All of a sudden, i’m in France

so all of a sudden, i am in France, and all of a sudden, i’m on holiday, and also all of a sudden, i am at peace; i am in an odd way home, i am, released from all which holds me uptight and anxious.

is this all it really takes to live? to step out of our life?

the last month, although seemingly relaxing, has had some sort of war in my being. I’ve been in the process of decision making for all sorts of affairs, determined for this change or that shift, for a specific sensation that is a settling of myself to fit into my skin without feeling all awkward and unsure, “is this me, or is this who i think i want to be?”…

i make up my mind, and then i retract, and then i’m all huff and puff, and then all shrunk in unsureness.  but now it all seems to dissipate away, as though all such worries come from that land that is so far away, it hasn’t seen reality not even a day.

and instead, this green in all its sentiments, the sunshine warm and sure, the trees and their stories, this is real, this here i am certain of. i need not second guess what i’m feeling, nor is there a desperation for the therapist’s office to confirm that i’m losing my mind, and not just losing my mind. (if that makes sense).

So,  is this the secret to confidence and knowing oneself? because i am most positively unshakeable when i am a stranger.  i could be Susan or DimDuck, or Mrs. Darcy ( i wish) for all anyone or myself could care… and i love being DimDuck… because he doesn’t want anything other than to smile right back at the sunshine, and exhale along with the trees, and they will ask not what time i’m coming back home, or if i want to watch a movie with them, we equally don’t need each other. we equally love each other, and we equally expect not to expect.

and so suddenly, i am in France, no longer Fati, but just a stranger, who has no decision to make, other than… “time to get something to eat now”.

And that’s just what i’ll do.

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the math of being loved

it’s a funny thing, the math assumed by people for the combination of their emotions, time, and attention.

a many people in their ‘giving’ of love, do so with some form of expectation for mutual reciprocity.  This is normal and i am no judge on this.

but my thoughts here today are not on the giver of love with expectation, but on the receiver of it- does he have his own kind of math?

before i go exploring, i want to pose why it is that i’m playing with the question.

see, i know that my sentimental expressions and the ways in which i show and shower with love, are rather intense. i know because i’m told so. haha. but i also know because i recognise that i am indeed a very romantic friend.  i love to love my loved ones. i love hugs cuddles and kisses, and buying flowers, and writing letters, i love buying gifts and i love being there when i’m needed.

plainly, it fills me with life to show love, for me this is how i matter, it is for how intensely, purposefully, mindfully and sincerely i can love.

meanwhile, the recipients of my affections receive my doting in different configurations, in varying rations of passion.  and there are some, who receive it with an intensity ad nauseam perhaps. and i always supposed that my sentimental advances could be perhaps overwhelming and daunting. i remember worrying at times that my emotions would be a burden to those who my emotions feel for.

recently i was taken aback by a very “friendly complaint” (lol, because i don’t know how else to label it now), that i am perhaps hard to keep up with, a recipient of my most intense of affections assumed his own math of how much he should be returning of my love, and i don’t know, i think he may have felt inadequate and then unfair to me.

but i felt that i was the one being unfair.  why?

when i first coined the sensation that ‘being loved is a burden’, it is because i realised myself years ago to be withheld in the anxiety of how much my parents and sister loved me, how much they are affected by my actions and general state.  i would want to be happy, and content, or whatever have you, so that they wouldn’t have to worry or feel guilty.  it was heavy on me, their love.

Later, when i came about my intent awareness to love unshackled and unguarded, i learnt that my heart has depths and heights with extreme conditions, LOL, and well, because it feels so damn great to ride my own rushing skipping heart, i would let myself fall and swoon with all my might.

now, imagine if i took someone into such a depth in my heart, imagine going diving without gear? that’s just not possible, if you want to breath, and the deeper you go, i assume, the more supply you may need.  and here i am, throwing a first time diver into my most extreme depths, sans oxygen.  oh lord!!! fati you royal idiot. lol.

i know that when you love, sincerely, then the reality is that you want nothing in return, only that the person who is the object of this affection, allow themselves to bask in it and stay warm and comfortable.

But just because i have personally not accounted for any of whatever i give, doesn’t mean that my recipient is not sensing some form of tally, or i don’t know, an obligation to honour my love? This is perhaps the first time i have encountered a response of this kind, maybe others have felt it, but never expressed it, i cannot be certain. or even i could have forgotten… but this one sticks for sure.

to be aware of how i feel towards someone is hard enough, but still easily done.

but to understand what it feels like, to receive my kind of love in all its intensity…. the math and chaos of wanting or thinking one ought return it in ‘equal measure’… damn…

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Quitting the Race

ok i started to write, and then a good 500 words in, i deleted it all. i have a propensity towards beating around the bush, and jumping into the inessential, which is simply on the sideline of my problems, instead of facing “them” head on…. of course, the sidelines are like symptoms; while i suppose much of modern healing approaches do just that actually, treat the symptoms. lol. so it’s forgivable i suppose, i cannot assume to be better than my environment.

