My little girl turned one on October 22. We celebrated mostly in the car on the way to my parents’, since the kids are staying there for a week while we are organising our move into the house, and it is symptomatic for the amount of stuff on our plates that I didn’t come around to writing about her birthday earlier. Sorry, Lilli.
one year ago, you came into this world smiling, with a shock of black hair, at 7am sharp. (All of which was a surprise). Since then, you have delighted every single soul around you. I know this sounds cheezy, but I find it amazing how you enchant complete strangers. We travelled to New York City together, the two of us, and without you, I wouldn’t have made it. People flocked to help, delighted at your sweetness. A simple trip to the supermarket never goes by without at least one person cooing over you. It is like you are oozing kindness like honey.
I have a lot to learn from you, and I am grateful for the lessons you readily share with me. I’m savouring every moment with you, amazed at how fast you learn and grateful for the many things you still have to discover. Your default mode is delight, and you make it spread like fire, making our home such a happy place.
Happy birthday, my girl. Thanks for unconditionally brightening our world.
The other night, a girl from my past visited me in a dream.
We didn’t leave things on good terms, she and I. We also haven’t been in touch for more than 10 years. Over time, she has become one of my demons. One of the voices telling me off, telling me to stop, telling me to “behave”. It isn’t the first time she intruded on my sleep, either.
This time was different though. Usually, my feelings towards her, if only in dreamland, would include obedience, shame, and insecurity. This has now been substituted for no apparent reason by what I can only call friendly distance. For once, I didn’t engage with her at all, just acknowledged her without that horrid feeling of inferiority.
I don’t really know what brought this on. In real life, we are in the middle of moving, living between boxes, and I didn’t think calmness or poise, let alone closing difficult chapters of my past were going to be happening during this time. I am all the more proud of my dream self for being and doing exactly that.
1. People who jump the queue.
2. Socks that mysteriously start lying around everywhere as soon as you move in with a boy.
3. Someone else folding my laundry incorrectly. I am very peculiar with my laundry.
4. Being told what to do. I know I’m not five anymore, but it sure feels like it when it happens.
How about you?
1. I am too afraid to allow search engines to let people find this blog. I’m not exactly sure why. Mostly because I’m afraid my family will judge me for what I write here.
2. I enjoy writing. A lot. However, letting go of and giving up control over this writing is extremely difficult for me.
3. At the same time, deep down I believe that things would heal inside me if I did. It’s a predicament.
4. No. 1-3 is why I don’t post here much.
5. I keep having ideas for this blog, but I stop short of implementing them. It’s like I’m in a constant state of dreaming about who I could be (the blog being a metaphor for this person), and then shying away from it.
6. I fluctuate between believing I can write, even poetry, and thinking I suck.
7. The reason I started this blog was a period of depression after the birth of my first child.
8. I really don’t know what I want to do with this space. I think I know what I would like to do with this space, but I’m too afraid to use my voice.
9. I also am afraid of my readers. That there’s too few, that there’s too many, that they’ll use what I write here against me. Even though I have had exclusively wonderful responses to my writing here. (I know)