What I see

Do you remember how you used to hold my hand? It felt like you would never let go.
You would look at me with such love in your eyes, like you would fight lions for me. Fight tigers.

The world could fade away and disappear when you held me in your arms. When my head rested on your heart, my world would narrow to just that slow, constant thump.

I miss you.

I hate fighting with you.

It feels like a piece of me is shattering every time we do.

It hurts me that you think I'm fat and unattractive. We've both grown older in the 14 years since we met. Our bodies are not those of children anymore. I've had a child and that leaves its mark. I've lost a child and that's left its mark as well. We've been through a lot, you and I. Depression has caused both of us to pick up and lose weight at various times.

I love you.

You're not the skinny, quiet, depressed boy I met. You've grown in confidence even as you've grown in height and weight. And you've grown as person into a man that I respect.

Attraction comes in many forms. I am attracted to the wonderful father that you are. I am attracted to the caring husband you are. And I'm attracted to the wonderful son that you are to my parents and yours. When I look at you, that's who I see.

I don't see the belly hanging over your belt. I see the giggles that belly inspired in our child when she tickles you. I see the strength in your arms as you lift her up to swing her about. I see that same strength that you use to give me back and foot rubs when I am in pain. And I see the comfort you inspire when wrap your arms around me and tell me that everything is going to be okay.

Why can't you see me and be attracted to me and not be distracted by bulges and love handles?

Stolen post from The Quiet Revolution

I read today a post by Sam Rose over at The Quiet Revolution that really resonated with me. Although she is a self-proclaimed Ambivert and I am an Introvert, the topics she talks about strike very close to home. I have copied the post here below for ease of reading, but please go over to the link above to post comments. Please note that these are not my words even though the feelings described are very much like me.

An open letter to everyone who has ever made me feel like there is something wrong with me—unintentionally or otherwise.I am an ambivert. This means I have characteristics of both an introvert and an extrovert. There are one or two parts of being an introvert that I don’t think apply to me, but overall that’s the description that fits me best. I’m more than happy to spend time by myself and would rather stay at home and binge-watch a TV show or write than go out and socialize with people I’m not close friends with. While others seem to have no problem chatting away in new social situations, I get nervous about meeting new people. Small talk is difficult, and it’s even harder to do in large groups of people or with people I don’t know very well. Speaking up in class or giving presentations at school made me feel sick to my stomach.But all my life, I have felt like being quiet and introverted is a bad thing. If anyone ever described me as quiet or shy, I felt like there was something wrong with me. Those words seem to come with negative connotations, like it’s something to be ashamed of or like I’m only half a person.However, after 27 years, it’s pretty much ingrained in me now: I am Quiet.And some people think it is a bad thing. But it’s not okay to feel that other people see a big part of your personality as defective.So, on behalf of myself and everyone else who has ever felt put down or as if there’s something wrong with them, I ask you to do (or rather, not do) three things:1. Please don’t make assumptions about me. People think they know something about me. They think they can make assumptions about my personality and things I will or will not do, or even things I can or cannot do. A friend once said to me, “You couldn’t stand up and talk in front of a crowd; you’re too scared to even make a phone call at work.” Not true at all and pretty belittling. I just sometimes worry about calling people regarding a subject I’m not very familiar with. If I have to talk about something I know inside out, it’s fine.Someone else once commented, “I don’t blame you for not chatting to people; most people aren’t worth bothering with anyway.” Which just made me sound like I’m not friendly or that I don’t like anyone, and that’s not true either. I’m sure as a result of these assumptions, some people think I don’t have confidence. I may lack confidence in some social situations, but I actually have always had a bit of an ego. I love myself. I pride myself on being different and doing what I want to do without worrying about what people think of me. My quietness is not a reflection of my confidence.2. Please don’t comment on my quietness. I hate it when someone comments on how quiet I am, especially in front of other people. I can’t put into words how low and humiliated I feel. I can’t stand being called on to contribute to a conversation that I’m happy to just be listening to, especially in groups of people I don’t know very well. It feels the same as it did when I got picked on to give an answer in class.This is my personality. It’s just the way I am, and it hurts me a lot when people comment on it like it’s a flaw. I can be loud at home and with friends, but I can’t be loud on command, no matter where I am. And why do people never comment on extroverts in this way? “You’re very outspoken, aren’t you?” “Are you always this loud?”3. Please don’t make me explain myself. Questions such as “do you ever talk?” or “are you always this quiet?” are not okay to ask—they make me feel about two inches tall. What on earth is a person supposed to say to that anyway? No, I’m not always this quiet, but you commenting on it in front of everyone is guaranteed to make it ten times worse. And being told that I need talk or that I need to come out of my shell is not going to help. I don’t have a shell to come out of. I am just fine. Maybe I just don’t feel like talking. Maybe I just feel happier if someone else starts the conversation.I am not unfriendly, and it’s not that I don’t want to chat—I’m more than happy to. But I’m not happy having to explain myself just because I’m “quiet” or a little “introverted.” Extroverts don’t have to explain themselves, so why do I? People think that being this way is not normal; it’s seen as wrong or something that needs to be fixed. But I don’t need to be fixed.People are the way they are. If everyone was the same, life would be boring (and nobody would be able to get a word in). And surely—despite their insensitive remarks—everyone knows that being quiet isn’t a bad thing, right? After a lifetime of being made to feel otherwise, I might need some convincing.

