Tag Archives: personal

Breakfast

To win the peace you must first fight the war.

History confirms the above saying and we witness one or other form of it happening in day to day life but still I have a trouble believing it must be so. Unjustified… Injustice… Unjustification…. are the words that playing in my head. I don’t know if it affects me greatly because I can relate to this- in my life there is no such thing as easy gain. I have to fight with all my might for every inch of space, every ounce of respect, for freedom, for personal rights… for my very existence- or being a warrior is just a part of my genetic makeup. In any case it doesn’t sit right with me. I feel angry by just reading these words. I can associate it with everything that is happening around me- there is no donuts anymore in the nearby filling station or anywhere close to where I live. There is no decent coffee either when you want it. The least you can get is half a cup of lukewarm brew- around the world- global warming and all the consequences of it. The disappearance of all the things that have something to do with quality, morals and values. I can’t rant on and on but I will not (as if this post is not ranting enough) not this time- I just cant believe one has to fight in order to gain something that supposed to be a birthright, right? Like freedom and the right to exist and be treated accordingly regardless of which walk of life you came from or the colour of your skin or if you are beautiful or not, female or male or member of the third sex or belonged to the lower class of animal (which for me is humans) handicapped or having mental illness. All because of these laws created by man which resulted to prejudiced society of supposed to be educated people from civilized countries who cannot even exercise common decency between them. And I’m ranting early in the morning just because I am sick and can’t sleep since Sunday. What that makes me?

iStock_81242919_resized-640x427

Aftermath

It took me three years to divorce him. I had to relinquish everything for him to sign. It was two years before I learnt to trust myself again. And another two before I dared trust anyone else. I still have trust issues… I still have nightmares… still run to the basin to wash myself… still check the bolt on every door…still jump out of my skin every time I hear a sound I don’t recognize… still sleep with a big knife under my pillow… I keep telling myself I’ve done the right thing and kudos to myself for having the courage to stand and fight back and eventually leave. Now all I have to do is believe I am safe.

hope_inside_heaven__s_tears_by_haamaiah-d5b0t6l

Summer In My Heart

“I question not if thrushes sing,
If roses load the air;
Beyond my
heart, I need not reach
When all is summer there.”
~John Vance Cheney

I wish I could hold on to that summer feeling. A deep contrast to the cold and dark labyrinths in my head full of bleeding pulsing wounds. In my heart, it is always summer, full of life, full of hope full of colors, full of dreams. Sometimes I forget my age or the color of my skin and only aware of the season inside me. I forget about onlookers who always judged the book by its cover and seldom thumb through the pages due to either lack of interest or lack of time. I’ve been on the other end of the spectrum and don’t quite reach the opposite end yet but I’m on the way and can’t help noticing the subtle changes over the landscapes through the seasons. The shifting gravity of time alters a little but at the same time a lot to my liking. Others for sure notice it too. But little they do know that underneath the fading vibrant colors of Autumn and fast setting sun, it is still and will always be summer till the day I die…

DSC00618e

It’s Complicated

“Has someone ever told you that you are too difficult to love?” She poured herself another mug of lukewarm coffee. I sat on the grey sofa reading Sputnik Sweetheart by Murakami. She sat right beside and clasped the end of her dotted skirt. “People have left me for it. I don’t blame them, though. On most days, loving me is a task.” After saying, she took the book from my hand. She inhaled the scent of the pages. “Isn’t Sputnik the name of the first artificial satellite?” I nodded. “So, you don’t hold it against those people?” I asked without meeting her gaze. From a distance, I could hear the sound of a Ferris wheel. “Not really.” Her voice brought me back. “Don’t all relations disappoint in the end? I mean everyone leaves. Sooner or later, people see the blemishes. The imperfections overwhelm them. Staying will mean accepting and efforts. Few are ready to do it.” She fiddled with her hair as I devoured another cigarette. “So, you don’t just believe in love, then?” She gazed into my eyes and paused as if to frame her words carefully. “I do. I just find people who are as difficult to love. In that way, the struggle to love becomes the entire point.” She tapped a button on remote and filled the room with music, rhythms, and sound. I read Murakami while she gazed into nowhere thinking about loss, love, and how lonely must those satellites feel when they quietly stroll through the sky.

