Tag Archives: personal

Everything Is A choice

“You know how sometimes you tell yourself that you have a choice, but really you don’t have a choice? Just because there are alternatives doesn’t mean they apply to you.”

― Rick Yancey, The 5th Wave

It is a good excuse to tell yourself when you are terrified of flying out into the unknown. I’ve been there done that. Officers of the law, social workers, lawyers, and well-meaning people including a taxi driver on my way to the airport who told me that I don’t have to stay with that man because look at me, I look like a doll and there are lots of guys who are going to happily fall in line just to get me had advice yours truly to take the money and run or just run.

I didn’t.

Picture this: A poor pregnant immigrant girl in a strange land, or a very young mother of two; no family, nowhere to go, she doesn’t speak the language, no diploma, no work, no money. Going back home is not an option. Her family made sure she understands this. The husband warned her of the consequences of trying to run away with the kids. What choices she got? What would you do in her place?

There is more to life than this.

A policeman once told her while kneeling in front of her holding her shaking hands looking her in the eyes with a strange mixture of appeal, pity and something she didn’t understand amidst the devastation her drunken husband had caused the night before in their rented apartment. She heard the words but its meaning was lost to her. It was like watching a film, a fairy tale, she knew the place probably exists somewhere but far away, and not for her. Never for her. So, she just smiled and nod and closed the door. This is the reality she thought. This is her world. This is where she belongs…

Injured woman leaning sadly on wooden wall

Handle With Care

Words…

They’re fake bullets, so why do I feel like I’m bleeding out? ― Jodi Picoult

As I said already before in one of my posts: Even after all these years, words still have the power to hurt me.

I said also that words are like knives. It can only hurt us if it hits the target, and what hurts the most are those that hit closer to home, in other words, the truth.

What I didn’t tell you is: it is not always the case. Sometimes words can hurt us even though they are not true if they come from people who are dear to us and those that we value the opinion of. It hurts knowing they think of us that way regardless of where the truth lies. And often times, at least in my case, I never correct their wrong assumptions. I find it a lost cause. Their minds are already made up. Trying to change their ideas of you is like mopping the floor with the tap wide open or shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted. It is difficult to change one’s (first) impression once it’s formed. Better charge it to experience and walk away. Other people’s opinion of you doesn’t make who you are. It’s a thought, not a fact. It’s a perspective, not the truth. It is disheartening yes but I will never let other people’s opinions define me. I will never give them the pleasure of insulting me. I may shed tears in private because of their ill-intended remarks but I will not crumble before them. Never. I will always hold my head up high and will never let myself be stirred into a fury, losing my dignity in the process. It’s better just to ignore and walk away.

How about you?

Would you defend yourself and your image with tooth and nail?

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In God We Trust

“I think that God that we have created and allowed to shape our culture through, essentially Christian theology is a pretty villainous creature. I think that one of the things that male patriarchal figure has done is, allowed under it’s, his church, his wing, all kinds of corruptions and villainies to grow and fester. In the name of that God terrible wars have been waged, in the name of that God terrible sexism has been allowed to spread. There are children being born all across this world that don’t have enough food to eat because that God, at least his church, tells the mothers and fathers that they must procreate at all costs, and to prevent procreation with a condom is in contravention with his laws. Now, I don’t believe that God exists. I think that God is a creation of men, by men, and for men. What has happened over the many centuries now, the better part of two thousand, in fact, is that God has been slowly and steadily accruing power. His church has been accruing power, and the men who run that church and they are all men, are not about to give it up. If they give it up, they give up luxury, they give up comfort.”

― Clive Barker

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insidious

Word I have learned today:

insidious

adjective
proceeding in a gradual, subtle way, but with very harmful effects.
synonym:

stealthysubtlesurreptitioussneakingcunningcraftyMachiavellianartful, guileful, sly wilytrickyslickdeceitfuldeceptivedishonestunderhandbackhandedindirect 

informal: sneak

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.

