The eyes are the mirror of the soul, they say. But when the soul overflows, it taints the entire face, the entire body. People’s lives are engraved on their face. Was life kind and gentle or filled with sorrow? Was love and kindness the main sentiment or sadness and loneliness? A face will tell it all. It cannot hide its spirit.
A week or so ago, I received mail from my mother. She had purchased a digital camera and took a few pictures of herself which she sent to me. I assume she chose the best ones, those that she really liked. When I opened the envelop and retrieved the content, my heart sunk. There was so much pain and loneliness. I didn’t know who was that person looking straight at me. The image of that poor old woman seemed so different from the one who still haunts me. She is a stranger now. So much has been missed. I will never know who she was, who she is. I almost cried. I almost cried because I felt nothing; pity perhaps, sadness but not love. Where did the love go?
There was a time when she was not so old, so lonely, when she was young, alive, joyous sometimes, there was a time when she was my mom. And I needed her so much. I needed her to love me. Is it some twisted revenge of the heart I am experiencing now? I don’t think so. I think I just dried out, waiting.
I wish I could do something to appease her life as she is getting older. I wish I could take upon some of her discomfort. But I also know that I am the only person she would never accept any kind of relief from. She would like for me to offer, only to be able to reject it, to reject me. She will never be able to embrace anything from me. I was the chosen one. The one she chose not to love.
Still, it pains me to see how her life was lived. I hope whatever lesson she was meant to learn was learnt and that next time her life may be softer. I hope in spite of all the pain she caused, she will be free to move on without repay. If there is a judgment day where one sits and review the good and the bad of the ending life, I want her to know that as hard as I tried, I never stopped wishing she could love me, but understood that she simply could not and forgave her.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
The Idiot
I went to Starbucks to get a coffee. I desperately needed one to get me through the afternoon. Work was totally uninspiring. With a – few - minutes to spare, I sat down and browsed through the sex-advice column of the local newspaper. I am a fan. I find it absolutely fascinating what people will come up with. Sometimes it’s sad though. People really are quite isolated, especially when they are in real kinky stuff living in farmland somewhere in some conservative town. Other times it seems that people simply need someone to talk to.
Anyhow, as absorbed as I was with the story of that girl who was looking for a way to leave her boyfriend for his sister, I started eavesdropping on the conversation going on at the next table. The guy was recalling with gruesome details, for the benefit of his buddies, an accident he had at work. From what I gathered, he was a house painter. According to him, while attempting to paint an unreachable part of the sunroof, he had removed his boots, and jumped on a tiny ledge to prove to his work buddies that – he – could do it. The glitch seemed to occur when he fell off the ridge and landed thirty five feet below, barefoot on a concrete block, breaking a leg and shattering his wrist. He apparently failed to notice the extent of his injuries until someone pointed to him that his femur was protruding awkwardly from his trouser pants and he was covered in blood. He had been on disability ever since, baffling the Inspector as to how he could possibly have lost his shoes in the fall. Since then, he had lost the use of his right hand and after several surgeries, still walked with a bad limp. The real funny thing was that now every time he walks through a metal detector at the airport, the alarm rings. Since he can no longer do that job for a living, he was considering going back to school. He wanted to become an electrician…
Anyhow, as absorbed as I was with the story of that girl who was looking for a way to leave her boyfriend for his sister, I started eavesdropping on the conversation going on at the next table. The guy was recalling with gruesome details, for the benefit of his buddies, an accident he had at work. From what I gathered, he was a house painter. According to him, while attempting to paint an unreachable part of the sunroof, he had removed his boots, and jumped on a tiny ledge to prove to his work buddies that – he – could do it. The glitch seemed to occur when he fell off the ridge and landed thirty five feet below, barefoot on a concrete block, breaking a leg and shattering his wrist. He apparently failed to notice the extent of his injuries until someone pointed to him that his femur was protruding awkwardly from his trouser pants and he was covered in blood. He had been on disability ever since, baffling the Inspector as to how he could possibly have lost his shoes in the fall. Since then, he had lost the use of his right hand and after several surgeries, still walked with a bad limp. The real funny thing was that now every time he walks through a metal detector at the airport, the alarm rings. Since he can no longer do that job for a living, he was considering going back to school. He wanted to become an electrician…
Monday, April 5, 2010
Snapshot
Throughout the Winter Games, I exchanged mails and pictures of my everyday Olympic endeavors with my dad who has a computer. My mother, on the other hand, decided on the day of her retirement that she would never, ever deal with a computer ever again. To this day, she has been true to her words and thus, isolating herself every day more from the rest of humanity. Nowadays, it is very hard to maintain close contact with someone living in a different time zone or lifestyle. Harder still when the motivation just really isn’t there. Calling her suggest impeding on hours of prime time, usually during weekends. This wouldn’t be so bad if the exchange would not systematically be pervaded with contempt. Before John, these phone calls would torment me for hours afterward. Now, not so much, I space them better, so she doesn’t really have a choice but to be on a better behavior, knowing that it may otherwise take months before she hears from me again.