Writing Prompt #3

You receive an unmarked envelope with a check for $5 000 000 inside. Its a legitimate check. What do you do with it? Do you ever find out who it is from? How does it change your life?

Five million dollars. The cheque was made out in my name, but the envelope was completely bare and gave no hint as to its origin.  It was mixed in with my mail for the day, but it has been obviously hand delivered.

I stared at the cheque not knowing what to do. Five million dollars would change my life, but who was it from. Somehow it felt wrong to use the money without knowing where and from whom it was sent. Who would give me this kind of money? No one I knew had access to these kind of funds. There must be strings attached, I thought.

Still highly suspicious, I nevertheless could not tear it up. Instead I opened an offshore bank account, choosing the Isle of Mann for their interest rates and tax benefits, and deposited the cheque. Now that it was safely deposited, I had some breathing room to consider the next steps.

I decided quite firmly that I would not spend a single dollar of the money. There's an old saying, "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth." But this was one horse I just could not accept blindly. What if someone came looking for it years from now. What would I do? No, the money would stay where it was, untouched.

However, I am not a saint. The interest on the money,now that I would use. 0.5 % interest on five million dollars is still a princely sum of $2000 per month. I would then donate half that every month to a random charity, leaving me with a monthly income of a thousand dollars. With a thousand dollars extra every month, I would be able to pay off mine and my parents home loans. With those home loans taken care of, I would be free to use my salary to take my family on a yearly holiday, all over the world. My parents, my husband and children, would experience everything life has to offer, everything that's within my power to give. We would travel to world historic sites marvel at all that came before. We would holiday at rarely visited places and when the quiet gets too much, adjourn to the hubbub of New York, Paris, London.

In my will, I would stipulate that the original money be left alone in a trust, and only the interest will be available for us. The monthly income will be my legacy to my children. The amount not so large that they can afford to be lazy or entitled, and yet large enough to provide a cushion when they fall. Even if I never find out from whom the cheque came, I would be grateful every single day for the rest of my life.

Don't ask, don't tell

The other day,
I screwed up my courage,
drew a deep breath and
told you a long held secret.

I bared to you a hidden piece of my soul,
a piece raw and blistered from the
constant
rubbing
of the seething mass of
shame
confusion
guilt.

I drew into light

that which had been hidden in the darkness
for half the span of my life.

I waited

in a breathless agony for you to say something
but your words

when they came

were a confusing - disappointing - mix of
legalities and culpability in the eyes of the law.

As you spoke, that piece of my soul began to
slowly
pull away and hide,
back into the darkness
the rawness hidden away behind layers of
gauze and sticky tape and makeup.

The high walls and barbed wire littered with
keep out signs
ensuring once more that the
horrors
buried in their graveyard
will not rise for you again.

Writing Prompt #2

You find out that you will die in five years or less. How did you find this out? What would you do in those five years?
 /** NOTE : obviously this is a fictional account as I have not been given 5 years to live. **/

 
"Five years to live." The words left the doctors lips and crashed into my brain leaving me reeling. They began a looping echo while I stared stupidly at him. His lips continued moving and random sounds reached my ears, but it was as if he had suddenly switched to speaking chinese.