Mirror_____by_GeSSa

I Was in an Abusive Relationship & Didn’t Know It.

Do you know the boiling frog story?

If a frog is placed in cold water and the heat is slowly turned up, the frog does not realize that it is in danger—until the water reaches the boiling point, and then it is too late for the frog.

I have been the frog in cold water, with the water slowly heating up.

I’m lucky. I got out before it reached the boiling point.

There is no way I am going back in.

Abuse is not always physical and it is not always obvious. Emotional abuse leaves scars that are silent and hidden.

My experience of verbal and emotional abuse left me feeling worthless and hopeless. My already low self-esteem diminished even further. I spent most days confused about what it was I had actually done wrong. I walked on eggshells, attempting to avoid tension and conflict. I tried to make sense of my relationship; I tried to fix myself. I put on a mask to navigate the outside world.

I retreated further into myself to avoid seeing my reality. I felt off-center. I no longer knew who I actually was.

My experience did not involve black eyes, broken bones or bruises, but what I did experience wounded me on the inside. Most of the damage lay with losing all sense of self.

Wounds have become scars. Occasionally, the scars still bleed.

They are a reminder to call on all I’ve learned since I walked out the door.

To bring myself back to center and trust in myself.

I am healing.

Not only from the years of being in a domestic violence relationship but from my experiences since birth that led me to stay in such a toxic union for so many years. The experiences that led me to believe I was not worthy of love and respect.

My relationship did not begin with my being called a useless bitch, a fat lazy cow and a worthless piece of shit.

If that had been the case, I doubt I would have gone out with him.

He loved me. He whispered words that made me feel cherished and secure. Worthy. Worthiness based on his approval of me. Approval I had never given to myself.

I loved him. We laughed together; I felt comfortable and safe with him.

I did not listen to the quiet voices in my head—the sick butterflies in my body that quivered and tried to make me aware.

No. I was the tough one who proclaimed that if anyone ever hit me I would leave.

Except he never actually hit me.

Pushing someone isn’t hitting.

Besides, I pushed back.

I yelled back. I fought back.

The abuse crept in slowly and stealthily.

It was subtle.

I was in an abusive relationship and didn’t know it.

I was not aware of the depth of the trauma and damage I experienced until months and even years after I left.

My reasoning for all the fighting, for being so desperately unhappy?

“I wasn’t being abused, because I wasn’t being hit.”

My feelings were denied and minimized.

I was told it was all my fault.

I was told I was ungrateful for what was provided.

I was told I did not deserve affection and that I had to earn it.

I was told I did nothing all day.

I was told that I was the one destroying our relationship.

I was told I was useless. I was told I was useless. I was told I was useless.

Over and over and over and over.

And I stayed.

I believed him. I believed his version of the truth.

I stopped fighting back.

I stopped pushing back.

I stopped calling him names.

I became numb to my experience.

Numb to stop the anxiety, despair, and frustration I felt.

Depression was my protection.

There were days my body collapsed when I got out of bed. The physical pain in my feet and legs stopped me from walking. From supporting myself. From facing the day ahead.

I did not trust myself and my inner voice. I stopped listening to any whispers that remained.

I succumbed to what I believed I deserved.

I believed this was how I would live my life forever.

I did not plan to leave this relationship. In the months before I did leave, my thinking had slowly started to shift. There were moments of clarity. Moments of questioning.

I was in counseling, and I believe that this support was the pathway out of my confusion.

I also opened up to a couple of trusted people close to me. I revealed to them the reality of my relationship. Voicing my reality helped me to see it with more clarity.

I approached a women’s refuge for advice. I was fully expecting to be turned away. I thought, “I’m not one of those women who is hit.”

I was not turned away. These two women sat and listened to me. They spoke with me about what a domestic violence relationship was. I opened up, even more, that day. My thinking shifted again.

The facade was starting to crack.

I was using my voice, and I was being heard.

My new life began when I left my relationship. When I finally realized I was living with a man who—still to this day—believes he is entitled to exert power and control over me.