Unfortunately for her, my mother is her own worst enemy, and always will be. There is really no point in punishing her for wrongdoings when she is so much better at it than I could ever be myself. She has been torturing herself every minutes of her miserable life. It’s quite sad, really.
Still, at some point, my mother clued into the fact that the Olympic Games were going on and asked if I could send her some pictures I took during that time. Well, I knew I would be exposing myself to utmost scrutiny so I chose carefully an array of subjects from crowds, landscapes to me and my friends, and picked only the best ones. Nothing good would come out of it, from either end, but I obliged. I had thirty or so printed and shipped to her.
It must have been last week when she left me a voice mail. She had received the pictures and wanted to discuss them. I figured since I would have to call on Easter, I might just as well wait and be ride of it all at once. I was prepared for the worst. I have long ceased to expect anything else.
She was thrilled, the pictures were beautiful, the landscapes marvelous, the crowds as impressive as on TV and as for me, my new hair cut made me look like a cancer patient in remission…
“Gee mom, no wonder you don’t have any friends if you talk to people like that”
“I never talk to people like that!”
“Humph…”
Unfortunately for her, my mother is her own worst enemy, and always will be. There is really no point in punishing her for wrongdoings when she is so much better at it than I could ever be myself. She has been torturing herself every minutes of her miserable life. It’s quite sad, really.
Still, at some point, my mother clued into the fact that the Olympic Games were going on and asked if I could send her some pictures I took during that time. Well, I knew I would be exposing myself to utmost scrutiny so I chose carefully an array of subjects from crowds, landscapes to me and my friends, and picked only the best ones. Nothing good would come out of it, from either end, but I obliged. I had thirty or so printed and shipped to her.
It must have been last week when she left me a voice mail. She had received the pictures and wanted to discuss them. I figured since I would have to call on Easter, I might just as well wait and be ride of it all at once. I was prepared for the worst. I have long ceased to expect anything else.
She was thrilled, the pictures were beautiful, the landscapes marvelous, the crowds as impressive as on TV and as for me, my new hair cut made me look like a cancer patient in remission…
“Gee mom, no wonder you don’t have any friends if you talk to people like that”
“I never talk to people like that!”
“Humph…”
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Ouimzie
Much happened since my last blog, back in November. At the time, introspection seemed rather more in the way of things. I had put it aside for a little while so I could actively experience life without reflecting on it. At times, I lost my bearings, but I also discovered that I was much better equipped than I thought. In fact, my instincts were quit sharp.
I constantly forced myself out of my comfort zone. I made a point at deliberately choosing the route which unsettled me the most. I met people, went places and enjoyed activities new to me. I involved and uninvolved myself from fantasy relationships, losing virtual feathers but gaining real insight. I made friends, buddies, acquaintances.
Was the pasture greener on the other of the fence? Not really, just a little different.
Not unlike pendulum movements, I was bond to experiment the extremes of either side before I could find a balance, a rhythm where all facets of my life could be intertwined and fluid. Have I achieved that? Of course not, this is the work of a life time. But I think I got glimpses of it.
This was also the longest period I went through without reaching out to John for coaching. I wanted to test myself. I had to make sure I could move forward of my own accord and seek guidance only when facing unusual ordeals. It all went well, that is, until I hit a wall, but that’s another story.
There was a program I used to watch when I was young. The main character was a cool little puppet girl with blue antlers called Ouimzie. Her friend, in an attempt at being - just like her - had glued herself some antlers. The moral of the story was, of course, that the little girl was just as good in her own ways. We all know that it usually isn’t true. For the longest time I wondered if I would become the hero of my own life or if that role would be held by someone other than me. Well, I might not be Ouimzie, I might never get to be Ouimzie, but being me is not bad at all.
I constantly forced myself out of my comfort zone. I made a point at deliberately choosing the route which unsettled me the most. I met people, went places and enjoyed activities new to me. I involved and uninvolved myself from fantasy relationships, losing virtual feathers but gaining real insight. I made friends, buddies, acquaintances.
Was the pasture greener on the other of the fence? Not really, just a little different.
Not unlike pendulum movements, I was bond to experiment the extremes of either side before I could find a balance, a rhythm where all facets of my life could be intertwined and fluid. Have I achieved that? Of course not, this is the work of a life time. But I think I got glimpses of it.
