Tag Archives: writing

The World We Live In

“Believe nothing you hear and only one half that you see.” 
― Edgar Allan Poe

Yeah, don’t take anything at face value. In this life, you never know…

And according to my son, you can’t even trust your own mind-mine at least- because it could play tricks on you too. Not everything you see and hear is real. And lately, it could apply to almost anything. From what your children or partner is telling you to gossiping neighbors to false news, not to mention what your government is leading you to believe.

What is still real lately.

Heck, you can even trust pictures anymore. Phones can alter image beyond recognition. They are equipped nowadays with beautifying technologies your eyes automatically become bigger, your face longer and your skin fairer and smoother. They can erase the passing of years with one touch and gives you glow on par with that of innocent fully rested breastfeed satisfied babies.

Scary.

I wonder if Poe was aware that time that his thoughts would and could resonate down the centuries. Never the quote more applicable than the current state of the societies all over the world. Nothing is real anymore. Except the global warming and senseless violence in the name of this or that God for the sake of money and power. What else.

Where do we go from here?

Down the drain in record time. Because there is no way back. It’s too late. We can’t save the planet anymore. We can’t save us. Humanity has fallen victim to their own genius and an unquenchable thirst for progress, unquenchable appetite for destruction and unquenchable desire and hunger for more.

dawn_of_eternity_by_natieboy

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

In The Sea

“Ideas are like fish. If you want to catch little fish, you can stay in the shallow water. But if you want to catch the big fish, you’ve got to go deeper. Down deep, the fish are more powerful and more pure. They’re huge and abstract. And they’re very beautiful.”

― David Lynch

Does the above quote applicable also when looking/hunting/choosing for a potential partner? I heard it before, so many fish in the ocean and to quote a fifteen-year-old boy who thought he knew better he said: She’s not the only pussy walking around. He was, by the way, referring to me, angry because his own brother and first cousin were on the clinch for my attention. But if I read him correctly, he got an adolescent crush on me and probably angry at himself. Those were the days.

Down deep, the fish are more powerful and more pure. Oh, I thought the higher you go up on the social ladder the poorer it gets when it comes to attitude and manners. But then again, Lynch was talking about ideas, not people.

But ideas come from people, and I believe that in order to have depth on anything, the source got to have layers, multiple layers. And layers come from life experience, years of experience. The harder the life you lead, the more colorful and complex the layers become. No wonder most if not all geniuses were tortured souls. All great art comes from pain they say, and history is there to prove it, There is no need to mention names, we all know who they are. The Myth of the Tortured Artist, remember? They say it’s not a myth. Art is a reflection of humanity, and humanity’s greatest virtue is its ability to overcome adversity. Suffering gives insight they claim. What tortured them is what made them great. I can only agree. I write better when I am unhappy and can’t sleep.

Experience and the ability to feel and to know where those feelings are coming from give art authenticity in my opinion. It’s your soul that is out there, no one had been through what you have been through, your stories are solely your own, unique in every way. Your craft is an expression of your personal journey and the bumpier the road, the greater is the experience the deeper is the source of inspiration.

I have lived a thousand lives. No exaggeration. I could write about a million things others could only imagine about. My history and my experience lend truth to my voice as opposed to someone who is writing fictional situations. They say in every book someone writes, there is always a piece of autobiography in it and I believe that. We draw characters and places from our own personal experience. It doesn’t matter if we are writing fiction or not, we based personages and situations on people we know and places we’ve been. There is always a piece of truth in every lie they say. I believe that too. Where else we could get our inspiration but from life itself, right?

With a little bit of imagination or lots of it, we can make ordinary extraordinary and simple to wonderful. All we need is to catch some big fish, and in order to do that; we have to explore bigger and deeper seas and risk drowning. Sink or swim people.

Till next time.

e2

365 Blank Pages

Brad Paisley said:

Tomorrow is the first blank page of a 365-page book. Write a good one.

Fair enough.

But how to do it?

One subject they never teach in any school is how to cope with life.

They never teach us how to be a wife, a mother or how to keep a relationship alive and functioning properly and how to get over heartaches and traumatic experience. They never tell us what to do when everything is falling apart and you have nowhere to go and no one to turn to. In short, for all those mostly unnecessary things they instilled in our heads, they never prepare us for real life and what lies ahead when we’re lucky enough to survive childhood with or without scratches.

In school, they never teach us even the basic on how to deal with obstacles and hurdles of growing up and being an adult.  Worse still, there is no school on this planet one could apply to if one wishes to be educated about life. We have to learn it on our own stumbling and falling.

Good for building a character you might say. That which does not kill us makes us stronger. Wrong! Friedrich Nietzsche. What doesn’t kill us makes us crazy or at the very least, paranoid if not bitter, vindictive even. Once we are burned, we show the scars one way or the other. It will manifest in whatever aspect of character we are lacking strength and influence our choices and decision makings in the future. Those who made the same mistakes over and over again are terrified of leaving familiar water. The devil you know is better than the devil you don’t, right?

