In this corner of the internet we come together to heal, hold and lift each other up by knowing that our woes and our predicaments may almost be the same. I have the same struggle as you do although the details of what has happened or what is happening are totally different.
Why is the supposed occurrence of love in my life the most difficult thing ever? Why does it feel like nursing a tooth ache? Every thing I question and when I say it aloud those questions I get told that I think too much. My imagination is running wild. I am making far fetched conclusions. It is the way that I feel and I have always known myself to be smart and intuitive.
You know why I am not satisfied, you know why I haven’t been satisfied so far. I sat there in the living room after an abrupt end to a call thinking; “Why do I feel so unhappy?” He says all these things and he is nice enough, why am I not satisfied and why this unsettled feeling all the time. Why the constant questioning of everything that he said or do?
In this conversation with myself, or in this reflective moment, the answer came to me as clear as any good answer that swims forth from that sane corner of our mind – “I am not being loved the way I want to be loved.” They have never treated me the way I, not only, want to be treated, but how I feel deep inside that I deserve to be treated.
There is always something wrong. And I know when something is off but they never confirm that something is wrong which is why at the end it is always my fault. Is something wrong with me? I would ask. Am I loser like that. Easily manipulated or the easiest target for manipulation. Someone’s social experiment. Someone’s doormat so that they can enter into their house of self esteem and pride. I don’t know.
More strongly then ever that is how I feel in this current relationship. Confused and unhappy. He holds out little bright nuggets of happiness for me and then proceeds to completely shutting me off leaving me alone in the dark by myself with the suppressed emotions and pent up anger as I struggle to be that nice, less dramatic and supportive lover that I try to be.
In the darkened room with red lights on and a Summer Walker song playing in the background I go through the motions of sorrow without control of the emotions. I have so many questions and have no clue what to do or where to go. Should I hold off or proceed with completely letting go. Nothing works. There is no winning. At least I don’t want to win anymore at the cost of someone else losing. Someone’s pain is not my pleasure. I just don’t want to be hurt. Don’t hurt me is all I ask.
That was so therapeutic. I will go off to sleep for now.
Thank you for being there. And thank you to me for trying to keep it together. Thank you to life for allowing me to wake up giving me the opportunity to do better.
Love, peace, support, growth and healing to you my friend 🙏❤😊☯️😇
I have been in forward motion all the time that I barely can tell if I am doing things right or as I feel that is I am going to drive myself off of a cliff pretty soon. However the road is pretty safe and I have become a better driver too.
Things have gotten better. It could be better but I am the one that’s holding myself back. I need to fight harder but I choose not to fight at all.
One gift that the age of 28 has gifted me is stamina and focus.
One thing that I stripped myself off of is the ability to say no or to resist. I am stoic no more. But again I think that stoicism is always in me – life raised me that way – but I choose not to be stoic.
When I could be better in control of my life I dismantle all those learned and practiced good habit’s just to be complacent with a bad one. I fear perfection and I know that one can never be. It’s actually the thought of everything being nearly perfect that makes me uncomfortable.
There always has to be hope that things will get better, and that hope I have standing in the back stage of my mind in the dark somewhere. I can feel its presence but I just don’t hear it’s words. I guess it no longer wants to speak because it has taught me enough of all that I need to be full of hope and forward moving.
The night that she was born her father was nowhere to be found. He left no money behind for her mothers fare to the hospital and she knew that there really would be no money left by then, especially after his prolonged weekend of drinking. By then Loata had no strength to worry of anything else but to deliver her baby. She gave birth on a Tuesday night and her husband had been gone from home since the previous week Friday.
The many months leading up to that day had been difficult for Loata but all seemed to finally strike her on that night; being stuck in an island away from her family back in Iyatasara after eloping with Billy Boy, and now in pain with a baby on the way surrounded by people who spoke a dialect that she had just slowly begun to learn.