do you know the table cloth trick: when you yank the tablecloth in methodical speed, and all items stay put and never lose footing. i did that with my life. so the table is the world i live in, the cloth is my life context (both material and imperceptible aspects/notions of my life), and i am whatever item/s on that table i can be.

but i have no technique nor dexterity. so such items that i am have been jerked into the air.

some have fallen and shattered, others just rolled over upon meeting the ground, and many i think perhaps, are still in mid air.

so what fati? isn’t this a normal affair of life; change — whether it be subtle, sudden, intense, and/or eventual? why are you complaining?

sigh, i am not complaining, i’m just inspecting the situation.

no, you’re flustered, and agitated. you are perturbed.  

i’m confused! bloody hell if i can’t be, it’s normal, i’ve got pieces of me all over the place, what do you want of me, to be still and calm and accepting.

yes!!  you know the truth and reality of change, you have embarked on a journey seeking that very alteration of everything, of what you do, who you are, and where you’re headed, even what you believe, priorities, truths, facts, everything. have you not?

yes. (very meekly admitted)

so did you reckon that you’ll land on your feet and just walk on? really? is the tablecloth analogy even appropriate here? 

(lips pressed and sigh). no.

look sweetie, i don’t want to be harsh on you, and i really prefer not to role-play parent here. i am (you are) not such a fan of the harsh and tough love approach anymore, and you (we) now prefer kindness compassion and patience.. 

i am not expecting you to pick up the self and figure out the blueprint which you will mould from or perhaps towards..  

but for the love of god fati, you foolish darling girl, lol, stop being so harsh on yourself. stop with the urgency to ‘reach’. because it is as necessarily about the journey as it is the destination. i mean, come on, you know this already. 

:she sits in silence, contemplating the obvious, and feels rather witless now.

sigh. and then sigh. round and round and round, i do indeed, go.

life is about change, sometimes we seek it, sometimes it barges itself into our throat, “like it or not, swallow bitch” says the universe.

sigh. and again sigh. round and round and round i go, indeed i do.

it is not about managing the change, i’ve come to learn of late, or even about managing myself through this change.  it is more about letting go of wanting to manage anything all together.

this is all very nostalgic of all my intervals of depression, i suppose this is why i kept thinking i may be depressed, but enough of the depression check list was inapplicable here…

i am anxious because i don’t know myself anymore, i am sleeping and dining with a stranger. she is speaking my thoughts and taking over my life, and i’m running behind her trying to catch up, meanwhile she has left me behind. “stop running after me”, she says…

just lay down your defenses, shut down your motors, and cease.  see, my dear, I am already some years ahead of you, and if you are sincerely here for the long haul then be weary that if you are running already, still at the very start, then if and when you reach me, you will be worn and torn and done, and you will never become. 

be instead a spectator, be instead an observer only. and i promise that when the game is “over”, the bleachers and the field will be indistinguishable, they will be, one and the same.  

:she sits in her silence, she sits in her doubt, and maybe just maybe (we hope), the question marks while not disappearing fully, are starting to become at the very least, translucent.

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Seeds in hand

the blankness of my mind is hardly complementary to the swirl of emotions that is the rest of my body.  not only do i feel the coldness within tightening my muscles, but there is this acidic like burning that’s drenched my anatomy, as though i’ve knocked back quite a few shots of doubt, and way more than my liver can handle.

I was saying just last night, i’m now embarked on a whole new journey, something that still has no literature to it.  there are no maps i’ve drawn to refer to. no little manual about do’s and don’ts.  no brand identity guideline. even who I am as a person is changing, and where i encounter instances that may resist this shift, my whole being it tremors just a bit. why.. because everything is still in the air. my seeds i mean to plant are still just in my palms, as though I haven’t found the ripe soil which they will best grow and bloom.  no roots.  just seeds in hand.

of course if we bundle this together with everything my body is still by the way going through- it ain’t a successful paella.  i would say no body should be enduring so much at just a one instance.  but that’s as stupid as ever.  because i am, and because well- things could still be a lot worse of course. in fact, i ought remind myself that i’m in recovery stage now. and at the very least i guess, my seeds are in hand already.

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no room for white…

I sit in an underlined, bolded, and italicised huge question mark right now.  After a conversation with a friend, I am left wondering the contrasts of Black and White.  Happiness and Sadness.  His statements tell an absolute invalidation to the sad emotions. Emotions even in general really, but the negative ones more so in particular.

Now, at some point I may have agreed with him. Negative emotions like sadness and anger, despair, or even confusion are useless and stupid.  Do not humour your sadness, everything in life is passing. so there is no need to be sad. yes sure. to dress everything in the logic was at some point, my forte even.

  • the problem with ‘logic’ is that it leaves no space for the grey areas, and sometimes, no room for the white standing against the black (or vice versa).

