truth is I never thought of offering someone anything in any circumstances. Another thing I never learned: to negotiate and barter. Take me as I am or walk away. No hard feelings.
Reminds me of what Rose -an old friend- told me when we were young – not to eat directly from the pot when there is a possibility that someone, especially a (potential) suitor might see me. The person could lose interest when he catches me doing unladylike things. I told her why hide when sooner or later he will learn to know the real me and preferably sooner than later so he could not blame me of pretending and tell me afterward that if he only knew he would not get into this and that. I rather that he will know how I really am in advance so he has time to make up his mind if he is going to venture further with me or run away. Same reason why I don’t string suitors. If I like you I tell you right away so we can spend time doing wonderful things together instead of beating around the bushes pretending, wasting precious time which otherwise we can use to get to know each other better. Likewise when I don’t fancy the person, I will tell him right away too so he could devote his precious time chasing other preys instead of wasting it on me. Fair is fair, right?
Lately, looking back, I sometimes believe that maybe I am indeed stupid, not using my feminity at its best potentials when I could but even if, I don’t know where to begin. I don’t know how to flirt or seduce someone. I don’t know how to twist the truth to my own advantage and I don’t know how to lie for personal gain. I cannot shut up when I supposed to shut up (like don’t criticize your mother-in-law in the front of your husband and don’t antagonize your husband by pointing out his mistakes and don’t voice out other people’s thoughts which otherwise they rather keep for themselves for the fear of rocking the boat etc. etc.) I don’t know how to caress someone’s ego to be liked and be sweet and amenable to please and I don’t know how to be who I am not for popularity. If I don’t know all these, how can I be smart?
Smart people, women, in particular, my ex-boss said know their way in the world. He said this after I refused to attend his 25th wedding anniversary because I didn’t want to wear a long gown. After I refused to go to the sauna with him. After a female colleague cooked him dinner and after I didn’t get into his proposition of being employed by him to take care of his invalid wife on paper but in reality living with them and taking care of him. He fired me but tried to hire me again three weeks later. Funny guy.
I’ve met quite a few who are insidious. I wonder how they can look at themselves in the mirror and believe they are the paradigm of virtues. I admire people who are overly self-confident when clearly there is no reason to be. Like stating on their profiles that they are very attractive while their pictures say otherwise. I know what false modesty means and it is equally unflattering. They say the best part of being beautiful is when one is not aware one got it. That’s when the allure becomes powerful and at its strongest.
Do you believe it?
If you’ve got it, flaunt it they say. It’s a good subject for a debate, but not today. All I know is it is endearing to watch someone who is not aware she or he has a devastating impact on people. Kind of innocent. Kind of sweet. Kind of everything I am not. False modesty aside.
But I’m getting sidetracked again. See what a single word could do to the mind of a person?
I better stop I think.
See you next time.
My son told me when I related to him what I’ve experienced when I was eight years old that whatever I believed I have seen that time wasn’t real. I protested of course. How could it not be real when I saw it with my own eyes? I wasn’t dreaming, I was wide awake and running for my life. I wasn’t hallucinating, never took drugs, not drunk either, no fever. It was supposed to be an ordinary day and I was running a simple errand and suddenly my world turned upside down.
It doesn’t matter he said. To me it was real but it doesn’t mean it really was. I never thought of it that way. There was and still is no doubt in my mind that it happened. No matter how bizarre the experience was, I never question my sanity or the authenticity of what I have witnessed. To me, it was as real as you and me and all the people that are walking o this planet. Even my son’s skepticism failed to shake my belief. I will carry that belief to my grave.
Suit yourself he said.
What about this one? I asked. And this? Same verdict. I was imagining things but convinced I wasn’t. What should I do that? What could possibly be the reason why I would imagine situations like that? Believe me, if I would fantasize anything it would be something very different, totally the opposite, like tête-à-tête with Rafael Nadal for instance. But no matter what I said to my son, I could not convince him, and vice versa, which made me think: Do we really___
Tell Ourselves Stories in Order to Live?
Joan Didion said:
“We tell ourselves stories in order to live…We look for the sermon in the suicide, for the social or moral lesson in the murder of five. We interpret what we see, select the most workable of the multiple choices. We live entirely, especially if we are writers, by the imposition of a narrative line upon disparate images, by the “ideas” with which we have learned to freeze the shifting phantasmagoria which is our actual experience.”