On that night she was crying not because of the pain but because she started to really miss the lone house on top of the hill surrounded by a green sea of sugar cane fields. She missed her mother and her three sisters. She hoped that they were alright, particular her mother. Apart from her own anguish and praying for it, she prayed that her father stops beating her mother, that she no longer has to run through the sugarcane fields to make it to the nearest neighbors house to hide. What she also missed was hearing someone else speak the Ba dialect. She ached for someone to say to her that it was all going to be alright in her own Ba dialect.
In the eve of that day the young boys who he often drank with were visited individually by her mother in law – two of them in the midst of having dinner with their families and the other two was out at the back of the village hall smoking sika – and were asked if they had a clue where Billy Boy was. But they had no answers for her.
Her sister in law sent out her eldest son to go out the next morning with his friends and ask around for Uncle Boy in the two neighbouring villages. They did come back with news before lunch that he was knocked out in a farm house high up in the hills that belonged to a relative of theirs. They later journeyed up the hills after lunch to the farm house and told Billy Boy that Loata has given birth to a baby girl at home, with instructions from their grandmother for their Uncle Boy to make his way to the hospital that very evening with dinner for the mother of her eldest grandchild.
Alisi was a baby with a promise of brown’ness every bit as dark as her mother. She had the lips and nose of her father but the hair texture of her mother – wavy and black. However it was at 2 years old when they started to notice the ashy brown color of her father’s hair, with golden honeyed highlights that many would run their fingers on her hair to trace where the colors changed. It looked as though the sun left traces on her brown wavy hair.
At two years old as well is when Loata started to become familiar with almost all the doctors at the hospital. They kept on scheduling appointments with her and baby Alisi till the day when the young Doctor Viliame had her sit with him in his small cluttered office and tried his best to tell her the conditions of her heart and what it meant for her life.
There were many things that she should be refrained from doing and the things that they should try to do to accommodate her special condition. With tears in her eyes she looked out to her daughter who had wandered away from her side to go out on the hallway and play with the young boy who had run loose as well from his mother.
When Alisi was seven years old Loata returned back to her home in Iyatasara, with her children and husband to attend the funeral of her eldest sister, with no plan of returning back to the island. First thing she did was make everybody know of Alisi’s condition. Whenever she would run around to play with other children, Loata would call out after her or even come running out to get her.
When they first arrived Alisi had developed a habit of teasing and provoking the young kids of Iyatasara around her own age. It had them angry and wanting to hit her but their mothers or fathers warned against it and would then turn to her and give her a verbal warning instead, which never stopped her.
So then the children learned to instead tease her back with words attacking the very thing that they found stood out for her which was her look; her being very dark, with thick black lips and her always opened and unrully hair with shades of golden honeyed streaks. For that they called her “Black Bat” saying that her hair resembled that of a bat.
They stayed the longest when they came for Loata’s sisters funeral. She told Billy Boy, who had found drinking buddies of his own at Iyatasara that she was not going back to his island home. With a third kid on the way he was also not ready to go back without his wife and children. In his brief sober state he told her that he would change, but the attempt to do that was long enough lasting almost 13 days, but on the 12th day there was a birthday party which he attended in the village.
While all the children went off to school Alisi stayed home. Her younger sister Mela taught her ABC and the 123 but apart from that Alisi lived in her own world, of her own making and spoke in her father’s dialect that no one at Iyatasara understood. For this plenty of jokes were made at her expense for this for they couldnt understand a word she spoke and the unfamiliar words coming from her sounding funny to them.
“What are going to do today Alisi?” someone had asked her
“Nothing, I am just going to wait for my sister to return back from school.”
She ate and slept, than wandered around. No one pressured her to learn or do anything. She would fight with all the kids when they came back home from school. A lot of them rejected her from their play circles calling her an air head or ‘weak girl’. But none of the ridicules they hurled at her ever settled into her. Alisi would keep popping back into their games to disrupt it. She was like the black butterfly that was plentiful at Iyatasara, always circling around, lending on a flower to feed before fluttering off delicately to the next one.