I had gone in for my regular checkup and had mentioned to the doctor that my headaches were getting worse and that I had failed to have my monthly hormonal changes for the last 3 months. He had ordered an MRI. "Just to be safe", he said. When it was done and I was back in his office awaiting the results, he looked at me gravely and said the words that everyone dreads but never truly expects to hear. "Tumour."

He said it was still small, just sitting on my pituitary. In fact, it may not even be cancerous. However, the odds of that were slim, given my previous hypothyroid-like symptoms and my malfunctioning reproductive hormal system. The surgery would be a small quick procedure to remove the growth, and we would only really know in five to ten years whether it would metastasize to the rest of my brain. I would live a normal life for those first five years. After that, well, it was anyones guess.

Once the shock wore off, days later, I began to plan. If I only had five years left to live, by god, I would live them! I would travel to all the far-off places I had ever dreamed of : Ireland, Russia, St. Kitts and Nevis, The Maldives, Bhutan. I would take my family with me and make as many memories as I could. Memories to last them a lifetime. I would write, every day. I would give my dream of becoming an author my fullest attention and effort.

My diagnosis would have given me financial freedom. My dread disease and life insurance would pay out allowing me to stop forcing myself out of bed every morning to get to a job only to travel back home in the evening, exhausted. I would have the freedom to try, and possibly fail, at anything I chose, giving myself the opportunity to possibly succeed beyond my wildest dreams. I would not waste time doing something simply because it is practical and brings home a paycheck.

I would go back to studying. Maybe I could get a teachers diploma, allowing me to work half days and get a break during school holidays. With the extra time, I could study other subjects, just for the fun of it. I would work as a teacher, filling those eager faces with a love of learning.

If I were told I had five years left to live, I would prepare a lifetimes worth of letters, emails, messages, to remind the ones I love that though I might be gone, the love will always, always remain.

Writing Prompt #1

Describe an important item from your childhood. Why was it important and where is it now?

When I first read this title, I immediately drew a blank. An important item From my childhood? When I closed my eyes to think, the first thing that popped into my mind were my bookshelves.

It seems a strange choice, I know, but there it is. Let me explain.

As a child, I was an extremely avid reader. Reading was my joy, my refuge, my first love. When the children at school or at home were cruel, my friendships in my books never failed me. When the world was difficult to understand, there was always a quote or a saying to provide explanation or solace. I was never alone so long as I had a book. I went on adventures with my friends : "The famous five", "The secret seven" and "The three investigators". I solved mysteries with "Nancy Drew", "The Dana Girls" and "The Hardy boys". And I fell in love along with Jessica and Elizabeth from "Sweet Valley High".

I primarily read from the library, bringing home 7, 10, 16 books at a time and devouring them in the two week period. And slowly, over time, my personal collection of books grew. Old baby favourites like "Cuddles Bath Time" and "Dandy Duck" began to vie for space next to "Rumpelstiltskin", "Old Friends, New Friends" and "The good-bye day".

One day, my dad brought home two blocks of wooden shelving. They were old, slightly rickety and filthy, but the wood was solid underneath and he promised we could fix it right up. Fixing those shelves became a family project. While dad banged in nails and supports, my mom, my brother and I used damp cloths to clean up the layers of dust and dirt that coated those old shelves.

When they were finally clean and sturdy, we all got out the paint brushes and had a ball painting them white. And while my mom complained about the smell for days afterward, you could tell she was proud of it as well.

When the paint was dry and all was ready, my dad drilled holes and fixed in the L-brackets that would support the shelves and fix them to the wall. We then all pitched in to neatly set our books onto them.

I think it was the first project we had done together as a family.

When circumstances forced us to move out of the family home, we took just 4 things away with us: Our beds, our clothes, the gifts my mom parents had given her on her marriage and those old shelves.

For many years after that, they stood proudly on their legs of bricks in my parents garage. And so that garage became my refuge. "Mom, I'm just going down to the garage", I would say, and disappear in there for hours.

Today, twenty years after we moved, those same shelves under a new coat of paint and some new legs, stand proudly in my own home. They form the place of my refuge, still. They now form my library.

