Love. Loss. Lessons. Life.

2012 was planned out. I had it all figured out. What I was going to do. The places I was going to visit. The trips I was going to make. The achievements I was to add to the list. The things I wasn't going to do. The people I was forever done with.
2012 started out with a review if this blog in the Sunday Vision. 2012  started out with all these writing offers, and me promising to take them on.
2012 is more than half-way gone. I've hardly written.
Writer's block, severed friendships, lost semi-love, home-front drama and 7 months down 2012, the list is still unchecked.

I thought I was done with it all, I thought I had mastered the art of self-love, self-forgiveness, survival and bouncing back. But life...oh, life. The un-warning visitor. Bearer of news both heavy and light.
It's been 7 long months. Of sighs, questions, prayers, semi-depression and just when I thought I was all dried up, tears. The anger, pain, loss, disillusionment of the past months have manifested in rivers of tears I thought long dried up.
 Reviewing; Life in lessons

1. You don't ned your entire phone book of friends.

At my lowest and darkest hours, 6 people stood out. Make that 7, for Stella who left this sucky place 6 years back. But yes. I have been the un-official mother to tens of friends. Which means I have done the friending, checking-on part most of the time. When the tables turned; the sad but liberating truth came to life. Tabitha, Liza, Joel, Stella, Peron, Peace, Sarah N. And Steve, who eventually gave up on me. 8 people fought for my life and sanity. 8 people begged, coerced, confronted, prayed and cried until bit by bit, we got me back.
8 people saved my life. And that's not an exaggeration.

  2.  I give too much.
In "Bed of Lies" by Matchbox 20, Rob Thomas sang; "I tried to be more than me, and I gave until it all went away..."
I gave my love, my time, my attention, my...all to people, yes, people. Who took, and took, and when I was dried up, they all left. One by one, I watched the people who'd claimed so much love and care for me, walk away. 
Because I had no more to give.
Because I asked that dammit, for once, could I be on the receiving end? Could I be given the time, attention and love I was giving out?
I asked for more. I fought for more. I begged for more. And they walked. Because I was asking for too much. Because I wasn't understanding. Because I was dramatic.
Because I was exhausted.
I gave too much. They gladly took it and left me empty and dry.
But then I learned. C'est la vie.

3. People always leave.
In One Tree Hill, Peyton lost so much. To death. To other girls. And this became her mantra' "People always leave."
It's weird how after one breakup, you believe you'll never feel the same amount of hurt. Until the next break up. The next walk away. Then you know. That each breakup takes it's own piece of you. Each walk away brings in its own flood of tears.
Each goodbye comes with a dozen "Please don't leave mes." 
Each "I can't do this anymore" brings on a fresh unwanted supply of "But what the fuck is wrong with me's?"
Each" I am not so sure about us" leaves you drenched with countless " Why won't you be so sure about me, instead?
People leave. Your heart gets broken.
People forget you. Your heart hardens.
People move on or, go back. Your heart dissolves in low self-esteem and "I wish I was prettiers"
People make their choices. And it's not you.
You tell your heart to be still. There's only so many cracks-and aches-it-can-take-on. For the same people.
People leave. People leave. People leave.
And you live.

4. We invented the drama.
Maybe not so knowingly, but we did. We got into and stayed in places we shouldn't have gotten into in the first place.
Some wise fellow said that when actions and words differ, believe the actions. Actions don't lie. I am a writer so it's no surprise that I am a sucker for words. How word-love turned to foolery is...is human, I guess.
Your true friends love you even when depression means you don't want to party for months on end. When you're not so cheery and smiley, the people who love you will still adore you. Even when your self induced house arrest comes in, they will adore you. Over texts, calls, IMs and prayers.
This is cliche but true; when someone wants to be in your life, they make room for you. No amount of promises, flirting, sexting or pleading will get you onto the schedule of someone who doesn't want to make time for you.
You don't need to beg for the time of someone who wants to be in your life. Rain or shine. Miles be damned, someone who wants to see you will see you.
It's that simple. And that difficult.

5.  I tried self-sacrifice. I botched the job.
Because life is too damned unpredictable. Because I consider myself to be fairly clever but Lord, have I screwed up. And the worst screw up is, I lost the love of me. Somewhere along the way, I thought it romantic to be self-sacrificial. Asking. Begging. Taking crumbs. Not demanding for what I deserved, what I was promised.
I asked for promises to be fulfilled, I got accusations of not being understanding.
I asked for a break from the night life, I learned who my true friends were.
When I thought over giving wasn't stupid enough, I took on self-blame. Blame for a failed relationship. A relationship that needed two people to make it work. I shouldered all the blame. Blamed myself for "tying...insisting..." I believed them when they said this time, they'd make it work, then I took the blame when the promise fell through the cracks. Again. And again. And damned again.
I blamed myself. And hated myself. And questioned myself. And apologised, when I should have held my head high and asked for better treatment. For more sensitivity. For understanding.
Until a brilliant woman forced me to question my self doubt.
Until she held my crying face and forced me to look into the mirror and understand. Once and for all.
My only fault was loving too much. And forgetting the simple truth; when someone truly loves and cares for you, it shows.
You can't hide love. Also, love doesn't hurt. It feels good. Really good.