Alisi grew up, she was 18 but her mind and naivety remained the same. She still picked flowers for no good reason from neighbors houses in the village, and still collected interesting pebbles from the river or made rock formations in the river that she claimed were to be steady homes for the fishes. She said the most absurd things and asked the most absurd questions.
By the time her younger sister had a boy friend Alisi was taken in by the village Chief Ratu Sakiusa – who had paid for the carrier fare to and from the hospital when she was born – to help around the house. The lady of the house, Adi Susana taught her, as patient as she could, how to maintain a good house. She taught her how to clean and cook and how to dress up, as well giving her clothes that no longer fitted her.
It was just a year that they spent together. Adi Susana had become very fond of her and took her to every function that she attended. The clothes began to fit her well and she looked beautful in the earrings and the necklaces that Adi Su gave.
One day Adi Su found her in a very deep sleep outside underneath the lemon tree beside their house. She didnt lay on any mat, but just lay curled on top of the green grass. When Adi Su and Loata woke her up she said that she was alright and was just feeling a little sleepy. But on standing up she crouched back down to her knees to vomit, blood visible in it.
Adi Susana and her husband who had to catch the next boat to Suva, dropped Alisi and Loata off at the hospital.
“Be strong my child,” Adi Susana told Alisi as she was getting ready to leave her behind with her mother at the hospital to catch the boat.
“I am fine Adi Su, I will wait for your return. Make me sure you bring me something back from Suva,” she replied, sitting up on her bed smiling getting settled in, wearing her favorite dress that was given by Adi Su.
“Not to worry. I will. As a matter of fact I want you to get well so that we can go together to Suva.” Adi Susana replied.
Her mother recalls that day, how beautiful she was and lively she had ever been. Never did it occur to her what Doctor Viliame had said about her 21st birthday.
“It was just like she went off to sleep”, Loata shared to people when they asked. It took months for the thought of Alisi’s death to settle onto her.
The funeral was a small one for a girl who had no expectations in life for who she was to be. Adi Susana took the next flight back into the island for the funeral, crying from within her chest aching for Alisi like the daughter she never had. Gone was her and all the plans she had for her.
At 21 Alisi never stepped foot in a class room, even for her siblings parents and teachers day, she never cared much about it anyways – like love too, or cared to be loved but she took all the liberty in living her own version of life and took all the space that she wanted where ever she was to make that happen.
I had subscribed to the weekly newsletter of the website BrainPickings, by Maria Popova, many years ago. It is what populates my personal inbox apart from the occasional emails from an organization that I am on the Board for. In the beginning of me discovering Brainpickings I would run out of email newsletters to read and couldn’t wait for the next one to hit my inbox.
That was around the time where I was voraciously consuming all the motivational materials from intellectuals old and new, around the time that I was rapidly discovering and learning about great artists and thought leaders throughout history.
BrainPickings is a treasure trove for this. It is carefully curated with condensed wisdom from Maria Popova’s interest on a wide range of subject and presented by her with so much beauty, soul and wisdom in the very language she uses. You name an influential person in history that you admire and there is a very high chance that she has a blog post on them.
However I seldom read the newsletters on my inbox these days, and it has nothing to do with it’s quality, as a matter of fact I appreciate them being on my inbox and a perfect me would be reading more of them instead of stealing time to watch clips of ‘Love and Hip Hop Atlanta’. It really has more to do with how I am prioritizing the use of my attention and time.
One newsletter on my inbox that did catch my attention very recently was a title from one of her blog post. So the way she does her titles is a bit unconventional. They serve as a lead up to what it is you are to get from the post. The title that had caught my attention, and has been on my mind ever since is this quote by Vincent Van Gogh:
“Whosoever loves much performs much, and can accomplish much, and what is done in love is well done!”
Romantical love all the way aside, this quote pins down this important idea of love being a motivator for greater service. One who is filled with love gives more and does more for others who they love or feel a sense of duty towards.
Someone exercising their talents without love but purely for self-absorbed reasons will face a wall in their path. The wall is themselves because they will never be able to please themselves or are too critical of themselves for their arts own good. This is me so far. I have been operating out of my ambition and my love is reserved for very few in my life – which is totally okay, but what needs to be there too is this other layer of love that can encompass all who I may write for or the general public who could possibly come across my work. I need to have love for this service that I am engaged in.