Train your brain

There is an old adage that in order to get better at something, the only thing that will help is "Practice, Practice, Practice". The results of practice has been seen the world over : A person who does not know how to draw takes up a 365 day challenge and at the end of it is creating amazing images; A person takes up knitting and at the end of the year of practice is producing the most beautiful clothes, throws and toys; A computer programmer does programming "katas" and trains their brain to work more efficiently or within a specific methodology or a new language or even simply learns about an area that they were not proficient in.

If this has worked for so many, why not me? I am a computer programmer and I have seen the benefits of Code Kata's. While going through my current ebook collection which recently grew to incorporate a friends collection, I found a book called "1000 Awesome Writing Prompts". This sparked the idea in my head. If it works for drawing and works for coding, why can't it work for writing? I am going to give it a try. As I complete each exercise, I will post it up here on the blog and you can follow my progress. Occassionally, I will divert to using a writing prompt from my pinterest boards, but that will simply add to the number of prompts I use. I will write for no less than 1000 prompts.

Join me on this journey and let me know how I'm doing in the comments. Please, please comment. I will appreciate any comment, positive or negative, as it will only help me grow as a writer.

So lets start on this journey together and see how we go.

Photograph

~ Ed Sheeran

Loving can hurt
Loving can hurt sometimes
But it's the only thing that I know
When it gets hard
You know it can get hard sometimes
It is the only thing that makes us feel alive

We keep this love in a photograph
We made these memories for ourselves
Where our eyes are never closing
Hearts are never broken
Times forever frozen still

So you can keep me
Inside the pocket
Of your ripped jeans
Holdin' me closer
'Til our eyes meet
You won't ever be alone
Wait for me to come home

Loving can heal
Loving can mend your soul
And it's the only thing that I know (know)
I swear it will get easier
Remember that with every piece of ya
And it's the only thing we take with us when we die

We keep this love in this photograph
We made these memories for ourselves
Where our eyes are never closing
Our hearts were never broken
Times forever frozen still

So you can keep me
Inside the pocket
Of your ripped jeans
Holdin' me closer
'Til our eyes meet
You won't ever be alone

And if you hurt me
That's OK, baby, only words bleed
Inside these pages you just hold me
And I won't ever let you go

Wait for me to come home [4x]

Oh you can fit me
Inside the necklace you got when you were 16
Next to your heartbeat
Where I should be
Keep it deep within your soul

And if you hurt me
Well, that's OK, baby, only words bleed
Inside these pages you just hold me
And I won't ever let you go

When I'm away
I will remember how you kissed me
Under the lamppost
Back on 6th street
Hearing you whisper through the phone,
"Wait for me to come home."

Superman (It's Not Easy)

~ Five for Fighting

I can't stand to fly
I'm not that naïve
I'm just out to find
The better part of me

I'm more than a bird,
I'm more than a plane
I'm more than some pretty face beside a train
It's not easy to be me

I wish that I could cry
Fall upon my knees
Find a way to lie
'Bout a home I'll never see

It may sound absurd but don't be naïve
Even heroes have the right to bleed
I may be disturbed but won’t you concede
Even heroes have the right to dream
And it's not easy to be me

Up, up and away, away from me
Well, it's alright
You can all sleep sound tonight
I'm not crazy or anything

I can't stand to fly
I'm not that naïve
Men weren't meant to ride
With clouds between their knees

I'm only a man in a silly red sheet
Digging for kryptonite on this one way street
Only a man in a funny red sheet
Looking for special things inside of me
Inside of me, inside of me [2x]

I’m only a man in a funny red sheet
I’m only a man looking for a dream
I’m only a man in a funny red sheet
And it's not easy.
It's not easy to be me.

The Best of me

Dear reader, this is an attempt at another positive post. Let me know if I succeeded.

Too often, I get into a fixed loop of negative thinking where I tell myself I am a failure. That I will never be good enough, that the people who love me deserve better. Today's post is an exercise in positive thinking. When i say positive thinking, I don't mean telling myself "Everything is awesome!" Aaand queue the song. No, what i am referring to is the direct opposite of my negative thought loops. I am going to spend this post talking about what makes me wonderful. What makes me worthwhile as a person. And why I am a success. 