This was also the longest period I went through without reaching out to John for coaching. I wanted to test myself. I had to make sure I could move forward of my own accord and seek guidance only when facing unusual ordeals. It all went well, that is, until I hit a wall, but that’s another story.
There was a program I used to watch when I was young. The main character was a cool little puppet girl with blue antlers called Ouimzie. Her friend, in an attempt at being - just like her - had glued herself some antlers. The moral of the story was, of course, that the little girl was just as good in her own ways. We all know that it usually isn’t true. For the longest time I wondered if I would become the hero of my own life or if that role would be held by someone other than me. Well, I might not be Ouimzie, I might never get to be Ouimzie, but being me is not bad at all.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
The Living
For a while, I found myself incapable of writing. During the last couple of years, I focused much on the dead, the ghosts, the broken bones and putrefied corpses of my early years. It had to be done. It was the only way to move forward. But for a while, I needed time away. I needed to find my place amongst the living.
A while ago, I asked a friend if we always come out stronger of tragedy. Although I suspect he was himself facing his own tragedies at the time, as he usually adorns his answers with more faith than the plain – no - he delivered that day. According to him, strength comes from hard work and most are unwilling to commit. Much time had gone by between the question and the answer. Distance had further convinced my friend of my readiness to give up, to discourage, to resent the injustice, the pain, the loss. Yet, he was wrong. I survived. No matter what happened to me, I survived. I made it through. And from there, I could only move forward. Whatever I experienced, I rise above it a little more each day. It turned out that I may have been much stronger than I ever considered.
Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars - Kahlil Gibran
A while ago, I asked a friend if we always come out stronger of tragedy. Although I suspect he was himself facing his own tragedies at the time, as he usually adorns his answers with more faith than the plain – no - he delivered that day. According to him, strength comes from hard work and most are unwilling to commit. Much time had gone by between the question and the answer. Distance had further convinced my friend of my readiness to give up, to discourage, to resent the injustice, the pain, the loss. Yet, he was wrong. I survived. No matter what happened to me, I survived. I made it through. And from there, I could only move forward. Whatever I experienced, I rise above it a little more each day. It turned out that I may have been much stronger than I ever considered.
Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars - Kahlil Gibran
Monday, September 7, 2009
Trials and Tribulations of Dating
A few weeks ago, I was invited to a – single – evening of wine and cheese tasting. The wine selection was honest, but I guess it was only a pretext to gather and meet new people. It was a nice evening. Most guests were charming, especially one with whom I had a good time. The conversation was easy, the mood comfortable; we seemed to have much in common. At the end of the evening, he asked if he could take me out to dinner. “I would love that!” A good answer! We exchanged phone numbers and promised to call.
A couple of days later he left a message on my voice mail stating how nice it was to have met me. I returned his call leaving pretty much the same message. The following day he called again wanting to know what kind of food I enjoy in order to make reservations. “I’m just not too keen on seafood. Allergies, you know.” We agreed to get together the following Thursday. On Wednesday he called and confirmed the plans; he was to pick me up at 7, the location was a surprise. “What should I wear?”
“Casual.” Casual…? If only I knew where we were going. A quick survey with all the girls at work confirmed that I shouldn’t wear a dress, too much for a first date, but pants, something classy. After work I rushed home, got changed and walked out the door. He was already waiting for me in his sharp Armani suit. Not casual! Not by any standard! He had brought me flowers, a gigantic bouquet which must have cost half my weekly salary. It was a little much. Then we drove off to La Clarinette, the most expensive French restaurant in town, where he insisted he order for the both of us. He chose the seven course meal with a bottle of Bordeaux. It turned out he had chosen the seafood meal… Great! This meal cost more than my weekly salary. Did I mention it was only a first date?
The morning after, I was writing a thank you note when I noticed I had received an e-mail from him. He was thanking me profusely for such a wonderful dinner and evening, hoping we could get together again soon. It would have been nice if he had let me do it, instead it turned that it was my pleasure, really… Twenty nine e-mails followed on that day.