~ hardik nagar The Honest Musing

Bogart And Bacall

Door Slam

Many people might read this without having a clue what an INFJ is, let alone an INFJ “door slam.” However, INFJs and those who have been involved in relationships with them will understand exactly what it is.

INFJ is a personality type characterized by the Myers Briggs Personality archetypes. INFJs are believed to make up approximately one percent of the population and the initials stand for: introverted, intuitive, feeling, and judgment.

Out of all the INFJ traits, the “door slam” may be the most infamous. The reason is not due to the actual hypothetical door slamming, but because of what takes place up until it’s firmly shut.

When INFJs connect with someone, they give it their all, so if someone repeatedly takes advantage of the fact they have become emotionally invested, or if they are abused relentlessly, INFJs eventually decide enough is enough, and they will sever all ties. This can include blocking telephone numbers, social media links, and, in extreme cases, moving house and giving no forwarding address.

INFJs are tolerant creatures and are renowned for allowing people to treat them badly. They are compassionate, empathetic, forgiving souls, and they try to give people the benefit of the doubt and offer chance after chance in the hope the person will change.

Some INFJs hope that by slamming the door it will make the other person realize what they have lost and trigger them to put in a huge and genuine effort to make amends and attempt to work things out. INFJs don’t enjoy drama or leaving on a negative note, so in many ways, the door slam can be a final chance for the other person to be jolted to action. Even if the relationship can’t be fully salvaged, at least there would be no lingering hard feelings.

Often, by the time the door has been slammed, it is “too little, too late” to make amends, as too much water has passed under the bridge. The INFJs want the other person to get the message that they have gotten to this stage, so they don’t try to walk back through the door thinking everything is okay.

What takes place following the door slam gives the INFJ all the information they need about the state of the relationship, friendship, or family dynamic. If silence follows, the INFJ will just keep on walking without glancing back.

The reason INFJs get to this place of strength is that they grieve and mourn the loss before they actually lose the connection with the person. This makes it far easier for them to accept that the relationship they thought they had was based on an illusion and what they thought they had didn’t actually exist.

INFJs are introverts, which means they internally process much of what goes on around them. Therefore, if they do not feel emotionally safe with someone, they may not openly express what they are thinking or feeling.

Instead, INFJs will figure things out in their own time, in their own way, and make decisions that may appear sudden and shock those around them. However, at an internal level, the decisions are far from sudden and are usually the results of days, weeks, or years of deliberation.

Before the door slam, INFJs usually give out numerous warnings and let whoever is involved know that they do not find their behavior acceptable. Door slams usually happen when an INFJ has distanced themselves after being repeatedly and relentlessly hurt by someone, and most likely when they do not feel the other person is willing to make any effort to change.

Therefore, when an INFJ is done, they feel liberated and lighter, and they swiftly move forward. They may remove all reminders of the past and appear to others, or the person they slammed the door on, as though they are cold and calculated. However, they only reach this place if that person has continuously been cold-hearted with them.

INFJs are not the types to make demands upon people and tell them how they want to be treated, or how they should, or should not, behave, especially when it comes to romantic relationships. They hope that if someone cares deeply about them, their actions and words will reflect how they feel.

The trouble here is that because INFJs are highly intuitive and read situations well, they sometimes forget that not everyone has this ability. They may expect people around them to be mind readers and to analyze situations as intently as they do, and when they don’t, instead of offering clues, they might close off contact. Although INFJs are compassionate, it would serve them well to try to communicate as openly as possible and explain how and why they feel the way they do before opting out.

INFJs would do well to not allow the situation to get to the stage where they feel burned out, used, and abused. Although the door slam is done as a self-protection mechanism, INFJs can try to discern whether they are devoting too much time and energy to those who do not hold the relationship in the same high regard. Pulling back from relationships that are not mutually respectful prevents INFJs from feeling hurt and disappointed when people do not treat them fairly, or do not show them compassion or care.

Although the door slam sounds severe, INFJs are forgivers and may allow the person they’ve slammed the door on a place in their lives in the future, but that is only if they feel behaviors have changed and they aren’t going to fall back into the same unhealthy dynamics.