Do we really?
I know we learned and we have to turn a blind eye sometimes to what is happening around us in order to survive and protect our sanity. All that senseless violence, poverty, and political issues plus global warming and the declining quality of just about everything are enough to send anybody down the drain.
Those people who had been and still are in an abusive relationship would understand. I have been there done that. I know how it is to make excuses for someone and for yourself in order to keep whatever you want to keep intact. Hence the existence of the Stockholm syndrome which funny enough I truly believe is possible based on my own experience.
So, what was the possible cause of my imagining things which for the sake of an argument let’s say I did, boredom? Trauma? Stress? Not applicable to the situations. I have never been bored when I was young. I wasn’t traumatized enough then and if_ it will not materialize at that moment. Stress? Unheard of in my generation. Besides, I believe stress is predominantly sickness of western societies in developed countries. We have enough outlets and too resourceful to be stressed. No wonder the globally accepted image of a paradise is a sun-drenched beach with one single leaning coconut tree. Says enough, don’t you think so?
How about you?
Do you believe we deceive ourselves by conjuring up stories to avoid facing the truth? Do we really seek refuge in fantasy to protect our sanity and keep going? Is it a part of our survival skills/ instinct? Inborn? Learned? Taught? Inherit knowledge? Tradition? Education?
Whatever which way, it isn’t healthy.
Or is it?
“I want something else. I’m not even sure what to call it anymore except I know it feels roomy and it’s drenched in sunlight and it’s weightless and I know it’s not cheap. Probably not even real.“ – Mark Z. Danielewski
My best friend said to me once that the love/set up/relationship I was looking for doesn’t exist. Not in this world, she said. She is the same person who told me that I am the only one she knows that can come and go as she pleases and stands where she wants. Needless to say that I don’t believe her, not on all counts. To me, there is always a limit. Nobody has total freedom.
True, in some aspects I was more privileged than most but in other ways, not. Still is. I think the only difference is unlike some, I don’t need another person to feel complete and I will never validate/define myself through others. Both of my husbands, past and present claim that I don’t need anyone and D. said that I am the only one he knows that is sure of what she wants and who she is. I don’t believe that either. I think he is thinking of his own mother who is so indecisive she is in danger of losing her credibility if it is not already so. I don’t say he is wrong. What I’m saying is he made me sound like someone who is on the edge of extinction. There must be still a lot of us out there. I cannot be the only one left.
If the quote above exists and it is, it means there is a person behind the saying who feels exactly the same way as I do- dreaming of a place where finally everything would make sense and the pieces of the puzzle will finally fall into place. I would not say a place where I belong because I never feel I need to belong to something or someone. My brain doesn’t work that way. Like it never crosses my mind to look for love or be in love because there are lots of more interesting ventures I could think of than complicating your life by tying a liability around your leg but to each his own and what floats your boat, right?
Strange phrases coming from someone who is twice married and had lots of flings on the side, but I never said I would be a nun (though once upon a time that was one of my childhood dream/fantasy) I just happened to not believe in looking over your shoulders chasing/waiting for the love of your life and being depressed because you are single. I believe in enjoying life and seizing every moment –carpe omnia– and opportunities to live instead of waiting for love to happen because I can tell you this if it meant to be, it meant to be. None of my (mis)adventures I planned. They just happened. All the people I’ve met happened to be there, in the right place but at the wrong time. Grateful though for the diversion. Without them, I don’t know where I am today. Probably in jail or in a loony bin.
I know it’s not cheap. This phrase from the above quote I disagree. In my experience most of the things that matter are free. But then again, if he was not talking about the monetary value of such places then I am with him on this one. Because again in my experience, the price of “where you belong” or “what you believe in” is sky high. I’ve been there done that. I managed to lose just about everything for the sake of freedom and I’m not even free.
It’s drenched in sunlight. I find this one interesting. Like I find the general globally accepted picture of paradise is a sun-soaked beach with a single leaning over coconut tree interesting. I bet people who live in such settings think differently. I was one of them (though I managed to escape from “paradise” a long time ago) till of late, I’m beginning to think perhaps the one behind the iconic image is right after all. Again, those who inhabit such places might disagree because perhaps their picture of paradise is the land of milk and honey where I happened to live. What an irony. I have the privilege of having experienced both sides of the coin and I can tell you this much, no matter what your definition of paradise is, it is none of the two.
