in no particular order of importance
Money. I like money, I like having money. Money enables me to do things that I would otherwise not be able to do. Money brings comfort, like warm shelter, blankets, internet connection, umbrella (especially when it rains), socks and boots (for warmth in winter), fried chicken, etc. Without money, all of these comfortable necessities would have to be eliminated. And I am spoilt for comfort. So for that reason alone, I willingly work for money.
Work. I like working - I feel like I am at my best when I am working. I am efficient, I am alert, I am aware and I am doing the best that I can every moment of every second that I am at work. I like waking up and dressing up on the morning, because I want to look my best for the day. I like investing time and money in my physical appearance. It makes me feel better about life. Sort of, you know.
Beauty. This is such a sensitive topic of conversation. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I get that. I have a weakness for beautiful things. I can't help it. I am superficial. Beauty is important, a lot more important than I previously thought - admittedly, growing up, I did not realise how important it is, until of course, after about a few decades of living, I realise how much bias there is towards beautiful people - they get treated better, they get all the good stuff, they get away with a lot of shit. And yes it is so fucking superficial, but that is the way it is. I don't think I am alone in liking beautiful things: people like beautiful things, people love beautiful people. Otherwise, how can make up and clothes and shoes and handbags become multi million dollars industries.
Choosing between beauty or brain - I don't know, because I don't know what it feels to be ridiculously beautiful, nor do I know what it feels to be ridiculously smart. I think right now I have a little bit of both, but if I were to choose only one, I am not sure which one I would choose. I don't know if I prefer to be someone so breathtakingly beautiful or someone who is super smart.
Happiness is largely illusionary. If you think you are happy, then you are happy. If you don't think you are happy, then you are not happy. So think it like you mean it - and then it happens. Happiness is not about the total absence of sadness. It is about believing that the life that you have right now is the best life that you have thus far. And that life keeps getting better everyday, even when it is not immediately obvious to you.
Feelings are illogical. Just because you feel something doesn't necessarily mean it's true. When you feel unwanted, it does not necessarily mean that the other person really doesn't want you. Feelings are illogical. Reasons cannot trump feelings sometimes, it's part of the deal of being human. You don't get to choose what you feel, really. When you suppress your feelings, that's like ... dangerous. Because really, when you feel something, what you can do is exactly that, feel it. Stop everything for just one moment, and feel it. Feel it seeping through your bones, both the good and the bad. Because to be able to feel is part of being alive.
But if you tell me that you feel unwanted by me, then the least that I can do is to acknowledge that feeling and sincerely apologise for making you feel that way. I always want to justify to myself that if I never intended to do so then the fact that it was unintentional would make it somewhat acceptable. Truth is that, it does not. Whether I intended to do so or not is irrelevant because the end result is what it is. The least that I could do is to acknowledge your feelings and take responsibility for the part I played in it.
If you don't tell me your feelings, don't expect me to know them. I am not psychic, yet.
Love. There are some people in my life that I love a lot. And some of these people are difficult to love. And for some of these people, they are perpetually difficult to love. I learn that love doesn't need a reason. Because no matter how difficult it is to love them, I would still love them anyway, no matter what happens. And there are no words that can describe this. And that's okay.
Honesty. Honesty is expensive. Don't expect it from cheap people. - Warren Buffet
one day, we can remember the pain, the reason we cried and who caused us pain, without feeling the pain. we will eventually come to the realisation that the key to being free is not revenge, but letting things unfold in their own way, in their own time. after all, what matters is not the first, nor is it the last chapter of our lives - rather how well we ran the race, each and every step of the way, especially how we get up after we fall. so, smile, laugh, forgive, believe, and love ridiculously all over again.
Thursday, 21 August 2014
Friday, 27 June 2014
Where expectation and reality collide
'should be, could be, would be - those phrases do not exist in my vocabulary. The fact is, the way it is is the way it is...'
Just a short note today which is pretty much my impression on someone that I recently met, through some serendipitous circumstances (always make room for serendipity, guys! You’ll never know what’s waiting for you on the other side.) and a reconciliation of my thoughts on marriage.
One of the many lessons that I learn is, if I can put a label on it, about detachment. Or perhaps, even that constitutes an inaccurate description. It is about not being caught up in the outcome of things. In life we have dreams and aspirations and for some of us who are lucky enough to know what these are and are actively taking steps so that we could be closer to them, it is easy to forget that the process is just as important as the destination. In our minds, we have this image of success that constitutes us achieving a particular outcome. And we often forget to understand that things are going to happen that are outside our control, and the only thing we can do about these is to accept them and move on.
It is always tempting to try to control life so that everything happens the way we want it to be, after all, having this image of our dreams can be a powerful tool to influence our behaviours and direct our actions to manipulate life into giving us what we want. Yet life does not always work this way. When we get so attached to what we desperately want to happen, which is the reason why we do what we do, well, we are not exactly living life the way we should be.
It has taken me a very long time to understand this. When I put forth an analytical view of my life and everything that’s in it, and then I project different outcomes through some sort of scenario analysis, there is never any guarantee that these intended outcomes will follow the executed course of action. This is because change is a constant, things are going to change, people are going to change, and that includes us, if we are lucky.