This is, of course very difficult for me, because we were always taught to "praise everyone but yourself". But just because something is difficult, does not mean it is not worth doing. Quite the opposite in fact. I have found that the difficult things are the things that are the most worthwhile. They give you a sense of achievement. And make you grow as a person. This brings me to the first good thing about me. I have grit. I am strong-willed and determined and if I deem something worth doing, I will persevere and do everything in my power to get it done. It does not matter the obstacles, the difficulties, I will stubbornly, determinedly push on.

To balance that strong will, i am pragmatic. Realistic. I have to be, otherwise that stubbornness becomes an extreme and switches over into a negative trait. One that would force me to blindly push my way down a path even when that path is no longer feasible. I can generally see clearly when a path will not work for me and am flexible enough that I can stop myself from banging my head against a brick wall.

And so we come to my next positive trait. I am balanced. I crave balance and order in most areas of my life and so I am constantly aware of the possibility of tipping over to one side or the other. This need for balance makes me, in my opinion, a fairly stable person, but it can also confuse others into thinking that I am not. This is because I compensate constantly on one side or the other to maintain what I consider the middle ground. This makes people think that I am not a very calm or stable person.

My sense of responsibility is also very well developed.Once I have taken ownership of a task or project, I will never let you down, even to the detriment of myself. In that regard, I am extremely trustworthy. If you entrust me with something, you can rest assured that it will be taken care of.

I am a leader. I consider true leaders to be people who lead from the front, by example. A true leader never requires more of others than they require of themselves. I teach by example and will often take more onto my shoulders to spare those who look to me. I give my best and expect the same from others. 

I am honest and straightforward to the point of being blunt. I don't often prevaricate and find small-talk pointless. This means that you will always know where you stand with me. If I am avoiding you, you can probably take it as a sign that I am trying not to say something will offend or hurt you. If you force the issue an prevent me from doing what I can to avoid a confrontation, you will end up hearing some unpleasant truths.

i am fairly intelligent and, though i am not necessarily good at everything, I excel in my chosen fields of specialization.  I am often able to see to the heart of a problem and find innovative solutions by thinking outside the box. I also have a good grasp of the bigger picture enabling me to see potential ramifications of any given course of action. I see in shades of gray rather than pure black and white. 

I am passionate and loyal and a good listener. I have an extensive vocabulary that comes from my love of reading and of writing. i am an excellent organizer, often thinking of things that others have missed. I am creative and artistic, even though I cannot draw. 

And that's me. Those of you who know me, is this how you see me?

To my mummy

To my Mummy

I love you. I know I'm not always the best at showing it and I know that sometimes I drive you crazy (and vice versa!), but through it all you have been the most amazing, steady, calming force in my life. You are the person who makes things happen. The person I know I can always turn to, count on, no matter what.

I may not be the best or most perfect daughter in the world, but you've always loved me anyway. Through my tantrums and my meltdowns, my anxiety and my depression, you have always been right there to comfort me or to snap me out of it.

We fight occasionally, as most mothers and daughters do, but even in the midst of it, you have never walked away. I don't think you ever could. So, even though you will say it's not necessary,  that you're my mummy and there's no need for thanks between us, I still want to say Thank you!

Thank you for raising me and for doing whatever it took to get me to where I am today.  I have never made it easy, but your strength has never wavered. I am grateful for all you have done for me and continue to do. You are my mummy, my mom, my friend, my confidant. And I love you.

PS: You asked me write something happy. Something positive. To stop focusing on the pain and the negative. When I tried to, you were what I thought of. Your love is the most positive thing in my life.

Do you remember that girl?

 ~ A mirrored pool

Do you remember that girl?
     Who trailed after you
     Longing to be included,
     But was laughed at,
     And told she was too young
     And too dumb
     And a tattletale
     When she had never said a thing?

Do you remember that girl?
     She used to wear 2 plaits to school
     and you would grab them and say "giddy up, horsey".

Do you remember, 
     she got put into B group for writing
     and would disappear into the bathroom
     every time it was writing period.

Do you remember her?
     She got chicken pox that one year
     and when she returned to school,
      there was a new girl sitting
     in her place in class
     and all her friends had abandoned her.

Do you remember,
     she was the only one who had to wear glasses
     and so everyone called her "4 eyes"?

Do you remember that girl
     Who said "Mommy, am i as pretty as [family member]?"
     Who was told "Looks aren't everything"
     Who was told to be smart instead?