But since, i’ve had my experiences and my reshaping of even logic itself, which have taught me that all ranges of emotions belong to us humans.  to all living creatures even.  to feel sadness is to process a context, what it means to us, and surely there is something we learn from it. otherwise it wouldn’t be within our capacity to feel it, right?

and then there is the common concept, “the things that make us happy can also make us sad”.  my loved one returning my love, will make me happy.  if he refuses or denies it, this will make me sad.  Now, my question is, how can we break those two apart?  How can I, in this very context, adopt my happiness only, and disconnect from sadness? and is this, correct? is it valid? is this logic in fact sense full?

For a victim of a violation of any kind, can we truly, really turn around and say- “hey, by being hurt about this, you are just hurting yourself more. get over it, and move on. now don’t dwell, that’s stupid“.  is that right? for the victims of natural and human disasters, those who have lost their whole family and life in a blink of an eye, should we condemn them for shedding a tear, because it is a useless emotion?

This seemed indeed to be his standpoint.  and I don’t know if it left me doubting my own thoughts, or perhaps a little sorry that he has deprived himself so dryly of tears?

As i said, huge eff-ing question mark.

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Self importance or altruism?

time runs faster than my own thoughts sometimes.  which is crazy, because my mind is a professional runner.  the days take us as though we owe them mind body and soul, well… anyway, point being.. so many realisations dawn on me, except I have no time to put them in their correct box, and label them as needed… so what realisation am I getting at today…

why are we here is a question we ask ourselves whenever we have the luxury of asking.  as I said, the days and the time tucked in between and all around allows little for reflections and retrospections..

this question always presents itself to me with many answers, some at given moments come to me as much prominent than others, but they alternate always. so what are some of those answers.

i’m here for my passions.  the reason for me to live is to write poetry, to learn music, to teach to read to love the universe and to return always to the embrace of my mother nature.  it is for the green moments that after taking my breath away, they give me eternity in return.

but then I am also here because I feel like i’ve been placed on this earth at this given time to help the people who have crossed my path, as friends and loved ones.  I am more than often the ghost buster, the fireman, the marry poppins or nanny mcphee, a party of the avengers, a superhero.

while being a superhero is associated with glorification, I assure you it is not.  responsibility is the cost of strength, the price of what I am capable of doing for those around me.  it is no burden, it is a privilege.  “Fati is always there, and you can count on her blindly”.

sometimes I worry that these thoughts are narcissistic, and egotistical.  the world burdens are not shaped for my shoulders, and who am I to think i can put out every fire.  but somehow i’ve been assumed as a given helpline to so many around me.  I’ve taken flights and crossed distances, literally to hold someone’s hand.  i’ve put myself at risk of hurt at times, placing myself between someone, the rock and the blow.  why. because I can handle the pain. because i am strong enough for it, and so i will take it instead of you.

now that i’ve come to this realisation. I wonder what it makes me. i wonder if it is self importance, or sincere altruism. I really don’t know.

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For the Love of Pain

my mind is blank this morning. maybe because i’ve slept a bare 4 hours, or maybe because the night before was such a storm.  either way, i’m finding it hard to figure out what it is I wish to articulate, though I could swear there was a thought in there worth exploring (at least so it seems).

oh yes. “For the Love of Pain”.

Of recent, my heart has entertained rather daring and vast emotions for a young man, who in reality I barely know.  I saw him, hanging from a tree (literally) lol… and then found my eyes drawn to him as he went about his business.  It is no joke, and it is no crazy when I tell you I saw his aura, his soul, the energy zone around him more bright and beautiful than star dust fire works.  My interest sparked, and then in some matter of days, a nice to meet you, questions here, a run into there, little hi’s little see you around.. I mean nothing that would warrant a falling in love by any kind.  But I did.  Again, please know that my in-loves are very different than the advertised definition.  The poet in me found him to be a world I wish to explore blind folded.  I wanna walk about his mind and heart learning of him only what other senses can tell, like the sound of his heart beating, or the salty scents of the oceans he loved diving.  of course, all these sensations i confessed, and scared him away like you won’t believe. HAHA.  he did mention he was afraid to hurt me, for I have too soon swooned.  and then I decided to just adore him from as far as I can tolerate.  (now that’s a bloody struggle) but then I wrote.

My darling, you cannot hurt me. For even my pain for you, is sweet on my lips- a fountain for my words“.  He ignored that message. lool.  yes yes, i’m ever crazy. anyway… the whole point of this story is to get to the pain.  the pain of knowing my hands will always crave his face, but will never taste it.  the pain of acknowledging even my crazy in all this, and that even though I have no idea what chance it is I want, i still don’t stand it.  Pain in knowing that the men I have loved the most today, and still do.. the men who are my sources of words and poetry, who course through my veins and I have no say in it… they are all unreachable, untouchable, .. married, gay, too young. and yet here I am jumping into the pain of loving as though it was a tub of honey and yogurt.  i’m gobbling up the pain, I wait for moments of solitude and silence and I rush to my broken heart.  broken but determined to love without question, without condition, without the ego who demands a return.  (this remains a battle) … because it gives me, yes, words. it gives me a river of rhyme, it gives me… poetry.

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