I wonder if there are people who are dreaming of places where it’s not drenched in sunlight, gloomy, dark and cold and for free in all the meaning of the word. I guess my dream destination comes close; my fantasy is to move to UK, to a chocolate box little cottage in the country complete with the definition of a cottage garden and a cute bubbling brook nearby. I love the country. I remember coming there for the first time, it was raining cats and dogs and it was indeed cold but I love it. I love every drop of rain on everything and I love the feeling the place gave me. It was akin to coming home at last. I visited a castle and instinctively, I know where and for what everything is. It felt familiar as if I had already lived in such a setting. If I believe in reincarnation I would probably go along that line but I don’t so I put it to coincidence instead.
Another dream of mine is to own a mobile home and tour around UK and Ireland and go visit those wondrous places like Peak/Lake District, Powys, Cumbria, Dorset, Cornwall, Devon and everything that has a shire attached to the name. Perhaps next year, it will finally come true.
How about you?
What is your idea of paradise?
Kahlil Gibran once said: “Some words pass through us quickly and vanish into the air; others burrow into our very flesh and change the way we think, speak and feel.” In my case, it is definitely true. Each time it happened, I am amazed to find out that even after all these years words still have the power to hurt me. I thought I have long past caring, that I don’t give a damn what other people think of me and in certain aspects I am but there are individuals who never lose the power to hurt us and those are mostly the ones who are closer to our hearts. They know which buttons to push and never run out of ammunition because they know us through and through and that gives them the advantage.
There are words also that when spoken will find its target dead center and pierce through. It took me years to know why. The words that hurt us the most are the ones that closer to the truth. Sticks and stones can break your bones, but words can never hurt you…unless you believe them. True isn’t it? It reminds me of something I’ve read somewhere, that words are like knives, it can only wound us if it hits home, otherwise, they are useless weapons. Criticism is just empty expression unless it’s true. Terms and names are just futile remarks till they hit the target and become a painful memory that replays in your mind, spiking a sense of remembered pain. Forever fresh, always potent.
It’s only words indeed.
Somewhere someone told me: “You’re too heavy to digest on a daily basis.”
It reminds me of what a reader once said to me a long time ago, that she will not recommend me for daily consumption. According to her, she didn’t yet meet someone who is constantly in a dark mood 365 days. People get depressed, have bad days, angry, hurt, grieving lonely and sad but not ceaselessly she said. In most cases, being down is an exception to the rule. Normal people are mostly happy most of the times she added. I, on the other hand, seem to have a perpetual dark cloud hanging above my head, following me everywhere and on occasions releasing torrents of rain if not thunder and lightning.
Before the revelation, I was not aware that I was projecting this kind of image out there. I thought I was just being me, relating things the way I always do: honest and straight to the point without beating around the bushes. In fact, I didn’t realize I sound pessimistic. Like in real life, I tell stories matter of factly. I never like drama nor I ever aspire to play a victim. It is simply not my way of handling things. I can’t help that my life happened the way it happened. Believe me, if I could choose, I would have chosen another path you can be sure of that.
But according to my mother-in-law, it isn’t the constant dark mood that is the problem with me because she never has seen a more well-disposed individual than I am. (She must know because we go together on a three week holiday each year.) It is those weighty/heavy conversations I seem to favor that the problem is. Most people don’t do these kinds of talks because they are often revealing, confronting and emotionally taxing.
I beg to disagree.
What they call a heavy conversation is to me a chit-chat. If they want me to go shallower than that, I might as well shut up. Why spent hours talking if you have nothing sensible to say? If you are not genuinely interested in the person/people you are taking with, why pretend? Why spend time with each other? Why bother?
Anyway, I still don’t believe I really am like that. I could believe I am not everyone’s cup of tea, it’s nothing new to me but perpetually dark mood and favoring emotionally taxing conversations … no.
Again, it reminds me of yet another incident which happened again, a long time ago when people I then acquainted with said another thing which again wasn’t true.
I didn’t know anymore how it all begun and what was the reason but while sitting on a terrace looking down to a group I used to hang out with back then, I heard one of them said I have a frozen heart. Then someone chimed in: “Frozen? It would be better if her heart is only frozen so there will still be a chance of thawing it but if you ask me her heart isn’t frozen it is made of iron.” Laugher followed. Not to be outdone, another one of them stated: “Iron you said? Then my friend you are wrong. Her heart is made of concrete it is impossible to melt.” Another burst of laughter.