What this really means is that one day, we may feel one way about something, and tomorrow, we may feel differently about the same thing. I really really like consuming fried chicken these days, but there is always that possibility that tomorrow I may stop liking it altogether. I am relatively young and relatively healthy right now, and I know that consuming fried chicken is not the best thing I can do for my body, so in a way, I sort of anticipate that the day will come that I will cease liking fried chicken consumption. And why not? Why should I allow my current self to determine my food consumption pattern for the rest of my life?
This same logic applies to everything else, to any kind of relationships. I am going to apply this to the most important relationship in my life, being my marriage.
I am married to the most wonderful man in my life. I wanted to marry him (want to stay married to him) and I am in love with him. Before I married him, this thought did cross my mind: what if I stop feeling this way about him? What if we both don’t feel love towards each other at some point? What if this and what if that – the list of what if’s are endless. This is what you get if you have an analytical mind like mine.
The answer is that I don’t know. All that I know is that at that point in time (and at this point in time), I have every intention of loving him for the rest of my life, as I am sure he to me. This is perhaps the only thing that I can be certain of because everything else is yet to happen. This is working for the time being, and it seems to be working fine. We have the common goal of making it work, so we promise to evolve with whatever change that comes our way.
The outcome of this well-meaning intention can be anything, really. We, or I should say, I, take comfort in giving this my best shot, while being open-minded about what the outcome would be. I can only hope that we both change in directions that are mostly compatible with each other and most beneficial for us as individuals. I want my husband to be able to do whatever he wants to do, so that he can continue to move in the direction that makes his heart sings, and I hope he wants the same for me.
The very same logic applies to all kinds of relationships. In the beginning, two people seemingly serendipitous-ly bumped into each other, got talking and started being friends. As they live their lives, they grow as individuals, as every human being would; they change with time. If they are lucky they change for the better; if they are really really lucky, they change each other for the better, and still remain friends for years to come. However, sometimes, the alternative happens: they grow apart, and no matter how hard they work on the friendship, despite their best intentions, it is just not happening. This is neither good nor bad. The fact is that, the way it is is the way it is. Thus we detach ourselves to the outcome of the relationship, or our expectation of the outcome, or the idea of how the friendship should be, and instead appreciate the friendship for what it really is: a friendship.
Relax, and just live.
Just a short note today which is pretty much my impression on someone that I recently met, through some serendipitous circumstances (always make room for serendipity, guys! You’ll never know what’s waiting for you on the other side.) and a reconciliation of my thoughts on marriage.
One of the many lessons that I learn is, if I can put a label on it, about detachment. Or perhaps, even that constitutes an inaccurate description. It is about not being caught up in the outcome of things. In life we have dreams and aspirations and for some of us who are lucky enough to know what these are and are actively taking steps so that we could be closer to them, it is easy to forget that the process is just as important as the destination. In our minds, we have this image of success that constitutes us achieving a particular outcome. And we often forget to understand that things are going to happen that are outside our control, and the only thing we can do about these is to accept them and move on.
It is always tempting to try to control life so that everything happens the way we want it to be, after all, having this image of our dreams can be a powerful tool to influence our behaviours and direct our actions to manipulate life into giving us what we want. Yet life does not always work this way. When we get so attached to what we desperately want to happen, which is the reason why we do what we do, well, we are not exactly living life the way we should be.
It has taken me a very long time to understand this. When I put forth an analytical view of my life and everything that’s in it, and then I project different outcomes through some sort of scenario analysis, there is never any guarantee that these intended outcomes will follow the executed course of action. This is because change is a constant, things are going to change, people are going to change, and that includes us, if we are lucky.
What this really means is that one day, we may feel one way about something, and tomorrow, we may feel differently about the same thing. I really really like consuming fried chicken these days, but there is always that possibility that tomorrow I may stop liking it altogether. I am relatively young and relatively healthy right now, and I know that consuming fried chicken is not the best thing I can do for my body, so in a way, I sort of anticipate that the day will come that I will cease liking fried chicken consumption. And why not? Why should I allow my current self to determine my food consumption pattern for the rest of my life?
This same logic applies to everything else, to any kind of relationships. I am going to apply this to the most important relationship in my life, being my marriage.
I am married to the most wonderful man in my life. I wanted to marry him (want to stay married to him) and I am in love with him. Before I married him, this thought did cross my mind: what if I stop feeling this way about him? What if we both don’t feel love towards each other at some point? What if this and what if that – the list of what if’s are endless. This is what you get if you have an analytical mind like mine.
The answer is that I don’t know. All that I know is that at that point in time (and at this point in time), I have every intention of loving him for the rest of my life, as I am sure he to me. This is perhaps the only thing that I can be certain of because everything else is yet to happen. This is working for the time being, and it seems to be working fine. We have the common goal of making it work, so we promise to evolve with whatever change that comes our way.
The outcome of this well-meaning intention can be anything, really. We, or I should say, I, take comfort in giving this my best shot, while being open-minded about what the outcome would be. I can only hope that we both change in directions that are mostly compatible with each other and most beneficial for us as individuals. I want my husband to be able to do whatever he wants to do, so that he can continue to move in the direction that makes his heart sings, and I hope he wants the same for me.