Of course, in every rule… you know the drill.

Observe and learn. The best way to learn is from the pros. Easier said than done. Watching people doesn’t always give us a heads up. We tend to think it will not happen to us till it happens. Same as getting old. The youth tend to shrugs off the myths about aging even though the proofs are staring them right on their faces, till it is their turn then suddenly myths become facts and by then it’s too late. You know what I’m talking about… We all been there, being young and thought we are immortal, smarter than our predecessors and a lot, a lot luckier forgetting we are all born terminal and living on borrowed time.

Ah, if we knew then what we know now.

If only they teach us survival skills in school. If only they prepare us for what is going to happen next. If only…

And the way I see it those modern conveniences and technologies don’t help. Today’s generation is accustomed to having what they want with one click and living in virtual realities. How can you expect them to survive in the real world?

Or maybe I’m just getting old and getting nostalgic for yesteryears when people still know how to cook a meal from scratch instead of letting it deliver on their doorstep. When people could function without the aid of a computer and can write a proper letter and send real Christmas cards instead of electronic ones.

Those were the days.

Let’s begin the 365 days by spending time with our loved ones minus the gadgets. Could we still do that?

I wonder if our loved ones want to spend time with us without the buffer of iphones, ipads, and what have you. Do we still have something meaningful to say to each other to begin with?

Somehow I doubt it.

mg4860

Fairy Tales

Once upon a time she had felt trapped inside her story with its familiar characters and predictable plot… 

She still is.

But her life goes on in reverse

Her once upon a time came at the very end

The happily ever after happened first

Not in the beginning but somewhat in the middle

After the nightmares before the big mistakes…

~

Then the Prince Charming came not on a horse

Armed with dollars but without a sword

He gave her poisoned apple and left her no choice

She has to bite and swallow the whole

Then she slept and the nightmares began

It took her years to wake up and run…

~

The forest was dark cold and dangerous

She was all alone little Red Riding Hood

Along the way she met a friendly wolf

He took her home gave her shelter and food

They became friends sort of partner in crime

She helped him to grow big and flourish in life

Her task was enormous taking care of her friend

The wolf was her universe no time for little else…

~

Years have gone by before she realized

She lives in isolation, a prison without bars

She wants to run away and become free again

Feel the sun on her face wind caresses her hair

But her wish alas can never ever come true

The time has run out it is now too late

She is not anymore the girl she used to be

No longer on land altered beyond belief

Her only choice is to sink or to swim

No other options left____

Her feet became a tail…


13.12.2018 03:12 Thursday
©2018 ImpossibleBebong@My Own Private Idaho. All Rights Reserved.

laura-makabresku-29

We Tell Ourselves Stories in Order to Live

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?

Artwork-by-Kevin-Peterson-11

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?

Repeat After Me

Vitamin D. Sunlight. Go
outside. Get a good night

of sleep. Not too good.

Not shades drawn forever
good. Not like you used to.

Open the windows.

Buy more houseplants.
Breathe. Meditate. (One day,

you will no longer be

afraid of being alone
with your thoughts.)

Exercise. Actually exercise

instead of just googling it.
Eat well. Cook for yourself.

Organize your closet, the

garage. Drink plenty of water
and repeat after me:

I am not a problem

to be solved. Repeat after me:
I am worthy I am worthy I am

neither the mistake nor

the punishment. Forget to take
vitamins. Let the houseplant die.

Eat spoonfuls of peanut butter.

Shave your head. Forget
this poem. It doesn’t matter–

there is no wrong way

to remember the grace of your
own body; no choice

that can unmake itself.

There is only now, here,
look: you are already

forgiven.

― Sierra De Mulder

writing-3

Learn The Rules Like A Pro So You Can Break Them Like An Artist.

Describe your sorrows and desires, the thoughts that pass through your mind and your belief in some kind of beauty – describe all these with heartfelt, silent, humble sincerity and, when you express yourself, use the things around you, the images from your dreams, and the objects that you remember. If your everyday life seems poor, don’t blame it; blame yourself; admit to yourself that you are not enough of a poet to call forth its riches; because for the creator, there is no poverty and no poor, indifferent place. And even if you found yourself in some prison, whose walls let in none of the world’s sounds – wouldn’t you still have your childhood, that jewel beyond all price, that treasure house of memories? Turn your attention to it. Try to raise up the sunken feelings of this enormous past; your personality will grow stronger, your solitude will expand and become a place where you can live in the twilight, where the noise of other people passes by, far in the distance. – And if out of this turning-within, out of this immersion in your own world, poems come, then you will not think of asking anyone whether they are good or not. Nor will you try to interest magazines in these works: for you will see them as your dear natural possession, a piece of your life, a voice from it. A work of art is good if it has arisen out of necessity. That is the only way one can judge it.”

― Rainer Maria Rilke

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It’s Only Words

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.

hope_inside_heaven__s_tears_by_haamaiah-d5b0t6l

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? 

nikon bokeh 1920x1470 wallpaper_www.miscellaneoushi.com_5

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