Not having that sense of love from within for the service that I have chosen means that I am not responsible or don’t feel accountable to anyone, so if I don’t show up it’s okay because I am only showing up for myself. Whereas with love, it is in my best interest to show up with all the abundance I could give. Love heals our art form. It connects our art to our heart, and when the heart is open to all there is so much goodness that I believe that could come out of our work – not only for everyone else but for ourselves. I suspect that it has to be a different kind of fulfillment altogether.
Think of it this way; first picture is of a loving mother cooking a big wholesome feast for her large family and second is that of a high maintenance supermodel, who is on a diet, making a salad for herself in her high rise apartment. Where would you rather be or who would you rather be?
Exactly my point!
Now do take a moment to read the post on Brainpickings, that this post is sort of loosely based on eventhough I haven’t read it myself. The post is based on the collection of Vincent Van Gogh’s letters titled ‘My Life & Love are One’. I will read it too straight after this post goes live.
I was awoken this morning – like every other morning these days – to the brightening sun shining right through the thin lace curtain covering the set of windows on one side of my room. At times I would drape a dark sheet over it if I know I need to sleep way past the time the sun rises. I have no urgent need to get that situation sorted. I like the look of the curtain and the feel of it; soft, calming and minimal, but it doesn’t allow me a little bit more snooze time. This past few days as well the sun has been rising very early and comes out full force; you get the 12 pm sun at 7 am in the mornting.
My phone network service provider Vodafone had turned the daylight saving time on early. I am not sure how that works or why that happened and I really do not care to know, but the advice that came from them was for us customers to turn off our automatic network time update so that the time reverts back, but I haven’t, and my phone time is still one hour ahead.
Last night I had set my alarm time to 7.30 am (actual time 6.30 am) but I woke up and saw that the time was 6.30 am on my phone. I didn’t feel tired or pissed because I woke up so early at 5.30 am in the morning resulting in me not getting my longed for and very elusive 8 hours of sleep. I was in bed at around 9.30 pm last night – we are talking actual time now. I read for a bit and then turned the lights off to sleep. What then kept me awake after that for awhile longer was the thought of this weird little toddler, who lives next door to our family house in Ba. Okay, he is actually my cousins son and he is exhibiting very early on at the age of 2 some of his fathers childhood trait that I am all too familiar with. Like his father used to, this toddler he throws stones, or any object beside him at people, when things doesn’t go his way.
So he would come over and play with my nephew and niece, mostly they prefer the outdoors – and it is exhausting having to keep up with them – and when he tries to grab the toys they are playing with and they don’t yield it to him this little toddler would picks up a rock (mostly) or anything around him and throw it my little adorable’s.
It was just yesterday that I was in Ba, and I witnessed an almost situation – apparently there have been a few incidents where they actually had something hit their heads or body – and the thought of that infuriated me as I laid in bed last night just thinking about it. I was so furious when the almost incident happened. I was shouting at the little toddler, who is barely able to speak and seem not to register in his mind whatever I was saying so I was basically shouting at him for his parents to hear, and I warned anyone that listening that if ever he throws something at my little angels I was gonna have my little angels – forgive me for my mouth and what I said – throw things at him too. And I was going to teach them to do that. I know it is not a good idea and I recalled my statement and just told my sister to supervise their play times or just social distance that little weird angry energy away from my sweet babies; Roro and Ema.
This morning I returned to work having spent a week off from it. Instead of feeling tired I made myself look forward to coming back with the goal of trying to improve a few things here and there and learning new thing – whatever and whatever. It’s the middle of the week and I walk into an empty office. I was totally minding my own business in my cubicle when this regular face from around the block knocks on the door. So this is someone who would be avoiding my gaze whenever I came around, or always seeming unsure whether to say ‘Hi’ with his face or with the back of his head and yes – of course its partly to do with me too as I have my moments when I will say hello to everybody and then those days when I just want to evade every unfamiliar gaze .