The very same logic applies to all kinds of relationships. In the beginning, two people seemingly serendipitous-ly bumped into each other, got talking and started being friends. As they live their lives, they grow as individuals, as every human being would; they change with time. If they are lucky they change for the better; if they are really really lucky, they change each other for the better, and still remain friends for years to come. However, sometimes, the alternative happens: they grow apart, and no matter how hard they work on the friendship, despite their best intentions, it is just not happening. This is neither good nor bad. The fact is that, the way it is is the way it is. Thus we detach ourselves to the outcome of the relationship, or our expectation of the outcome, or the idea of how the friendship should be, and instead appreciate the friendship for what it really is: a friendship.
Relax, and just live.
Saturday, 21 June 2014
On running and a crisis of mortality
This is going to be one of those posts that you get after a few weeks of hiatus. As some of you have cleverly pointed out, there is a lag between the first draft and the publishing of the posts on this blog. So, while most of the time the first draft is written close to the actual events happening, the time of publishing puts everything out of whack. Just bear this simple fact in mind when you are reading okay.
The good news to most of you is that I am still alive, still breathing, still living, and yes, still running. The last bit is, to me, a rather odd question that people ask. Yes, I am in and out of various injuries, but I don't tell you about most of them, so there is no way that you know them because I haven't told you. So the conversation goes like this.
Q: Do you still run?
Me: Yep.
And then silence.
I don't know what to make out of that, to be honest, so most of the time I just don't answer the question altogether. I mean, it is no coincidence that the people that I asked these questions often are not people who run on a regular basis. Yes, I notice these things - I see trends and patterns when others don't.
The question is almost as annoying as people who say they are busy, and I am one of these annoying people. I am so sorry. I don't mean any disrespect when I say that, most of the time, it is merely a statement of fact. I was told the other day that there is a fine line of being honest and being rude. I have a feeling that I have often blurred this line far too many times.
These days, running is something that I do for fun, I derive this irrationally odd pleasure out of it. I get excited at the idea of a run, get excited during the start of the run, feel a lot of pain during the run, and then this pleasurable tiredness at the end. It is addictive. If I could run everyday, I totally would. I run often enough to keep myself entertained, but no where near what I did during this time last year, when I was training for the City2Surf.
I admit to one frustration, and that's my left shin. That is the one point that I feel is very weak due to the recurring shin splints in the past few months. On the grand scheme of things that could go wrong when one runs so much, I get that this is a very minor issue, but an issue nonetheless. I would not say I have found a cure, but I do find changing shoes very helpful. I am currently running with a pair of ASIC's and am seriously considering switching back to Nike's.
Last night before I fell asleep I had a crisis of mortality.
I am not dying. I don't have a chronic illness, at least not yet diagnosed that I know of. I do not know what it feels like to be dying. All that I experienced, mostly self-induced, was a crisis of mortality mostly in the form of what would happen if I die.
I would not delude myself; the world will not be less for my cessation of existence. There will definitely be no more writing, no more random thoughts published in this blog (at least not mine), and perhaps slowly, this blog (and Project RumnRaisin) will just wither into cyberspace. I don't think the office would miss me, but my friends and loved ones would, and the latter are the ones who have to live with the associated agony.
And I would not be around to soothe them off their pain, in fact, my passing would probably be the sole reason for it. Is it even possible to do something for them to at least alleviate this impending pain while I still can? Would all the memories that we have shared and created be good enough to keep strong during the times that they need them the most.
If I have the choice, I would prefer to die in not too much pain. And preferably surrounded by people I love, after leaving them with the knowledge of what they mean to me. This sounds clichéd and somewhat, well, predictably saintly. Right now though, at the time of writing, that is the only thing that I could think about. Just as well, because this is the one thing that feels right to me.
If I can leave them with some comfort to help them live in peace with the time they have remaining, then I guess that would be my going-away present.
The good news to most of you is that I am still alive, still breathing, still living, and yes, still running. The last bit is, to me, a rather odd question that people ask. Yes, I am in and out of various injuries, but I don't tell you about most of them, so there is no way that you know them because I haven't told you. So the conversation goes like this.
Q: Do you still run?
Me: Yep.
And then silence.
I don't know what to make out of that, to be honest, so most of the time I just don't answer the question altogether. I mean, it is no coincidence that the people that I asked these questions often are not people who run on a regular basis. Yes, I notice these things - I see trends and patterns when others don't.
The question is almost as annoying as people who say they are busy, and I am one of these annoying people. I am so sorry. I don't mean any disrespect when I say that, most of the time, it is merely a statement of fact. I was told the other day that there is a fine line of being honest and being rude. I have a feeling that I have often blurred this line far too many times.
These days, running is something that I do for fun, I derive this irrationally odd pleasure out of it. I get excited at the idea of a run, get excited during the start of the run, feel a lot of pain during the run, and then this pleasurable tiredness at the end. It is addictive. If I could run everyday, I totally would. I run often enough to keep myself entertained, but no where near what I did during this time last year, when I was training for the City2Surf.