Sometimes the door slam only happens in the mind and heart of the INFJ, and they continue to remain in contact with the “door slam” person. However, a significant change in the relationship has occurred by this point, and the INFJ will no longer be investing the same time, attention, and energy into a relationship, and the contact will be limited to functional communication.

Either way, it is rare for an INFJ to entirely trust someone that they once slammed the door on again, therefore, the relationship will likely never be the same as what it once was.

Those who are in a dynamic with an INFJ can work out how serious the door slam is by observing whether the slam was done in haste and fury, or calmly and rationally. If it’s the latter, the likelihood is that the decision has been firmly made and there is little chance of getting back in.

INFJs are far more likely to slam a door quickly, and for good, when someone has hurt someone they love and care about. Sadly, they may allow themselves to be abused over and over, but they will not tolerate abuse of any kind when it is directed at anyone else.

~ Alex Myles via Relephant

15651519436_8421976bf3_z

Wednesday 4th Of July

It’s been a long month without rain. My garden looks crunchy and my water bill steadily rising together with the temperature. The breeze which made the last three weeks of intense heat bearable is now gone, get tired of holding the fort till the rain comes which is nowhere in sight. I don’t remember a weather like this. Not even in my country of birth. It is now forbidden to water the plants, wash your car, fill the pool and light the barbecue. Funny because it’s swimming pool/barbecue weather. Pretty ironic.  For the first time since I came here, there are at least eleven reported wildfires per day wherever vegetations are dried enough to be combustible. Scary. 

I have a lot of things to do in the garden. Hedges to trim spent plants to remove, seeds to collect and perennials to divide. But high ozone concentration and pollen counts made it impossible to even sit and relax in the garden. It’s too hot and humid I can barely breathe.

Not wanting to miss my daily walks, I often set out after it cools down and heads mostly near any body of water. I avoid forests and nature reserves because of murderous hungry insects. I walk along canals or lakes and on weekends I go to the sea where there is always some wind and the temperature usually lower than the mainland. I visit a different coastal area every time to have some variations. New places ignite my creativity. I need a changing horizon and different sun each day in order to function properly. It is always a long drive and I ended up with a stiff neck and sore muscles but I prefer the pain of being tired physically and satisfied mentally than being bored and in pain anyway.

I don’t know what I’m going to do today. Maybe make a beeline for any garden center to find a replacement for the cactus that got sunburned the other day. I killed houseplants by TLC. I have over 200 of them inside. Acquired only this winter when I could not garden outside. When I was gone for three weeks, I thought they will not survive and often think of them while on vacation. I found them flowering happily when I came back. None of them have died. They can take care of themselves. They don’t need me. Since then, I killed at least five by moving them around looking for a better place for them and of course by overwatering. I have to learn to leave them alone. But I refuse to believe that anything could thrive on neglect.  Not even people.

I wish for the rain. My garden and I need it. Did I tell you that my favorite weather is stormy weather? I even wrote a post about it here. You click it when you have the time. Anyway, this all for now and till next time.

e0cd8dcd61

Scared

My dark secrets are life-threatening. Pockets of unhappiness set in aspic that build and build. I have this primitive feeling that if something good happens, it is going to be followed by something bad. There is always a price to pay.  – Sue Townsend

What I’m scared of?

Happy. I’m scared to be happy.

My experience of happiness, the bits and snippets of it had always been threaded with pain. When bad things are happening for too long you’ve come to expect it that when good things come your way, you think it’s a trap, a trick to lure you only to find out that at the very end there is nothing but false promises designed to fool you in believing like with other people happiness exists for you too.

But sadly, experience had shown me otherwise. Good things indeed never last. I am so familiar with the cliché that it keeps me from enjoying the moment, knowing what will happen next, I am already dreading the inevitable before it’s actually there. Life taught me not to be attached to anything or anyone. I learned (without knowing) not to miss people and places. Everything is temporary. Heraclitus said: The Only Thing That Is Constant Is Change and I agree. Nothing lasts forever. Especially good things.

Someone somewhere asked: What exactly is the standard to be happy? And I thought: Yeah, what is? Success? Network? Family? Material things? All of them? None of them? I don’t know. 

Do you?