I opened the door. He asks me a few questions and and then repeatedly calls me boss. Being called a boss sounds so irky to me, and to refer to me when I am not makes me feel phony, so I stopped him mid-sentence, and told him; “Please don’t call me boss.” “Oh sorry” he apologized and then quickly added, “And whats your name?” “You can call me Kali.”
“Kali, my name is James,” he smiled.
“Nice to finally know you Jame’s,” I replied.
After the exchange of names, it seemed like the curtain between us fell and then in came the real him. Few minutes later we were laughing about a snarky comment I made about Tik Tok. Sometimes I can not believe some of the things I say. When all is cool I will make some corny, cringing remarks like we have known each other a long time. It’s embarrassing – like this post is embarrasing – but then I get over it quick. I really say stupid or weird stuffs that has the crickets creaking.
James stopped over a few times during the day to chat with me. My colleague walks in on us laughing. After he leaves she turns around and asks, “Wait, you know him?”
“Well, we just introduced ourselves to each other this morning,” I replied to her.
She makes a suspicious face and very loudly says, “You go girl, get it!”
I am so sure he heard it, because he had just barely left. Of course our conversation was all the innocent and neither did I think that way or wish for it to be that type of way. But, if it isn’t for Covid19 we wouldn’t have known each other.
These days I like getting to meet new people because I feel like I have this new set of interests and this new awareness that I want to test with people through conversations and interactions with people. Also I feel like I have been holed up in my bubble, or high tower, or dungeon, for too long and now I want to be let out to mingle. I have just signed myself up for a staff party at the end of this month. It’s about time I had a little a little bit of responsible fun in this very indulgent boring life I have been leading.
For the last two days I couldn’t help but be pulling down the internet page every fifteen minutes, refreshing the search feed on Google for the 2020 US election results, totally going against the practice that I have been having Cal Newport hammer into my head for the last few weeks. I am not a citizen of the United States of America – even though I would love to be someday – and in not so many ways do I feel directly affected by this election outcome but boy was I anxious about the result. Honestly, I have strong emotions and frustrations against that fucking Doanal Tramp and I am not above having very ill-wishes towards him. On that note, a hearty congratulations to President Joe Bidden and VP Kamala Harris, their win made me tear up and is the best news ever for this season that we are in.
These days I have been Keeping up a lot with the Kardashians. I have gained this whole new love and respect for them as their show finally comes to an end, especially the Beyoncé of the whole show; former sex tape star Kimmy who flipped that negative into this continuously thriving empire. It is really Reality TV that consumes a lot of my attention these days, some nights quite unhealthily. I keep it balanced by having no more than two favorites that I am invested in, others I just plainly cut off my viewing time for as soon as I develop some interest for the show. The Real Housewives of Potomac, and Atlanta (new season coming soon) is probably the only thing that has my blood boiling these days. Every now and then I find excitement too from my project; that project that needs no more talking about, but rather to finally show – which is probably several years, many processes and plenty devine interventions away from now. Apart from that I make myself read good ‘serious’ books and follow great thinkers like Cal Newport, who is my current intellectual obsession with his work on Digital Minimalisn and Deep Work – which could really be what finally changes my life.
Where the things I am interested in are intense and exciting, my life on the other hand is not quite so; it is pretty toned down and quite. I am appreciative, happy and accepting of life as it is now. I work in the Tourism industry and what a year it has been for us here in Fiji. Oh how things have changed, a landslide of compromising changes but the fact that – I hate to say this because I complained about a friend having the nerve to post this word up on Facebook – I have been ‘blessed’ to remain working is what probably helps in buoying me these days.