I admit to one frustration, and that's my left shin. That is the one point that I feel is very weak due to the recurring shin splints in the past few months. On the grand scheme of things that could go wrong when one runs so much, I get that this is a very minor issue, but an issue nonetheless. I would not say I have found a cure, but I do find changing shoes very helpful. I am currently running with a pair of ASIC's and am seriously considering switching back to Nike's.
Last night before I fell asleep I had a crisis of mortality.
I am not dying. I don't have a chronic illness, at least not yet diagnosed that I know of. I do not know what it feels like to be dying. All that I experienced, mostly self-induced, was a crisis of mortality mostly in the form of what would happen if I die.
I would not delude myself; the world will not be less for my cessation of existence. There will definitely be no more writing, no more random thoughts published in this blog (at least not mine), and perhaps slowly, this blog (and Project RumnRaisin) will just wither into cyberspace. I don't think the office would miss me, but my friends and loved ones would, and the latter are the ones who have to live with the associated agony.
And I would not be around to soothe them off their pain, in fact, my passing would probably be the sole reason for it. Is it even possible to do something for them to at least alleviate this impending pain while I still can? Would all the memories that we have shared and created be good enough to keep strong during the times that they need them the most.
If I have the choice, I would prefer to die in not too much pain. And preferably surrounded by people I love, after leaving them with the knowledge of what they mean to me. This sounds clichéd and somewhat, well, predictably saintly. Right now though, at the time of writing, that is the only thing that I could think about. Just as well, because this is the one thing that feels right to me.
If I can leave them with some comfort to help them live in peace with the time they have remaining, then I guess that would be my going-away present.
Sunday, 25 May 2014
It may have just been a moment for you
In 2008, just after I graduated and begun my days as a doctor, I had the fortunate opportunity to spend some time in the United States of America with my cousin's family. Also in 2008, I started getting really close to this friend that I met during one of the brief working stint I had with a company in down town Sydney. She invited me over her place and I gladly went over, and ended up hanging out with her family on a very regular basis. She pretty much regarded me as part of the family: we celebrate our birthdays every year together ever since.
If any of my previous posts were any indication of my life to date, you would have deduced correctly that I never had much of a family life. Life works in a rather mysterious way. I find it rather ironic that other people's families tend to 'adopt' me; they are so so kind, far more than words can ever describe. If I was ever angry at God for depriving me of some sort of loving familial connection, then He more than makes up for it through all of the wonderful people in my life. I am talking about the people who cut up fruits for me - like a lot of fruits, the kinds that are difficult to cut, like pineapples, jackfruits and durian.
Last week these two mothers passed away.
***
I am currently in a painful state of mind; no matter what it is I think about, it always reverts to the events in 2008. A lot of good things happened in 2008, and equally painful things happened at the same time. I am not going to lie, it was perhaps one of the most difficult years I've ever had to go through to date. These terrible ones, I block in my mind so that I don't think about them constantly.
I want to analyse grief, because that is my coping mechanism - analysing everything I could get my hands on. This emotion is nothing like any other emotions that have ever come my way. I have failed, I have loss, but not to this degree. In fact, if I could make a comparison (which I really shouldn't), this makes everything else falls pale in comparison. This pain is unpleasant and uncomfortable, and I want to short-circuit my grieving process so that I can stop feeling so debilitated. I can't.
Dare I even say that I am scared of my own emotions, of not being able to control them, of being controlled by them, to the extent that I start showing them physically? I have been avoiding people's eyes a lot more these days because I do not want them to notice the sadness in mine, but there are those who still notice because they care. I have been avoiding talking about this in real life because I know I would not be able to control the flow of tears despite not wanting to cry about this any more. But there are those who still care, there are those who are pained when they see me in pain. There are still a lot of good things in this life.
It crossed my mind, on how differently it would be if these two events did not happen round about the same time. Would I have felt differently, and if yes, how differently. I guess I will never know the answer to that. In one corner of my mind, I can't stop thinking of why these happened at the same time. There must be a reason, and I wonder what that reason is.
Some time ago, I whined to a friend about something (which I can't remember), and she said that it is a test - we get tested on the things in life to ensure that we have learned from them, and then we can advance to the next round. What is this lesson that I am supposed to learn?
I don't want to sort to any of the clichés there is, not withstanding that none comes up to my mind right now. There are two words that do - good enough. Being a perfectionist, I spend the majority of my life overlooking how powerful these concepts can be. I would very much like to be the best, and I often forget that I am good enough.
Once upon a time, I was good enough.
Thank you for your love.
“It may have just been a moment for you, but it changed every single one that followed for me.” – I Wrote This for You (Flourish in Progress)
If any of my previous posts were any indication of my life to date, you would have deduced correctly that I never had much of a family life. Life works in a rather mysterious way. I find it rather ironic that other people's families tend to 'adopt' me; they are so so kind, far more than words can ever describe. If I was ever angry at God for depriving me of some sort of loving familial connection, then He more than makes up for it through all of the wonderful people in my life. I am talking about the people who cut up fruits for me - like a lot of fruits, the kinds that are difficult to cut, like pineapples, jackfruits and durian.
Last week these two mothers passed away.
