Long over due

It’s quite sad to admit that my keyboard feels foreign to me, we use to be so in tune… It’s been over a month (*cough* four months *coughs*) since my last post, which wasn’t even a blog post… ( Un análisis de A History of Mary Prince, a West Indian Slave).  For an aspiring blogger, I am slacking way too much.. In all honesty it might have even been on purpose, or not; for various reasons.  As I have explained before, my blog is my “pensieve”, my “I hope to get some insight”; it allows me to “exorcise my demons”, to analyze and attempt to understand… everything, or at times, nothing.  After experiencing several incidents that some may refer to as “emotional break downs” (fuck it, I’ll be honest, I’m slowly decomposing mentally and emotionally), without any form of improvement or a true form of release, it becomes rather clear that one should sit down and write…. I am not entirely sure why it has taken me so long to start writing, but I could argue certain points that could potentially be a factor… Due to the date of my last actual blog (Without answers or reasons) which was three days after my bhai passed away (walaikum salam), I felt lost in a sea of disbelief and numbness (nine days previous to that I got divorced); quite honestly I have only vague recollections of those three months after my bhai’s death (it’s such a heavy word to write, think, or say, was it always? Or is it just now that the weight of his absence reminds me that he’s no longer here?).  I stopped blogging, however, I didn’t quite stopped writing if that counts; I absentmindedly wrote my essays for class and finals.  Perhaps I needed the break, to say that I read and wrote a lot is an understatement… But then again, perhaps I needed to miss the light silhouette of the symbols that label each key, feel it’s smooth square surface, feel the distinctive rod-shaped-markings that differentiate the “F” and the “J”… Now that I find myself here typing, I have come to realize that in fact I have actually missed it.. Just feeling the synchronized fluidity of my fingers as they glide over each of the keys, pressing down softly and firmly… I even missed the “click, click”…. Why in the hell did I stop blogging???!!!  I am still unsure…

I miss you bhai…

I must admit that those may not have been the most pressing potential factors to my slacking… Perhaps I didn’t want to see the truth, or put the feelings into thoughts, and into words…making them tangible.  Once you do that, there is no turning back, at least for me; it’s more real than before, it’s tangible, it’s visible, it’s there…
Once you reach a certain age, one doesn’t expect certain “incidents” could occur… One can be terribly wrong… So far this year has been about facing my fears, in very extreme ways I might add (dear universe, I share your morbidly sardonic sense of humor at times, but damn…).

I’ll start with the least pressing one, which is this new phase in which I currently find myself in… two steps away from the third floor… And I still don’t have a clue as to what being an adult is…I can honestly say, however, that I am extremely happy to not have any human children; four legged ones are so much better.  Yet I still feel lost as to what to do when it comes to existing in society, and having it see me as an adult.  I am still learning how to cook, and how to balance my time between school/work and all the adult things we have to do (cleaning, laundry, organizing… “adulting”)…

The most pressing one is the challenge of facing the obstacles that harshly contradict your morals, beliefs, integrity, etc… In this particular case I’d say it’s the challenge of not giving in to the depression that consumes you when your reality shifts radically and suddenly.  My theory is that our minds react to these radical-reality-shifts the same way our bodies react to the varicella virus; the older you get, the harder it hits you…

Over all, however, the hardest challenge is to keep going..despite anything, keep going with a smile on and positive disposition… try not to become a cynically empty shell, as tempting as it may be…

 

 

Lost Self

Sitting in my living room, rush of thoughts from the night before hunt my memory.. In the floor to ceiling glass door, I can make out my reflection, who is she?? She has green puffy eyes (she’s been crying all night) swollen lips, distended face… And of course, fat (that’s what the voice in her head tells her, and she’s good at pointing out every flaw).. Who is this girl, I don’t recognize her.. Somewhere in my mind lies my self esteem, shattered to pieces, and I can’t seem to put it back together.. Ana seems stronger this time.  With all the wedding stress, the easiest thing to do is focus on what she has to say..
“He called it off because you drive him crazy, and you are not good enough for him”… Fight after fight, may actually confirm her words… What went wrong?  How can the death of a fairy tale come so quick before it even started??? You would think that after five years, lots of effort, and tears, and love, this type of struggle and confusion would not happen… Life, as always, has other plans.. Slap lessons find their way in, and you are left baffled in the mist of problems..
In all this confusion I wonder, is love enough? Were the Beatles wrong?  How does one know it is the right moment, the right person, the right conditions… to start working on a future that so long ago seemed beautiful and extremely possible, and that now seems further away than it has ever seemed before… After each fight, how does one manage to keep love alive, perhaps by unwrapping layers of anger like tissue paper wrapping a present, deep down, it must still be there… I know that is how I feel, unequivocally, I am truly sure that I love him.. the problem comes when I no longer seem to know that he feels the same way.. Does he get that emptiness-butterflies-in the stomach feeling when he thinks of me, or when he sees me, or before dialing my number.. Do I take his breath away with every kiss, like he does to me.. Does he get lost in my eyes, like I do in his? His big brown-long eyelashes eyes, are an ocean of wonder to me… Every cell in my body craves his attention, his touch, his caress, his love…
Once again the voice says to me “you are not good enough for him, look at yourself, who wants to be with, or touch someone like you”.. And now, I can’t help but believe her…