I can still be pulled out of my center and into his reality, but the majority of the time I live with my truth. I live with the knowledge of my own power and freedom.

It has taken every ounce of strength and courage within me to be able to look at myself and the role I played. And I did play a role. My low self-esteem, my lack of self-love, my belief that I did not deserve more than what I was receiving. It took honesty and authenticity to face myself. To bring my healing back to me. To change me. To love me.

I am proud to see my growth in the years since I left my relationship. I am able to recognize when I am being a victim.

I witness myself.

I have owned and taken responsibility for what is in my awareness.

I have learned to set boundaries.

I have learned I cannot always control what happens to me but I am in control of my reaction.

I acknowledge my darkness and my light.

I have discovered my worth.

I recognize my value.

I am compassionate with myself.

I give myself permission to get it wrong.

I forgive myself for the times I did not get it right.

I am learning to trust my truth, my inner voice, my intuition.

I honor my feelings and allow myself space to drop into what I feel.

I continue on my journey of healing.

Most of all, I continue on my journey of learning to love myself—all of me, including my shadows.

I am lucky. I did not become a frog in boiling water. I got out.

Many women don’t.

I hope that in sharing my experience I will give another woman the courage to trust her inner voice.

To question if she is living her reality, or another person’s.

To open up a pathway out of the confusion she feels every single day.

To find the freedom to be happy and live without a knot in her stomach every morning.

To find her voice and share her experiences.

The clarity to see that abuse does not always involve physical violence.

The right to live a life without abuse in any form.

I want you to know that you are worthy and you deserve to live your life without fear and confusion. You deserve respect, love, and kindness.

Your voice matters. Your feelings matter. You matter.

~Lisa Ambrose

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Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

Thank you for making last Christmas perfect – but when I asked for a storybook ending, I didn’t quite realize that the magic ends at midnight.

I’m older and colder now, and I’m not quite sure whether or not to believe in you anymore. I believed in happily ever afters and goodbyes that lasted until the next call, but look where we are now. Honestly, all I want for Christmas, is to be okay (am I asking for too much again, like I did when I wished for my parents to kiss like they meant it once more?) I was taught that although miracles happen, it is always wiser to ask for things within reach. I’ll learn to self-soothe, given enough time, I suppose. But this season, I want three simple things :

A blanket fort, to protect me from the monsters in my head
A playlist without memories, so I don’t have to drown my tears in the shower
And my last summer loves to outlast this summer.
You see, I’m still laying the table for two, my answer machine still says we although now there’s only me, and I’ve forgotten what kisses used to taste like before orange and cinnamon became the only flavors I recognize.

I’m not sure how long I can dance alone on Queen while the candle burns lower and lower still. The clock is ticking away and the forty-sixth letter came back unopened, stamped “return to sender” again.
It’s almost midnight, and I want three simple things (but more than anything else, really, I just want to be okay.)

Maybe it’s time to write the forty-seventh letter now.

– Tanvi Deshmukh

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Prelude To The Horizon

I fall into those gaps sometimes.
You know, the gaps that open up in between thoughts.
I reach out for the walls. Every time. And I grasp at emptiness…
The gaps don’t have walls. You don’t need walls to climb out.
You don’t need a matchstick either;
light only makes your shadows look frightening.
You only need to search the darkness
for the old face, carbon paper and a white mask.” 

― Arindam Mallick

30e

 

All That Money Can’t Buy

“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?

The Perfect Gift

When I was fresh from the boat and still feeling my way around here one of the things I learned was whenever you received a gift the giver expects you to open the package real time. I find it quite scary. In my country, we are not obliged to do the same, we can keep the present and open it privately in our own time which I personally prefer; in this manner, we could avoid an embarrassing situation in case the gift is not to our taste and spare the feelings of disappointment from both sides.

Opening a present from a live person was scary enough. There was always the chance that the gift might be so wrong, so completely not the kind of thing you liked, that you’d realize they didn’t really know you at all.”