***
I am currently in a painful state of mind; no matter what it is I think about, it always reverts to the events in 2008. A lot of good things happened in 2008, and equally painful things happened at the same time. I am not going to lie, it was perhaps one of the most difficult years I've ever had to go through to date. These terrible ones, I block in my mind so that I don't think about them constantly.
I want to analyse grief, because that is my coping mechanism - analysing everything I could get my hands on. This emotion is nothing like any other emotions that have ever come my way. I have failed, I have loss, but not to this degree. In fact, if I could make a comparison (which I really shouldn't), this makes everything else falls pale in comparison. This pain is unpleasant and uncomfortable, and I want to short-circuit my grieving process so that I can stop feeling so debilitated. I can't.
Dare I even say that I am scared of my own emotions, of not being able to control them, of being controlled by them, to the extent that I start showing them physically? I have been avoiding people's eyes a lot more these days because I do not want them to notice the sadness in mine, but there are those who still notice because they care. I have been avoiding talking about this in real life because I know I would not be able to control the flow of tears despite not wanting to cry about this any more. But there are those who still care, there are those who are pained when they see me in pain. There are still a lot of good things in this life.
It crossed my mind, on how differently it would be if these two events did not happen round about the same time. Would I have felt differently, and if yes, how differently. I guess I will never know the answer to that. In one corner of my mind, I can't stop thinking of why these happened at the same time. There must be a reason, and I wonder what that reason is.
Some time ago, I whined to a friend about something (which I can't remember), and she said that it is a test - we get tested on the things in life to ensure that we have learned from them, and then we can advance to the next round. What is this lesson that I am supposed to learn?
I don't want to sort to any of the clichés there is, not withstanding that none comes up to my mind right now. There are two words that do - good enough. Being a perfectionist, I spend the majority of my life overlooking how powerful these concepts can be. I would very much like to be the best, and I often forget that I am good enough.
Once upon a time, I was good enough.
Thank you for your love.
“It may have just been a moment for you, but it changed every single one that followed for me.” – I Wrote This for You (Flourish in Progress)
Tuesday, 20 May 2014
She and I: the writing of
I would like to begin by saying thank you – thank you so so much to all of you who bothered reading She and I and then sharing your thoughts with me. This was something I was not expecting at all, so this has taken me by surprise, and makes me all the more happy that I decided to write that piece.
It was not an easy exercise, it was hard, it was difficult like it was the most difficult thing there was. I wanted to write a piece about my step mother for a year before it finally happened. I locked myself down for the whole weekend and managed to hit publish on Sunday afternoon. So you can imagine how it was rather awkward this morning when I was randomly asked by a familiar stranger: how was your mothers’ day – because I don’t know if she was under the impression that I was a mother (I am not) or that she knew about what really happened during the mother’s day weekend (the writing of She and I). I very nearly blurted out “have you read my blog” but didn’t because, I don’t know, it would make the conversation more awkward?
I think it is rather presumptuous of our society to assume that every person in this planet looks forward to mothers’ day, simply because that assumption conveniently disregards the painful fact that there are people in this planet who do not get on well with their mothers and do the mothers’ day thing out of obligation. If we can all write about all of our experiences, both the good and the bad, then hopefully we can all learn from each other, most importantly, learning from ourselves, about ourselves, what makes us click as individuals. I make a decision, a long time ago, to only publish pieces on this blog that are of a positive nature. I do write about painful stuff, and I do not want anyone in this planet to ever see those, so I just burn them straight away. (Actually, it is more like delete.)
It goes without saying that I have lost count of the drafts that I had written prior to the weekend of writing She and I. But let me just say this: the end result as you see it is nothing like the prior drafts. I don’t wish to ever publish them, and I don’t see them as a waste either; rather, I see them as the necessary steps into creating the final piece, the whole process counts because I get to know myself better. For the longest time I struggle to write it for I always ended up comparing the two mothers that I have, despite my strong refusal to do so a priori. I understand that the concept of relativity can be powerful like that, which is all the more reason for me not to fall into that particular ‘trap’ because my step mother is a remarkable woman to me independent of how my mother is. I do not believe that it is fair to compare the two women in their capacities as mothers because their roles are fundamentally different, and neither one of them can replace the other.
I acknowledge that there are people who do not get on well with their step-mothers (and step parents), and I do not wish to trivialise this issue at all. All that I want to say (and I hope this comes across well in the original piece) is that my step mother means a lot to me; to her, I am good enough. The concept of good enough was a foreign concept to me until I met her, because I am more the perfectionist, which makes me somewhat rather negative because I tend to focus on the things for improvement, which I want to improve on, to fix, to make better, just because I think I can. Truth of the matter is that, it is not about whether I can fix it or not, it is about focusing on what I do already have, right here in front of me, all the good stuff, so that I can start appreciating them, and giving thanks for how lucky I am. If there is any lesson that I can learn in terms of how to live, then this would be it. Because oddly enough, it is when we give that we actually receive.
When the going gets tough as they often do, I try to be this person that my step mother thinks I am. It is not about being remarkable, nor extra ordinary, just simply good enough. Because I don't have to be perfect to be good enough. And when you're good enough, well, you're good enough, for love.