124963_boala_psihica_544e29ca83

Ghost House

The room, the room is cozy. Clean and bright and spacious. The walls are painted in soft earth tones, except for the feature wall directly behind the bed which is wallpapered with geometric pattern edged with gold on an eggshell background. The ceiling is white. Not stark white but warm like sunset’s glow on summer months. The night tables with curved legs are painted cream, distressed and dirtied to give them a used look some people find beautiful. On them are tall matching lamps with ornate base and aloe vera plants in white pots. Next to the plant on the right are a sheep and lamb figurines and an angel made of metal painted off-white and brown. On the left sits another angel, a rag doll with her own miniature doll, again off-white, with lace trimmings. Next to it is a bottle of water and a book. Aside from a painting on wood of some African image which looks like a Masai tribe from a distance but only blobs of faceless colors when viewed closer and a large rectangle mirror with carved wooden frame painted in nude color, the walls are otherwise devoid of any ornamentation.

The bed itself is a farmhouse-style metal bed with iron frame in a dark roast finish. It was once a canopy bed when it was standing in a much bigger room in a much bigger house. Now, the posts have been removed to accommodate the low ceiling of a cottage style house it now belongs to. The beddings are white with crocheted edges, two of the six pillows have crocheted cases. One of them is ergonomically designed suited for special needs. The comforter is thick and fluffy and warm. Too warm. There is a metal rocking chair at the foot of the bed piled high with stuffed toys in various sizes. All of them in neutral colors the darkest of them all, black. Nobody knows the existence of a big kitchen knife under the pillow. In case…

The woman on the bed can’t stop looking at the tiny gap between the curtains. Cream colored curtains that filtered the light softly making the room much brighter without being intrusive. It bothers her, the gap. Keeps her from closing her eyes and concentrate on trying to sleep. Not that it is the reason why she’s lying awake but it does certainly contribute to the agitation she’s feeling right now. Where is that coming from, this nervousness, the feeling of being incomplete and missing out on something? The state of being numbed and not there. Existing but not alive, dead, dead inside dead in her head. 

When she was eight years old, she found out while standing on the breakwater her father had painstakingly made to keep the waves from crashing against the dikes, that the world has nothing to offer to her. The certainty of being been there done that twice over and back again still with the same conclusion was so strong it took all her power not to jump in the water and drowned herself. That feeling never changes through the years but somehow she managed always to go on searching for anything that could prove her wrong and it kept her alive, able to enjoy momentarily pleasures, but only for a time before she embarks into another fruitless quest of finding even she herself doesn’t know.

But never she felt as dead as now, disconnected unable to feel anything. Does she come full circle? Is this it? Is this the end? If she could only sleep. Then, perhaps she could think clearly. But the gap between the curtains bothers her. She must stand up and close it, prevent the light from entering and crowding her thoughts. But she knows if she stands up she will not be able to go back to bed and sleep. Oh, if there is only someone who could do it for her but there is no one, no one is around. She could kill herself and nobody would know. Not for weeks, not for months. Nobody would miss her. Is that a blessing or a curse?

Ignore the gap, ignore the light, ignore the feeling of being dead, she survives so far by doing exactly that, burying the feelings deep inside eventually she becomes numb. Close your eyes and pretend like always -she said to herself- just close your eyes… 

via maggie thunder

“If I Could”

If I Could
I’d protect you from the sadness in your eyes
give you courage in a world of compromise
yes I would
If I could

I would teach you all the things I’ve never learned
and I’d help you cross the bridges that I’ve burned
yes I would
if I could

I would try to shield your innocence from time
but the part of life I gave you isn’t mine
I’ve watched you grow
so I could let you go
if I could

I would help you make it through the hungry years
but I know that I can never cry your tears
but I would
if I could

if I live in a time and place where you don’t want to be
you don’t have to walk along this road with me
my yesterday won’t have to be your way

if I knew

how I’d try to change the world I brought you to
and there isn’t very much that I can do
but I would
if I could
if I could

I would try to shield your innocence from time
but that part of life I gave you isn’t mine
I watched you grow so I could let you go
if, if I could

I would help you make it through those hungry years
but I know that I can never cry your tears
but I would
if I could

yes I would
yes I would
if I could.

~ Music by Barbra Streisand

DSC_0643e