There also hasn’t been much stressors in my life, touch wood, and occasionally when something would pop up I am better now at approaching it, digesting it and managing it. But what would my life be if I had lost my job, not quite sure but I feel that it would have been the same. I attribute this to having conditioned myself to finding my zero, and I have been at zero ever since. Also from late last year I have been reevaluating some of my beliefs and changing my approach. Now I am understanding of the fact that life will not always be perfect. It is okay to make embarrassing mistakes. Something silly would happen and I would say it is okay and I would accept it and just move on. I have limitations and I work around that, like how I would be anxious of presenting to a crowd of more than 10 people, but then now I know how to work with that physical reaction to public speaking. There is no challenge too great to back down from, I just go for it. Just dancing around my fears, that’s what I do, sometimes badly, sometimes well enough.
There are days when we have to accept that we will be under fire. The days when I feel being so, when I am aware of being gossiped about or being the center of criticism I accept it because I know that there are bound to be good days and bad days as well. Toni Morrison said that only by getting ourselves through the fire can we finally reach the delicious destination called adulthood. The fire she is referring to here is the ultimate fire in life when you accept yourself, grieve deeply and reach the lowest of your lows helping you step out more stronger, stoic and wiser than ever.
There are the small, every now and then fires that can be easily put out. These days when I do come under fire I take a minute to feel bad for myself and then I think myself into being okay again. Life is a show and we have to turn up like a reality star, well dressed and prepared to show the haters why we deserve to stay on the show, but in a good way. Maybe it’s the reality television that is making me approach my situations from a third person perspective.
And then there are just the bad decisions I make, and the bad habits I engage in which I have learned to analyze and have a better understanding of. Oh lord, unless someone outs me then you will know what that is, and maybe I will do damage control with an essay on exactly what it is but for now I will tell you that I have bad habits and make bad decisions every second day. I am chill in my approach towards it, not a good thing I guess. I dont reprimand myself. I think of my life in its entirety and tell myself I am actually doing well considering all that is stacked against me. I mean, not by choice I am gay and will have to live a life that might seem unthinkable to some. So I am less harsh to myself and ask of myself to do better everytime I fall off the tracks.
Sometimes I feel like the universe tries to be very funny by playing two or three significant songs, one after the other, from a playlist of mine from many lifetimes ago. Especially when I am so unaware, catching me by surprise. The person playing the songs has no clue at all on their significance and these songs actually seem to be playing all by themselves at random. But it is the order in which the songs play that has me feeling that someone out there just might be playing a very bad joke on me; ‘ha ha ha, very funny’ in my head I say to whoever is listening to my thoughts, looking forward and upward to the sky.
While everyone else is chilling and maybe vibing to the songs – depressing as they are (it’s a Fijian thing I guess) – I am itching to pick up a huge rock and smash it on the stereo so the songs would stop playing. Of course I wouldn’t do that, as therapeutic the thought of it is, I instead sit there and endure them.
Now in October of 2021, these fucking songs still trigger back the same strong emotions and painful memories. With each words on the song my heart pumps sadness and ache which reaches my brain making me feel a bit light headed and disoriented. I ache and think of how my life is without that person. It pains me to realize loosing something that I felt was meant for me. It is silly, I know, however this is a natural human tendency to romanticize and believe that our lives had already been mapped out for us. That somethings are meant to be and two people being considered as being meant for each other.
These songs make me go there. Eventhough I am very much unwilling to go there, the songs grab me by the hands firmly and run me through the fire all over again. They are my songs from an unresolved past that I cared so much about. Songs of youthful plans, fun and games with bad endings that matured into sad endings.
Does it get better though? Do these songs loose their meaning eventually? I would really love to know the answers to that question for some of my questions may never be answered in this lifetime. And that’s okay. Life goes on so let the music play on as well.
Toni Morrison said something to the effect that she needed to write in order to stay alive. It was a way to order her life, a sacred sanctuary as well as supplication for her mind. Is that dramatic; a dramatized reason to write by a person who has made up her mind that her whole life and career is dedicated to the art of writing? Right about now, after the last few months without writing, I say that Queen Toni is of course speaking truth and practical wisdom. Writing is therapy, and that I have known for a long time, but more important is that writing helps us stay in touch with this sense of meaning. What is life without meaning or purpose? It’s just another darn day to stay alive.