It was not an easy exercise, it was hard, it was difficult like it was the most difficult thing there was. I wanted to write a piece about my step mother for a year before it finally happened. I locked myself down for the whole weekend and managed to hit publish on Sunday afternoon. So you can imagine how it was rather awkward this morning when I was randomly asked by a familiar stranger: how was your mothers’ day – because I don’t know if she was under the impression that I was a mother (I am not) or that she knew about what really happened during the mother’s day weekend (the writing of She and I). I very nearly blurted out “have you read my blog” but didn’t because, I don’t know, it would make the conversation more awkward?
I think it is rather presumptuous of our society to assume that every person in this planet looks forward to mothers’ day, simply because that assumption conveniently disregards the painful fact that there are people in this planet who do not get on well with their mothers and do the mothers’ day thing out of obligation. If we can all write about all of our experiences, both the good and the bad, then hopefully we can all learn from each other, most importantly, learning from ourselves, about ourselves, what makes us click as individuals. I make a decision, a long time ago, to only publish pieces on this blog that are of a positive nature. I do write about painful stuff, and I do not want anyone in this planet to ever see those, so I just burn them straight away. (Actually, it is more like delete.)
It goes without saying that I have lost count of the drafts that I had written prior to the weekend of writing She and I. But let me just say this: the end result as you see it is nothing like the prior drafts. I don’t wish to ever publish them, and I don’t see them as a waste either; rather, I see them as the necessary steps into creating the final piece, the whole process counts because I get to know myself better. For the longest time I struggle to write it for I always ended up comparing the two mothers that I have, despite my strong refusal to do so a priori. I understand that the concept of relativity can be powerful like that, which is all the more reason for me not to fall into that particular ‘trap’ because my step mother is a remarkable woman to me independent of how my mother is. I do not believe that it is fair to compare the two women in their capacities as mothers because their roles are fundamentally different, and neither one of them can replace the other.
I acknowledge that there are people who do not get on well with their step-mothers (and step parents), and I do not wish to trivialise this issue at all. All that I want to say (and I hope this comes across well in the original piece) is that my step mother means a lot to me; to her, I am good enough. The concept of good enough was a foreign concept to me until I met her, because I am more the perfectionist, which makes me somewhat rather negative because I tend to focus on the things for improvement, which I want to improve on, to fix, to make better, just because I think I can. Truth of the matter is that, it is not about whether I can fix it or not, it is about focusing on what I do already have, right here in front of me, all the good stuff, so that I can start appreciating them, and giving thanks for how lucky I am. If there is any lesson that I can learn in terms of how to live, then this would be it. Because oddly enough, it is when we give that we actually receive.
When the going gets tough as they often do, I try to be this person that my step mother thinks I am. It is not about being remarkable, nor extra ordinary, just simply good enough. Because I don't have to be perfect to be good enough. And when you're good enough, well, you're good enough, for love.
Sunday, 11 May 2014
She and I
She and I met through fate. Her presence in my life is a constant reminder to believe that things happen for a reason, and this reason is a good reason, even when it is not always obvious to me at the time. On our very first meeting, our worlds did not collide; I was too sceptical for that. I don't think I liked her straight away. This is not to say that she is not immediately likeable, because she is, but more that I was not easily relate-able. What can I say - I am like that. But I had to admit that I was intrigued by her. My curiosity got the better of me, as it always does, and perhaps to a certain degree, it was desperation, on my part, for something, anything that could be ... better. When you are pushed against an invisible wall, and you feel like you are slowly and surely being crushed, the helplessness makes you want out, just like that. It wasn't apparent to me at the time, but she ended up being my way out.
Our worlds merge, slowly. In the first few days of spending time with each other, we bonded through food. Obviously nothing has changed over the years: I wanted to eat a lot of things, I was rather incapable of feeding myself, so she kindly fed me (as in provided food for me, as opposed to spoon-feeding me). That became my first impression of her: that she was a giving person. Over the years, I witness an increasing willingness on her part to invest in this relationship where there is no guarantee of positive return: she continues to give, sincerely.
I got to know her and she got to know me. Prior to meeting me (as I later found out), she had heard a lot of things about me, mostly unpleasant, unfortunately, because what can I say, people are like that. Or perhaps, I should have put it as, I was famous like that, but I doubt that I was. I did little to undo that initial knowledge and I am also pretty sure that the first impression I gave her only served to provide evidentiary support of those things people said. Le sigh. I wasn't out to impress her. But I was aching to know if this person was willing to know me despite my shortcomings, my flaws and my weaknesses – and boy, there were (and still are) plenty. Besides, if this thing were to be something that I wanted ever so terribly (and would never admit to in a thousand years) then it only made sense to me that whatever it is that we were about to establish was built on the foundation of trust. Trust is not given freely, my friend, it is earned over time, through hard work and a lot of effort, with constant sprinklings of this thing called love.