Saturday morning comes along; I was curled up on the couch after my morning run, enjoying a nice cup of coffee when the phone rang. It was eight thirty. He wanted to know if I had plans for the day. An hour later, we finally hung up. We were to get together later on. A couple of hours before the scheduled time, he called again, determined to cover the gap by talking on the phone. I’m not good at that. Talking on the phone is a laborious task for me. Eventually we hung up and met at the beach for a stroll. By then, we had not shared any kind of familiarity. His first move was to kiss me on the lips, but I dodged brilliantly, the second, to hold me by the waist as we walked. This time my dodging wasn’t as subtle. I’m not keen in public display of affection, especially when there isn’t any. To discourage further fumbling, I put my hands in my jeans pockets. We walked for a while and then ate at a local Mexican cantina. I had a lime margarita with rock salt on the rim. Mid-sentence, he took his paper napkin, unfolded it, wrapped it carefully around his index finger and wiped something off my face. I almost jumped out of my skin. It ought to have been something really gross. It turned out it was a grain of salt. Who ever does that? How about “You’ve got salt on your lip” It reminded me of my mother who used to put saliva on a tissue to clean something off my face.
The following morning, the same routine started again, only this time, I didn’t answer the phone, and went about enjoying my day. By six o’clock he had left several messages. I called him back and gently told him that I felt slightly cornered. It was a bit intense; I would rather take things a tad slower and perhaps lighter. “Sure, it’s not a problem at all, I’m glad you told me.”
Two days later I received an 890 word e-mail of sheer panic. An e-mail about the size of this post! He was so, so terribly sorry he had made me feel so bad, he hoped he had not jeopardized the relationship. Since our last conversation, he had this terrible knot in the stomach. Funny enough, it ended with “sincerely”, and had been sent in the middle of the night. Although I had no ulterior motive when I asked him to slow down a little, his e-mail certainly made it clear that I should run away as fast as I could. A week later he left a message on my voice mail and again the following week, which I never returned.
Talk about being intense. It’s too bad, he was nice.
A couple of days later he left a message on my voice mail stating how nice it was to have met me. I returned his call leaving pretty much the same message. The following day he called again wanting to know what kind of food I enjoy in order to make reservations. “I’m just not too keen on seafood. Allergies, you know.” We agreed to get together the following Thursday. On Wednesday he called and confirmed the plans; he was to pick me up at 7, the location was a surprise. “What should I wear?”
“Casual.” Casual…? If only I knew where we were going. A quick survey with all the girls at work confirmed that I shouldn’t wear a dress, too much for a first date, but pants, something classy. After work I rushed home, got changed and walked out the door. He was already waiting for me in his sharp Armani suit. Not casual! Not by any standard! He had brought me flowers, a gigantic bouquet which must have cost half my weekly salary. It was a little much. Then we drove off to La Clarinette, the most expensive French restaurant in town, where he insisted he order for the both of us. He chose the seven course meal with a bottle of Bordeaux. It turned out he had chosen the seafood meal… Great! This meal cost more than my weekly salary. Did I mention it was only a first date?
The morning after, I was writing a thank you note when I noticed I had received an e-mail from him. He was thanking me profusely for such a wonderful dinner and evening, hoping we could get together again soon. It would have been nice if he had let me do it, instead it turned that it was my pleasure, really… Twenty nine e-mails followed on that day.
Saturday morning comes along; I was curled up on the couch after my morning run, enjoying a nice cup of coffee when the phone rang. It was eight thirty. He wanted to know if I had plans for the day. An hour later, we finally hung up. We were to get together later on. A couple of hours before the scheduled time, he called again, determined to cover the gap by talking on the phone. I’m not good at that. Talking on the phone is a laborious task for me. Eventually we hung up and met at the beach for a stroll. By then, we had not shared any kind of familiarity. His first move was to kiss me on the lips, but I dodged brilliantly, the second, to hold me by the waist as we walked. This time my dodging wasn’t as subtle. I’m not keen in public display of affection, especially when there isn’t any. To discourage further fumbling, I put my hands in my jeans pockets. We walked for a while and then ate at a local Mexican cantina. I had a lime margarita with rock salt on the rim. Mid-sentence, he took his paper napkin, unfolded it, wrapped it carefully around his index finger and wiped something off my face. I almost jumped out of my skin. It ought to have been something really gross. It turned out it was a grain of salt. Who ever does that? How about “You’ve got salt on your lip” It reminded me of my mother who used to put saliva on a tissue to clean something off my face.
The following morning, the same routine started again, only this time, I didn’t answer the phone, and went about enjoying my day. By six o’clock he had left several messages. I called him back and gently told him that I felt slightly cornered. It was a bit intense; I would rather take things a tad slower and perhaps lighter. “Sure, it’s not a problem at all, I’m glad you told me.”
Two days later I received an 890 word e-mail of sheer panic. An e-mail about the size of this post! He was so, so terribly sorry he had made me feel so bad, he hoped he had not jeopardized the relationship. Since our last conversation, he had this terrible knot in the stomach. Funny enough, it ended with “sincerely”, and had been sent in the middle of the night. Although I had no ulterior motive when I asked him to slow down a little, his e-mail certainly made it clear that I should run away as fast as I could. A week later he left a message on my voice mail and again the following week, which I never returned.