6.  Ever after.
It's been a tough road. The last 7 months haven't been easy. But I learned. To let my friends in, because they're God's earthly angels and life savers.
To forgive. God, it's hard. To forgive yourself.
To forgive someone who you've come to realize, never really cared.
To forgive the small things like not calling on your birthday to breaking promises on end.
To heal. I have taken time off for me. For once in years. I shut out the bars, the parties.
And read. Slept. Prayed. Cried. Fought with God. Wept.

Until the blackness started to lift. Until I stopped judging me by looks or, lack of looks. Brilliance or lack of enough brilliance. On who loved me and who left me.
Until I learned to take it one day at a time. One item, one list at a time.
Until I learned, again; to put me at the top of each list.

Because nobody can love me like I can.

Alive. Well. And Smiling.

It is weird how life can punch you so hard in the gut one day...and then elevate you to nearly-blacking-out joy the next day.
On some page in Gabriel Garcia Marquez's "Love In The Time of Cholera", a character who's been recently widowed points out( thinks...out?) how the people whom one loves should take their things with them when they die. I agree.
But in relation to the people who...leave or whom you leave. They should go with their memories, the shared moments, the feelings...they should all be taken too.
Because it's painful. It is sheer torture to be left with mind-refreshers of what was. It is simply too tedious to remain with memories that in my case, are being pushed out of my mind with each ounce of strength and self-will that I can summon.

When the good-byes have been said, the memory slate should be wiped clean. Because memories of what used to be don't exactly bring any sort of serenity or melancholic happiness. They make you sad. And achey. Then more sad. Then, mad.
At the universe.
At your creator.
And at yourself. Those moments when you're able to detatch yourself from emotion and think/ look at the situation realistically, you get angry at yourself for...being an idiot.
Then your heart-mind combo that you just insulted re-plays a memory; one of the nice ones and you stop questioning your intelligence.
You are only human.
It is okay.
You will be fine. Really. You will.

You move through the motions. Pain. Hurt. Numbness. Questioning of your mind's working processes. You spend two days trying to not let yourself get overwhelmed by all feelings nasty and negative.
Two days of working, friend-ing, family-ing and trying to NOT feel. Then you get convinced that you might have to deal with all this chaos for a longer while. It won't go away just because you are willing it to.
So you accept. And brace yourself for all those quirky mannerisms that really translate to you dealing. Furious reading, over-working, falling in even deeper love with your music collection. And, careful avoidance of friends. You will NOT talk about this.
Over my pile of ashes ( guess where I borrowed that from?)
Then as you finally allow the mess in, it...goes. Not totally, no.

You are aware that you've lost something you really and truly valued...but you also know that it would have drained you. If you had not let it go, it would have gone from happiness-bringing, care-receiving-and-giving, mushy-turning..it would have lost its entire beauty.
And then the memories of that...those would have been dark and ugly.

Everyone deserves to be happy.
Everyone has the right to decide who brings them the most happiness and to stay with that person.
And everyone should bloody know when to walk. When to let go. Or, try to let go.
Life can be harsh. And plain mean. And confusing.
But life always lets us choose.

So I made my choice. The choice that choked me for the past two days.
A choice that took someone I had grown to care for so deeply away from me.
I let go of the one person that I currently want around the most.
Because life gave me the situation. But I made the choice.
Sometimes, the hardest thing and the right thing are the same.
Sometimes, separation brings clarity. The sort of clarity that togetherness doesn't really accord you. You look back and realize that you were playing risk games with your heart. You finally ask yourself, "Did I ever think of how this would end? Did I ever stop to ask myself if I honestly believed that maybe, just maybe, they would choose me? Really?"

I made my choice and spent close to three days bearing a great amount of pain. Then I decided to let myself face the pain, and asked God to hold me together. I was not going to break down. No.
Everyone deserves to choose whom they want to take their journey with.
And sometimes, you're the one who gets left behind. There's Meredith and Allison.
And you're one or the other.
You can't be both.

Almost three days of aching and you wake up with a song in your heart. You slept almost-quite-perfectly and you wake up minus the heaviness.
So you try to recall if you got intoxicated the night before. But you were home by 7pm.
Then you recall the prayer that was your last conscious thought before you slept off.