They were aware I was watching. They knew I was there, hearing their comments, and I believe they mean no harm and only fooling around and the remarks didn’t make me angry or hurt but it made me think though. It made me realized how wrong they were and how little did they know me.
It reminds me of what my mother said to me once upon a time. She said I am not capable of loving anyone. I don’t know if she was talking about herself because her own judgment certainly is applicable to her. My ex-husband would agree with her though because according to him I am a man-hater.
The truth is I am neither one of those they were accusing me of. I just didn’t find anyone yet worth___ how could I say it? Loving? Losing myself? Breaking my heart over with? Crying buckets full? I don’t know also on what they were basing their opinions of me. All I know is they aren’t true. And I’m getting better. There was a time I could not incorporate the world love in writing I always substitute it with aarrgh instead. And I am not terrified of colors anymore. I can stand them now on my blog. I still favor black and white or sepia but colors are no longer banned.
But still, I don’t do happy. I cannot. I don’t know where to begin.
If I say I am watching a beautiful bird and I like it, am I happy?
If I enjoy walking in the city, am I happy?
If some days I feel blessed and content, am I happy?
How do I know I am happy? What happiness feels like?
Can you tell me?
A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other.
— Charles Dickens (A Tale of Two Cities)
And yet people seem to always know you. In fact, in places where people have ample times in their hands, they seem to know more about your life than you do. They create far-fetched stories about faraway places they never been and put you in the middle of their fantasy. The funny thing is others tend to believe them. Great minds think alike indeed.
Reminds me of something I’ve read somewhere that goes like this:
Gossip can have devastating consequences. We tend to have a strong negativity bias: Almost all of us pay more attention to negative information than we do to positive information. Think about the last time you posted something to Facebook, for example, and got a string of enthusiastic comments followed by a single, stinging rebuke. Which comment did you focus on?
It’s true, isn’t it?
We always tend to see the single black dot on a paper and focus on it but we forget the vast whiteness of the paper surrounding the black spot.
People love to believe fat juicy lies than the simple truth especially if it is about someone they are secretly jealous of or envious of the life that someone is leading. They will gladly swallow anything that can damage their perfect perception of you and your life. It makes them feel better about themselves. Justifying somehow their insecurities and personal issues. Often than not those sort of people will happily feed the fire till there is nothing left anymore of whatever the truth might have been. I have fallen victim of this sort of gossips so many times I lost count already the number of times people have spin gory tales about me. Mind you, my unconventional behavior and nonchalant attitude towards rumors didn’t help much with their already wrong impression of me and once upon a time I couldn’t care less.
They can say whatever they want as long as it doesn’t interfere with my agenda. But you cannot be in the middle of someone’s concept and be invisible. Sooner or later hell will break loose and often times the leading character is the only casualty because it is easier to hit a single target than multiple ones. Safety by numbers and the majority always win. Fortunately, their movies are not my reality. Unfortunately, like one of those sci-fi movies, when you get hurt or die in virtual reality you die in real life too, the consequences can travel through time and dimensions and even if you don’t die the scars are deep it shows.
You know what they say:
It’s difficult to be the subject of a negative rumor, particularly one that has no basis in reality.
And even if:
You can’t always control what other people say about you, but you can control how you respond—and you can be resilient…
You are only human. You are not invincible. Everybody has limits and sooner or later you will reach your saturation point. And once you’re there you can only do a couple of things:
Wage a war against those who are set to harm you (which in Dutch is equivalent to “dweilen met de kraan open.” Literally translated: Mopping the floor with the tap wide open meaning: ‘Bailing out a sinking ship.’)
Change your ways and conform. (Yeah, follow the heard and be a copy of the majority. Die before you’re dead.)
Or be a Hermit like me.
Which one it is?
Make your choice and let me know.
I was watching the movie the other night (out of nothing better to do) and I realized that I have something in common with the lead character; an urge to make everything the way it supposed to be, in other words, __ perfect.
He traveled back and forth, back and forth to the future/past to set everything straight, often resulted in more disastrous events. In the end, he got it right but who knows what will happens next.