Do you remember her,
     she was the last one in class
     to be allowed to use a pen.
To this day,
     she is more comfortable with a pencil.

Do you remember that girl
     who thought she liked a boy
     and that boy started to pretend she didn't exist?
Oh and that year that everyone decided they hated her,
Do you remember that?
Do you remember her book,
     "Comfort Herself"
     that was her only company
     that you took from her
     that you teased her about?

Do you remember
     how you locked her in the toilets
     and wouldn't let her out
     until the bell rang to go back to class?

Do you remember
     how you wouldn't leave her alone
     until she got so upset
     she threw the apple she was eating right in your eye?

Do you remember
     that time you punched her in the chest
     so hard
    it hurt to breathe for a week?
Or when you hit her in the face with a volleyball
     and her glasses almost broke?

When you wrote on her commemorative photo,
     "Don't get any more pimples".

Good times,  right? Those kids just do the darndest things!

And the last year you knew her, do you remember
     how she had no friends?
     And how another boy she liked decided she didn't exist?
     And when she refused to go to school after exams were done
     until the teachers phoned
     to insist
     she come for the awards?
     She scooped up most of the awards in spite of you?

Do you remember
     that new girl in high school?
     She didn't know anyone
     and no one wanted to be her friend
     because she had been
     assigned
     the least liked person as her mentor.

Do you remember
     how she scraped together
     a group of friends
     over the period of 3 years?

Do you remember,
     How she lived in fear of losing them
     when she almost got assigned
     to the second class for physics?
     The anxiety that day was excruciating.

Do you remember the boy she fell in love with?
     How she would have done anything for a kind word or smile
     How she trusted him with her feelings
     How he betrayed that trust
     How he caused her to be ostracized
     And laughed at
     And called "stalker"

Do you remember the second boy she fell in love with?
     How he called her fat?
     But she married him anyway.
     How he betrayed her trust
     But she forgave him anyway.

None of you remember
     "We were young"
     you will say.
     "Just kids"
     "Who remembers such things?"
But she remembers.
     That girl.
     She cannot forget.

Authenticity

Note: This post veered off from its planned content. Never fear, I will pick up the loose threads in a future post.

So I know things have been quiet on the blog front lately, and those of you waiting with bated breath for the next pearls of wisdom to drop from my pen, have been patient enough. There have been many things that I have been coming to grips with over the past 2 years that I haven't felt able to blog about. Hence the silence. The odd post here and there have given hints of it, hints that all has not been well, but for the most part I have stayed silent on the topic.

Part of that was probably denial. If I don't talk about it here, the place where I have bared my soul and shared my pain, then its not real. Part of it was also anxiety and embarrassment.

You see, when I started this thing, I had only a few readers, people who knew everything anyway or random strangers who stumbled here. It was a private-public expression of the madness in my head. Since then, however, my readership has grown to include people who know me personally and yet don't know me at all. And people whose good opinion matters greatly to me. And also people who I fear my words will wound unnecessarily.

This led to some soul searching as to what can I really say on here. Can I really rip off the masks and bare my soul when I know people are watching? And if I cant, is there really a point to this blog? This was supposed to be the one place where I was the most authentic version of myself. Where I have no need of masks to hide behind. Where I can be me and damn the consequences.

I have been struggling with this question for a while and I have come to realize that if you, my readers, keep coming back here, its because  you want to know the true me. If you have gotten to this point with me without running screaming into the night, then don't I own it to you not to don the mask once more? Don't I owe it to myself to see if the true authentic me is worth more than the dozens of masks I continuously wear?

Do any of you love me for me, exactly as I am at my core, at the deepest recesses of my mind and heart? Am I enough? Just me, no shields, no masks, no "happy face"?

Frozen

~ A Mirrored Pool

Those words, coming out your mouth,
contradict the emotion I see in your eyes.
Those words, like shards of ice,
sharp, cold,
pierce my breast to spread their deadly winter
through my heart and soul.
Those words,
that say I have major flaws in my personality,
that say I make myself the victim,
that say I am entitled
that say I am not enough.
Those cold words,those warm eyes,
say you love me
say you are trying to help me
say you are doing this for my own good.
As the ice creeps over my brain stem
to freeze my emotions
to add cold to the brain-fog
it leaves me wheeling about
unable to function - to speak, to think, to walk
to survive.