The underlying characteristic of a lot of my relationships is that we are separated by distance, the Pacific Ocean to be precise. Needless to say, the physical moments that we shared are limited, and subsequently, physical proximity did (and still does) make everything better. Yet most of the time, it is non-physical. These other moments are equally as compelling, that moment when you close your eyes and you listen to the person's voice on the other end of the line. The moment whereby you know that you have to have this difficult conversation - and we have had a lot of difficult conversations over the years. She finds time for me and in the process made me feel not just important, but more importantly, wanted. I didn't even realise I had all of these issues until I had the opportunity to experience the healing through her kindness.
Because she listens, she teaches me that the mere act of listening can change someone's life for the better. It is almost ironic that the communication that changes people is the ones that involve very little words. A TED talk is almost always inspiring; but when you truly listen, at least for that moment in time, you can make someone feel heard and accepted. She empathises with me; and by doing so, she manages to influence my thoughts and emotions in a positive way. Her simple act of listening is so powerful. She is a great communicator, she is honest and she is transparent.
She is the person who has shown me how to live. She doesn't have to love me but I feel that she does, constantly, all the time. And as a result, I feel as if I belong. And if anyone of you out there has ever felt the opposite, i.e. not belonged, then you would understand how important it is to feel this way, if only for one moment in time. Because in that moment, everything makes sense, that everything happens as they are supposed to, and that everything is going to be alright.
It was, and still is, a simultaneously emotionally exhausting and fulfilling journey, and has been, by far, one of the most rewarding things I have done in my life. I am so glad that I met her, that I had the chance to establish and grow this relationship with her. She is the one thing that changed my life. Without her, I would not be the person that I am today. She has been my rock, my strength, my counsel.
She is my step mother.
Preamble:
This mothers’ day, I would like to write something about a special someone that has largely been left out on the mothers’ day celebrations: the step mothers.
My parents' divorce still remains, to this day, a subject that is taboo to discuss in the dinner table, although to be completely honest, it depends on who is at the dinner table and what is being eaten, and more importantly, where the dinner is taking place. This is the norm in my family - we just do not talk about the things that are hurtful like this, we do not engage in these kinds of interactions. I personally feel I am somewhat stunted in this department as a result, and for the longest time, I harboured a personal anger that I wasn't able to attribute to anything. When you have been deprived of a family connection that you so much yearned for, it is only normal that you become fucked-up as a result, even when you would not want to admit to it in a thousand years. It is not about a personal denial, or about blaming your parents; it is just a deep refusal to accept that this is what you've got; this is what you've been given, because you were so desperate for something else.
I have always viewed myself as someone who is incredibly lucky, I don't know how I got so lucky, but I realise that in I have been blessed in a lot of ways that I can't even begin to describe. When I think about the moments that change my life, or specifically, the people that change my life, I would list my step mother as the top person on that list.
I had the idea of writing this during last year’s mothers’ day. This is one of those things that I have always wanted to write, and have never been able to, for a myriad of reasons mostly rooted in my fear of other people's reaction. Granted by taking this risk, I acknowledge that there is an impending possibility that unfavourable reactions may occur. All I can say is, to be sceptical of a meaningful step-mother-step-daughter relationship is to entirely misunderstand and undermine the power of love.
Let yourself be known and love with your whole heart, even though there is no guarantee that you’ll be accepted. -fiftycoffees.com
Our worlds merge, slowly. In the first few days of spending time with each other, we bonded through food. Obviously nothing has changed over the years: I wanted to eat a lot of things, I was rather incapable of feeding myself, so she kindly fed me (as in provided food for me, as opposed to spoon-feeding me). That became my first impression of her: that she was a giving person. Over the years, I witness an increasing willingness on her part to invest in this relationship where there is no guarantee of positive return: she continues to give, sincerely.
I got to know her and she got to know me. Prior to meeting me (as I later found out), she had heard a lot of things about me, mostly unpleasant, unfortunately, because what can I say, people are like that. Or perhaps, I should have put it as, I was famous like that, but I doubt that I was. I did little to undo that initial knowledge and I am also pretty sure that the first impression I gave her only served to provide evidentiary support of those things people said. Le sigh. I wasn't out to impress her. But I was aching to know if this person was willing to know me despite my shortcomings, my flaws and my weaknesses – and boy, there were (and still are) plenty. Besides, if this thing were to be something that I wanted ever so terribly (and would never admit to in a thousand years) then it only made sense to me that whatever it is that we were about to establish was built on the foundation of trust. Trust is not given freely, my friend, it is earned over time, through hard work and a lot of effort, with constant sprinklings of this thing called love.
The underlying characteristic of a lot of my relationships is that we are separated by distance, the Pacific Ocean to be precise. Needless to say, the physical moments that we shared are limited, and subsequently, physical proximity did (and still does) make everything better. Yet most of the time, it is non-physical. These other moments are equally as compelling, that moment when you close your eyes and you listen to the person's voice on the other end of the line. The moment whereby you know that you have to have this difficult conversation - and we have had a lot of difficult conversations over the years. She finds time for me and in the process made me feel not just important, but more importantly, wanted. I didn't even realise I had all of these issues until I had the opportunity to experience the healing through her kindness.
Because she listens, she teaches me that the mere act of listening can change someone's life for the better. It is almost ironic that the communication that changes people is the ones that involve very little words. A TED talk is almost always inspiring; but when you truly listen, at least for that moment in time, you can make someone feel heard and accepted. She empathises with me; and by doing so, she manages to influence my thoughts and emotions in a positive way. Her simple act of listening is so powerful. She is a great communicator, she is honest and she is transparent.