― Carol Rifka Brunt

Over the years, I learned to fake enthusiasm and gratitude whenever I received a wrong gift, each time praying the giver will not see through the facade and hoping they are genuinely surprised and grateful when it is the other way around.

They say it is the thought that counts but like I said in one of my previous posts, believe you me, the theory about its- the -thoughts –that- counts- can only stretch so far.

What about you?

Which do you prefer?

Open what you get real-time or have a private moment to yourself to unfold spread and enjoy your present?

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I Am Me

“I have never tried to be a good person or to appear to be a good person. What I do and what I have done is merely a side effect of my desire to become me. I have only wanted to be me; if people think I’m good, then so be it. If people think I’m bad, then so be it. But if anything, my greatest struggle is to not come across as so good. I always find myself asking, “Why do I keep on giving off this immense impression of goodness?” Can I ask the world, am I not simply allowed to be me; without needing to be classified as either good or bad? Being known as good has its own prison just as much as being bad has its jail bars. I am so tired of the need to classify people. I am me.”

― C. JoyBell C.

Photography by Nigel Tomm

The Good Life

“Every morning I sit at the kitchen table over a tall glass of water swallowing pills. (So my hands won’t shake.) (So my heart won’t race.) (So my face won’t thaw.) (So my blood won’t mold.) (So the voices won’t scream.) (So I don’t reach for knives.) (So I keep out of the oven.) (So I eat every morsel.) (So the wine goes bitter.) (So I remember the laundry.) (So I remember to call.) (So I remember the name of each pill.) (So I remember the name of each sickness.) (So I keep my hands inside my hands.) (So the city won’t rattle.) (So I don’t weep on the bus.) (So I don’t wander the guardrail.) (So the flashbacks go quiet.) (So the insomnia sleeps.) (So I don’t jump at car horns.) (So I don’t jump at cat-calls.) (So I don’t jump a bridge.) (So I don’t twitch.) (So I don’t riot.) (So I don’t slit a strange man’s throat.)” 

― Jeanann Verlee

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Fixation Problem

My ex-husband said I have a fixation problem.

To him, it means not being able to forgive and forget his deliberate mistakes and failing to turn a blind eye to his shortcomings and not shutting up about it.

In another context I would agree with him, I do have a temporary obsessive interest in something sometimes, like scarves, bags, shoes, succulents, porcelain dolls, silk flowers, and food. Luckily like happiness and the first intoxication of morphine, it doesn’t last very long. I could easily forget the obsession and move on to the next thing. 

But while I am in that obsessive state, nothing can stop me. I must and will acquire whatever the object of my desire at that moment. Which reminds me of someone accusing me of exactly the same thing but talking about people.

Anyway, the other day while watching Strictly Come Dancing I noticed that everyone wore a Remembrance Poppy brooch and I was right away interested. I saw paper versions of the same pin but these ones were different, they were proper jewelry, beautiful and shining. Looking closely, I saw that there were few varying designs, some were larger, some smaller, others had only one stem and no leaves and one was with diamonds. After scrutinizing each, I decided that I want only three and was so elated I was practically dancing around on the front of the T.V. 

Then, like a cold November shower, I suddenly came to the realization that there is no way I could have them; not those exact designs, and before I knew it I was in tears. I was so sad if my heart could break it certainly would at that moment. And I don’t even like jewelry and seldom wear any. But those pins were so cute I wanted to put them next to each other and admire them. I like to have anything that can put a smile on my face. There are not so many of those. The list is short: certain puppies, certain dolls, certain babies, birds and anything unusual.

Before the night was over, I have forgotten about the poppies already but for one short moment, they were so important to me, enough to make me cry, and I didn’t even bat an eyelash when I’d lost 2,000 dollars on a bus while on holiday and certainly didn’t shed a single tear during or after my divorce or when my parents died. 

Do I have a fixation problem? 

I don’t know.

What do you think? 

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I Don’t Do Happy

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?

rp1e