Talk about being intense. It’s too bad, he was nice.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Home Run
In early summer, after a miserable winter of introspection and careful examination of my life, it became quite evident that it was time to make crucial changes. I had to broaden my horizons, to enrich my life with new people, new interests, and new ways; I had to become part of this world I knew nothing about.
In the past Marco had been very present in every aspects of my life, but it changed when he had children. Although predictable, it still caught me unprepared. His absence left a void which knocked me off balance, combined with the assimilating and distancing myself from my past, its influence and perpetrators, it was a forlorn time which left me exhausted. Nevertheless, I plunged head first into action, feeling a little shaky at first perhaps, but mostly resolute.
For years I wanted to run, but I never did anything about it. This summer it suddenly occurred to me that nothing prevented me for doing it. So one morning I rose with the lark and went running down the beach. It was that simple. Since then, every morning I get up early and go running, rain or shine, tired or not; I haven’t missed a day yet. Some days are more difficult than others, but I feel so good afterward. I started attending Yoga classes held in the park near the beach, and in the fall, I’ll enroll in a gym. I also got into more social activities, where I have met quite a few people, some more interesting than some others. Every day I have to make the conscious decision to step out of my comfort zone, to open up to people, to get involve, to take a chance, and people response differently to me. I am less – inaccessible - than before, even with people at work. Little do they know that I was simply terrified of them before. In meeting new people, I have also met a lot of available guys. This as you can imagine, is a little bit more challenging to me.
In bygone days, several of them would have been quite attractive and close to what I was looking for. But when the opportunity presented itself I had no desire to move forward. The interest just isn’t there right now. Last time I saw John, he had told me that I should date, date and date some more until I figured out what I really wanted or needed. Until recently I never felt like I had a choice when it came to involvement. We all know where that comes from but, the spell seems to have been broken. Still, I can’t help but feeling guilty at time, as if I owed these guys something. I realized that even though my mind might not remember much of my childhood trauma, my body’s memory is now very acute and rebelling. It might take a while before I am ready for relationships.
A friend recently asked if the – setbacks - I might have experienced were affecting my determination to embrace new opportunities. I think of them more as a way of testing my determination, to see if I really mean to change my life, or whether I will yield at the first hindrance sent my way.
I read somewhere that "life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, martini in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming “WOO HOO what a ride!” I think it is the wisest think I have read in a while. I’ve played it safe all my life and see where it got me! Now it is time to Live.
In the past Marco had been very present in every aspects of my life, but it changed when he had children. Although predictable, it still caught me unprepared. His absence left a void which knocked me off balance, combined with the assimilating and distancing myself from my past, its influence and perpetrators, it was a forlorn time which left me exhausted. Nevertheless, I plunged head first into action, feeling a little shaky at first perhaps, but mostly resolute.
For years I wanted to run, but I never did anything about it. This summer it suddenly occurred to me that nothing prevented me for doing it. So one morning I rose with the lark and went running down the beach. It was that simple. Since then, every morning I get up early and go running, rain or shine, tired or not; I haven’t missed a day yet. Some days are more difficult than others, but I feel so good afterward. I started attending Yoga classes held in the park near the beach, and in the fall, I’ll enroll in a gym. I also got into more social activities, where I have met quite a few people, some more interesting than some others. Every day I have to make the conscious decision to step out of my comfort zone, to open up to people, to get involve, to take a chance, and people response differently to me. I am less – inaccessible - than before, even with people at work. Little do they know that I was simply terrified of them before. In meeting new people, I have also met a lot of available guys. This as you can imagine, is a little bit more challenging to me.
In bygone days, several of them would have been quite attractive and close to what I was looking for. But when the opportunity presented itself I had no desire to move forward. The interest just isn’t there right now. Last time I saw John, he had told me that I should date, date and date some more until I figured out what I really wanted or needed. Until recently I never felt like I had a choice when it came to involvement. We all know where that comes from but, the spell seems to have been broken. Still, I can’t help but feeling guilty at time, as if I owed these guys something. I realized that even though my mind might not remember much of my childhood trauma, my body’s memory is now very acute and rebelling. It might take a while before I am ready for relationships.
A friend recently asked if the – setbacks - I might have experienced were affecting my determination to embrace new opportunities. I think of them more as a way of testing my determination, to see if I really mean to change my life, or whether I will yield at the first hindrance sent my way.
I read somewhere that "life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, martini in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming “WOO HOO what a ride!” I think it is the wisest think I have read in a while. I’ve played it safe all my life and see where it got me! Now it is time to Live.
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