If there is a current phenomenon in our time that has thrusted this need to create, to order, to articulate, that is this Covid19 pandemic. Let’s face it, for most of us, our lives was a mess before this pandemic. This pandemic sent us to our own rooms for a time out. I am not making light of the seriousness of this global health crises but seriously this has done us some good. I am not going to go into the specificity of how that is, you know how, we can see it all around us and I am confident you can feel it as well. It has been a time to reset our focus, or it has urged us to do so.
In the beginning I couldnt reach out for a pen to write. I stayed away for as long as I could. Those days when I didnt write I gather now in writing this that my wandering, sad, tired and unbothered mind started showing signs of a self that was emptying. I now gather that I was actually lacking and untethered to myself.
Writing again, well the first few attempts to write again, was a way to rope myself back in. It started with a creating a sense of peace in my mind to release the strain of life so that I can sit down and write. Writing is fighting I say – fighting against the noise, the chaos inside in order to create a calm that allows us to better perceive the outside. I want to understand, first and foremost, about myself which is why I write. If I dont understand me than I wouldnt be able to understand life around me.
Writing for me, not for anyone else but for me, is important. As selfish as this task seem, or as self absorbed the reason is, I gather from reading others that in writing as honestly we can for ourselves we may in turn help others find themselves. We are so much diffirent as individuals, but many of our experiences are universal, atleast all of our truths are.
Its almost the end of January now. Shortly it will be February, and then within February there is the Valentines Day. I have long given up on that perfect Valentines idea.
That aside I think of how much things can change within a course of a year. The self that we are changes. Things that we may like or dislike changes, and things that we value or where our thoughts and efforts lie changes as well.
It is with that notion that I find this blogging exercise interesting. To find out all that changes. The process of the change. That is interesting to me. I understand that change happens everyday and I wanna see the transition of how it happens.
I am currently, still reading Sally Rooneys book ‘Normal People’. She is brilliant. And the themes are very much familiar to me, the experiences of the characters, parts of it speaks to me because it is similar to mine. I guess that is what literature is, and I find that it has always done for me – speaking to a self that I know within me and those who are part of my life in a significant way.
I have been doing well at keeping distractions away from me, or atleast the main distractor. The other night I was crying in bed, balling my eyes out. This was sparked by a Bob Dylan song that he once dedicated to me. I cried because it was unfair how I was treated, and that I didn’t deserved to be emotionally abused as I was. I admitted that I loved this person, and I still have him in my heart and I take full ownership and responsibility. It is all on me, I take it all on. I released him.
The following day which was yesterday I felt so calm, and all interaction I had with him was bland. I would like to think that I am finally unloving this person who took great pleasure in emotionally abusing me. No more hard feelings I hope because I am really holding my head high now and without trepidation I will march on to my happiness without him.
It’s Wednesday and raining outside now. There is some news of an incoming tropical cyclone. The second one within the last 3 months. Yesterday I missed a post, simply because I was so tired. I am 26 years old and happily employed and work is so full on. There is this gratification I get in knowing that I am doing things well and I am right there with all my work stuffs. That I am putting in my pays worth of work, unlike some people who have the audacity not to.
Sometimes I would think that I can do some writing during the work day. Minimize the Word Document and type when no one is looking. But I could never get around to doing it. There is just a lot to do, and considering that i have a very limited time to perform all of them the pressure is on. 9 hours is just not enough.
I came home late last night, had my dinner and decided to do no reading, do no watching You Tube videos of writers or Wendy Williams or a TV series on Netflix. I decided to make a sacrifice and just sleep. I folded all my clothes and neatly arranged stuffs before I went off to sleep. I was prepping myself to go to sleep by organizing things in my room.
What about just making it my priority to get properly ready to sleep, and sleeping an appropriate amount of hours. After last night I had to put in my head that sleep also ranks high in the list of things that are important. And a bed is a special place that should be devoted to sleep. Well I will try to honor that and starting with rules like no reading in bed, no watching movies in bed and maybe include other specific type of things not to be done in bed.