She is the person who has shown me how to live. She doesn't have to love me but I feel that she does, constantly, all the time. And as a result, I feel as if I belong. And if anyone of you out there has ever felt the opposite, i.e. not belonged, then you would understand how important it is to feel this way, if only for one moment in time. Because in that moment, everything makes sense, that everything happens as they are supposed to, and that everything is going to be alright.
It was, and still is, a simultaneously emotionally exhausting and fulfilling journey, and has been, by far, one of the most rewarding things I have done in my life. I am so glad that I met her, that I had the chance to establish and grow this relationship with her. She is the one thing that changed my life. Without her, I would not be the person that I am today. She has been my rock, my strength, my counsel.
She is my step mother.
Preamble:
This mothers’ day, I would like to write something about a special someone that has largely been left out on the mothers’ day celebrations: the step mothers.
My parents' divorce still remains, to this day, a subject that is taboo to discuss in the dinner table, although to be completely honest, it depends on who is at the dinner table and what is being eaten, and more importantly, where the dinner is taking place. This is the norm in my family - we just do not talk about the things that are hurtful like this, we do not engage in these kinds of interactions. I personally feel I am somewhat stunted in this department as a result, and for the longest time, I harboured a personal anger that I wasn't able to attribute to anything. When you have been deprived of a family connection that you so much yearned for, it is only normal that you become fucked-up as a result, even when you would not want to admit to it in a thousand years. It is not about a personal denial, or about blaming your parents; it is just a deep refusal to accept that this is what you've got; this is what you've been given, because you were so desperate for something else.
I have always viewed myself as someone who is incredibly lucky, I don't know how I got so lucky, but I realise that in I have been blessed in a lot of ways that I can't even begin to describe. When I think about the moments that change my life, or specifically, the people that change my life, I would list my step mother as the top person on that list.
I had the idea of writing this during last year’s mothers’ day. This is one of those things that I have always wanted to write, and have never been able to, for a myriad of reasons mostly rooted in my fear of other people's reaction. Granted by taking this risk, I acknowledge that there is an impending possibility that unfavourable reactions may occur. All I can say is, to be sceptical of a meaningful step-mother-step-daughter relationship is to entirely misunderstand and undermine the power of love.
Let yourself be known and love with your whole heart, even though there is no guarantee that you’ll be accepted. -fiftycoffees.com
Thursday, 8 May 2014
Everybody deserves clean water
“It's a funny thing about the modern world. You hear girls in the
toilets of clubs saying, "Yeah, he fucked off and left me. He didn't
love me. He just couldn't deal with love. He was too fucked up to know
how to love me." Now, how did that happen? What was it about this
unlovable century that convinced us we were, despite everything,
eminently lovable as a people, as a species? What made us think that
anyone who fails to love us is damaged, lacking, malfunctioning in some
way? And particularly if they replace us with a god, or a weeping
madonna, or the face of Christ in a ciabatta roll---then we call them
crazy. Deluded. Regressive. We are so convinced of the goodness of
ourselves, and the goodness of our love, we cannot bear to believe that
there might be something more worthy of love than us, more worthy of
worship. Greeting cards routinely tell us everybody deserves love. No.
Everybody deserves clean water. Not everybody deserves love all the
time.” - Zadie Smith
And the opposite version:
It's a funny thing about the modern world. You hear men everywhere saying, "Yeah, she fucked off and left me. She didn't love me. She just couldn't deal with love. She was too fucked up to know how to love me." Now, how did that happen? What was it about this unlovable century that convinced us we were, despite everything, eminently lovable as people, as a species? What made us think that anyone who fails to love us is damaged, lacking, malfunctioning in some way? And particularly if they replace us with a blog, a seemingly rich guy or god forbid, a 'bad' boy who can fuck them like there's no tomorrow---then we call them crazy. Deluded. Regressive. We are so convinced of the goodness of ourselves, and the goodness of our love, we cannot bear to believe that there might be something easier to love than us, something easier to develop. Hollywood, Disney and greeting cards routinely tell us everybody deserves love. No. Everybody deserves clean water. And good sex, yeah, that's pretty high on the list.
And the opposite version:
It's a funny thing about the modern world. You hear men everywhere saying, "Yeah, she fucked off and left me. She didn't love me. She just couldn't deal with love. She was too fucked up to know how to love me." Now, how did that happen? What was it about this unlovable century that convinced us we were, despite everything, eminently lovable as people, as a species? What made us think that anyone who fails to love us is damaged, lacking, malfunctioning in some way? And particularly if they replace us with a blog, a seemingly rich guy or god forbid, a 'bad' boy who can fuck them like there's no tomorrow---then we call them crazy. Deluded. Regressive. We are so convinced of the goodness of ourselves, and the goodness of our love, we cannot bear to believe that there might be something easier to love than us, something easier to develop. Hollywood, Disney and greeting cards routinely tell us everybody deserves love. No. Everybody deserves clean water. And good sex, yeah, that's pretty high on the list.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)