His actions remind me of myself when one time out of a strong desire to iron a crease that was barely there I burned a new Michael Kors coat. And that wasn’t the only mistake I made trying to make things right. I killed plants that way. I ruined a couple of my paintings and sketches, scratched for real the paintwork of my laptop trying to eliminate imaginary scratches, and dozens of other little things with catastrophic effect.
I have an image in my head and I cannot rest until I am satisfied that everything is the way it supposed to be,__perfect.
Unlike other “psychological” issues in my life, this one I can trace back to my childhood. To a mother who married someone beneath her out of necessity and missed opportunities to better her life resulting in trying to live her dreams and regain her chances through her children particularly me. Good wasn’t good enough. No margin for errors, punishments were a must, encouragement/support/compliments/help unheard of, and speaking back and speaking your mind were a big no-no. Like I said in one of my posts, she once tied me around a foot of a big table whole night without supper simply because I failed to recite “Our Father” prayer in English.
I grew up to be a perfectionist and expect no less from others. I cannot tolerate mistakes and stupidity especially from myself. I am my own biggest critic. Before anyone else has criticized me, I have already criticized myself. And often times than not when looking at myself, I cannot find something positive.
Like the lead character in the movie, I will gladly sacrifice myself, my own happiness/health/life if it means good for those I hold dear. I know the consequences of this action. I know them all too well. I suffered them all my life and some of them are still lingering making my existence an ordeal. But we all got choices and what matters the most to us is what really matters the most—that what we most value is what is most valuable to us so to each his own.
Like the film Premonition, I think what Butterfly Effect (the movie) trying to convey-aside from every action no matter how little or insignificant has consequences- is we can’t change destiny. We can only alter the course but not the result. We will get there no matter what. It could be via a short or long way but eventually, we will get to our destination so, stop avoiding the inevitable and try to make the ride as enjoyable as we possibly could.
See You next time.
Remember the time I wrote an article about feeling guilty whenever I eat? Well, that is not the only thing I’m feeling guilty about.
I feel guilty if by the end of the day I have nothing to show for it. What I mean is I have an immense urge to always create and do something I can’t sit still for more than five minutes. I feel guilty if I’m not doing anything. I feel that it is a waste of time to sit and relax while you can do a million things instead. Not only I want to create I also want a proof of my labor. A tangible proof. Something I or someone else could admire and cherish. Something beautiful, something creative. If I don’t have it when the day ends, I feel worthless and guilty.
Again, I don’t know why.
No one told or taught me to feel guilty if I’m idle. If ever, I don’t remember. The reason behind this is probably the same one why I don’t indulge in idle remarks or mere social chit-chat__ it’s pointless. If you want to say something, say something meaningful, remarkable or unforgettable. Say something kind and true and always meant it. Don’t say anything for the sake of__ just saying something or because you think someone wanted to hear what you’re about to say or just placating a person for whatever reason. And for God’s sakes don’t talk about the weather!
And don’t start your greetings with “How are you?” if you don’t really want to know the answer to your inquiries or don’t have the time to really listen to the other person’s woes. Don’t say anything out of politeness. If you have nothing truthful or substantial to say shut your mouth and walk away.
What else I’m feeling guilty about?
Cleaning and tidying.
I’m a very clean person. I’m keen on hygiene. Not only personal hygiene but about everything. No, I’m not Mysophobic, just clean. And on top of it, I hate clutter. I cannot stand glasses, cups or anything unnecessary on the kitchen counter or coffee table. My espresso machine and water cooker are in the cupboard and only going to be out when needed. No shoes on the hallway and no coats either. People often describe my house as something that jumps out from the pages of a lifestyle magazine. My mother-in-law said my house is clinically clean. My daughter once remarks that it seems nobody lives in my place and one state agent told me that you can eat on the floor of my abode.
Of course, it isn’t true.
I just cannot rest if my house and garden are dirty and cluttered, but clinically clean it isn’t. There is dust everywhere. My house is a dust magnet. I can wipe the table clean and when I turn around, the dust has already settled in. And there seems to be always something on the floor. Mostly strands of my hair which is by the way so noticeable against the light tiles. No, my house and routine are ordinary. Just like me.
I think I’m going to leave it here before I get totally carried away and say something irrelevant to the topic (as if I didn’t do just that) or something I might regret later.
See you next time?
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