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…

 

 

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Eyes are a mirror we cannot avoid

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Criticism is never easy to quaff down, seldom do we like to hear what others think of us, how we are perceived by our loved ones, by the world… So how to react once we cross that inevitably curious line of “knowing”… I often try to auto-analyze myself, mainly because it has become a habit of mine to be extremely and inexplicably hard on myself… of course, I should add, I have self esteem problems, but that could well be another blog…
I’m a prism of insecurities, a severe coat of self-criticism, a film of selfishness, a fragmented hypercritical sometimes rude and ill-ed tempered woman,with  procrastination often as good company, a spec of a liar (a bad one at that, but if I practice enough, and don’t make eye contact, I am capable of lying), and a constant mermaid-like-daydreamer.
I have hurt the ones I love, and sometimes I can be rather vengeful (particularly with my husband).. I am never good at listing positive things about myself, I suppose that counts as a defect as well…

Recently, however, I try to be better, to change into a person that I could deem worthy of admiration…I know what I want to/should change…
I want to be a circle of generosity and altruism, a knight of honesty and empathy,a book full of  knowledge, an ocean of peace and kindness…
Up until my last (rather recent) marital argument, I was completely blind to the fact that I am prideful, or well, my husband seems to think I am.. When he told me, I must admit, I was surprised and hurt.. one more thing to add to my never ending list of defects. I, of course, did not agree with him, I justified myself as an opinionated woman, as oppose to prideful.. His response? “Being opinionated and being prideful are two different things”.. Try as I may, I do not see his point (or do I refuse to?), I have been meticulously slicing my mind to see his point of view…Thoughts lack a solid essence, sometimes they manage to wriggle their way out from comprehension…
My futile attempt at talking to him ended in a half argument, where we both called it a night and minded our own business… Alas, here I am, writing to see clearer, to unload my thoughts into my “pensieve-like-blog”, through which I intend to clear my mind…How am I prideful???  Am I really mixing both meanings? I like my loud mind, my quick tongue, and my constant and slick thoughts… I am certain I cannot, will not change that.. But is being prideful one of my many flaws as well?
A recollection of fights soar through my mind, and now perhaps, I have reached the answer… Not wanting to be the first one to give in, I push the silence further, I force myself to keep quiet, simply because I don’t want to give in.. In that sense, I realize now, I am prideful…
A bigger question is, can I change it, just thinking that I have to be the first one to “dar el brazo a torcer” irks me a little.. But how to over come that hurdle, the first step is always the hardest, or so I have heard…
A new question formulates slowly…Is pride a negative thing? Perhaps pride is intended for a group of people, for nations to stand together, for human kind to stop hateful acts against each other.. and perhaps, humility is intended for individuals, one of the keys to internal peace… Such a delicate word, a silky enclosure to a deep meaning…After swimming in a far and deep pool of thoughts, where time somehow ceases to exist, I am back in my living-room, typing… It’s already tomorrow…
Thank you pensieve, you have been of great help this evening…

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…