Differences…

What is the limit to honesty? Is saying things the way they are, or how you truly feel, the best way to be? Or is it best to keep things to yourself most of the time, and say what people want to hear half of the time, all for the sake of being at peace and not risking hurting any body’s feelings? I have been told, at times, that I can be harsh, and that is only because I don’t really sugar coat my opinions or thoughts, though I do try to explain them in the nicest way possible, contrary to certain believes, I am not a heartless, evil, selfish bitch… I am extremely honest and opinionated; recently however(by recently I mean in the last hour or so),  I started thinking that perhaps “opinionated and honest” is not a very good combination.  Why share your thoughts with the people that mean the most to you, if later it will come back to bite you in the rear? But then again, if you are pretending otherwise, or keeping your thoughts to yourself, what is the point of thinking?
I feel as if a metaphorical rug has been pulled from underneath me. To a degree, having a hypothetical rug disappear from underneath you, is worse than having the actual rug unbalance your stance… The sense of falling, when the rug is hypothetical, is ever lasting, you keep preparing for some sort of impact that never comes. Through the eternal falling, one is able to analyze every angle of a situation, and according to each person, I suppose, we reach to different conclusions.  I suppose as well that, culture and background, must have an imperative effect on how we all reach a conclusion.  Not too long ago, a different angle on what I previously wrote was brought to my attention; and though I never meant it in a harmful way, I never thought that, to other people, it could be.  Before I develop any further on this particular post, I must clarify some things. I truly do consider myself  a lucky girl, in many aspects of life.
1) I have been blessed with amazing parents and siblings (amazing, not perfect). They support my every whim, they love me unconditionally, and though we do have scary fights, at the end of the day, we know that we have each other. 2) I am an intellectual and analytical person, bubbly, honest, happy,  and compassionate as far as personality goes, and quite decent as far as physical appearances go. 3) As I mentioned in one of my previous posts, in the love aspect, I am also lucky. What I perhaps did not mention (mainly because it slipped my mind in the spur of the moment, and partly because I was quite cold and I wanted to relocate) is that though my future family to be is quite different, (and may not know me fully) I have been blessed with loving, sweet, and somewhat easy to get along with people (as easy as it ever is to get along with people that don´t share the same language, traditions, and believes).   As far as mothers in law goes, I am quite fortunate.  Yes, we differ a lot in our views of life, religion, and marriage, but we do get along. I should also mention that we love and care for each other, and though our relationship has not developed fully, it has had a great start.  I do not consider her a monster in law, as so many other unfortunate souls have confessed to me about their own personal experiences.  And quite honestly, I would like to break the chain of tradition regarding mother-daughter in law relationships.
Now, once again, the notion of differences comes to mind, as well as the way in which we interpret our surroundings.  Communication is a deceiving word, it seems rather simple having very few letters (some of them repeated), and quit harmless in its meaning. In verity, it is a double edge sword, quite useful if both parties reach the same understanding, but extremely harmful if something between exchanges is missing or misinterpreted.  Why is it then that people venture and seek to bring two different worlds together at such high risks?  One says blue, and the other may see black, one sees orange, and the other says tulips.  On an every day basis,  and when it comes to interacting with one another, we are hardly on the same page. Perhaps this is why, at a cellular level, communication between cells (and the effects unleashed by an interpretation of messages), are highly and meticulously regulated.  It is not merely an action reaction event, rather, it is a cascade of actions and reactions that lead to one final event.  Perhaps if we all communicated this way, there would be less misunderstandings, less arguments, and less hurt feelings.  This holds true with any types of relationship, not just the romantic type.  Though in my personal case, it mainly pertains to the romantic relationship.  How can we move forward if one side perceives the other as malicious, or does not have a full understanding of the unraveling mind of the other.  If either side is not able to see things from a different perspective other than his/her own, if one side feels deprived, or limited and can’t be honest about it, can a relationship (and a marriage) emerge victorious through out time and history? I doubt that without honesty, trust, and scrupulously intensive attempts at good communication (which so far have proven to be the key to any sort of relationship), a marriage can survive.  Though only life and time  will tell…