"Dear God, at the risk of sounding silly, I can't quite find any verse in your book that speaks to my current situation. No chapter on aching hearts and difficult goodbyes. But I know that you care. Even if I am currently furious at you. Please, please. Please, Lord, make me better. Hold me together. I miss smiling. I need the joy that surpasses and brings all understanding.
Please, God. Please. Hold me. Moe."

Also, there was the IM from your very wise friend that said something about God having a better and higher plan.
You tell your heart that's leaping to every dance-y song to cool it, too much of something can osso be bad. Be-gone, euphoria.
You calm down and tell yourself you'll face the day, second by second.
And you do. A few pangs. Several reminders. Way too much missing-ness. But way less aching.
And that's a good start.
Or, a good third day.


For Maux.
Because she smiled today. A lot.

On the wrong side of right. I think.

Passion. Fate. Friendship. Depth. Intimacy.
Bloody, majorly sucky timimg.
Confused? Me too. Join the party.
Welcome to the elements that have conspired to make me giddy happy and indescribably sad at a go. No. The elememts that conspired against me and have slowly but surely and successfully managed to create a sad, achey albeit happy tale.

And the gods. You have to give it to them. At least, I do.
You win. I allow. You take the gold. For a chance at a beautiful and amazing...thing. For lack of a better word because"relationship" feels like I'm cheating. Lying to myself. Being stupidly and mouse-like blind.

FATE IS A WOMAN.
And when I finally do get to meet her, I will not kick or yell at her. I will bow down at her feet. Confess my boundless admiration for the bitch the bitch is/ can be. Then, I'll calmly ask to be her protege. Right after I have learnt all her sick, heart-breaking, dream-busting and happiness-busting tricks, I will throw her off her high and lofty throne, make her human and wreck malicious havoc on her life. I'll let her live long so till the day she dies, I can still mess her up.
Also, I will mess up other humans. I am a woman please. Fate shall just be my biggest project.

What do you do when you have to let someone go? Someone whose only crime is...perfection? Not angel-like, I've-neve-sinned-a-day-in-my-life sort of perfection.
No. Can anyone stand that?
I mean...someone who is a perfect fit to you? Quirks, perks, issues, inch-high temper, semi-craziness, major vulnerablity, sickness that seems to have picked the last three months to pay continous visits to your system...how do you come ladden with all this, and still find someone who without a doubt cares deeply for you?
How do you finally find friendship, support, laughter, brilliance that quite easily beats your own (which by the way, is major. Ahem.), and not be able to have it?
You convince yourself that all the people who could possibly get your outrageous mind are all taken or...dead...(RIP Mae West.)
You meet some of these people and you start to finally feel you belong. But what fate doesn't tell you is that, this person will get you. This person will go from being a make-work more interesting mate to...the person who for the first time in your entire dating/ flinging/ semi-love history that you will let yourself be vulnerable with. Not over flat tyres.

Over things you previously thought would either scare people away or not have their gravity understood. So you spend the day puking out your innards from the latest migraine attack, you spend the day with your dreams on the collapsing train because your work is not fun anymore, but tell your significant other you're fine.
Because you worry that telling him about the migraine from hell or the asthma attack from...out of the blue will scare him away...or that he'll give an arse-like answer to lost-job-love such as" at least you have a job...some people..."

I am NOT vying for sainthood. When I'm in the down and low zone, I don't want reminders of my luck at my being employed. I want support. And understanding. And attempts to make me smile. And practical help; point me in the direction of something that will make me love Public Relations again.
And then fate comes a-calling. She doesn't knock, the ill-mannered woman. She glides in. Un-noticed. One of only few females who don't love attention. She'll patch onto your shoulder and right when you think you've made another great friend, Fate telepath-messages Cupid...and the two busy-bodies proceed to entangle you in a twist so viciously calculated, you want to tell professors to revise calculus syllabi.
Fate and her friends create better and more complex puzzles and problems.

When you have spent your entire life masking your weaknesses, when you have been the first born that's not allowed to cry or make mistakes or be a child because well, you are a first born, when you have hidden the intensity of some of your illnesses from even your closest friends because you will not let them see you cry and turn red from horrible headaches...you get accustomed to that.
You become the perfect first born. The friend who tries to thoroughly love and protect all her friends and the daughter who makes her mama sunny-bright proud of her.

You forget with the years, how it feels like to cry. Over the breaking of your favourite CD.  You forget how it feels to be weak and human because you don't know how your friends will react to you crying. Not at a funeral. But over a bad day, a love that wasn't love at all. A job that's starting to suffocate you.
You forget what it's like to be a woman. You click your heels and be witty and proceed to best-friend God.

But God doesn't text. Or hug-lift you off the ground. Or check on your currently skiddy health.
God doesn't make you feel things you last felt with the release of Twilight 1.
God doesn't make you smile silly, silly smiles all day, all week and not be scared to be thought cuckoo by your workmates.
God allows you to be vulnerable. He does.
In the dark of your bed room or in a quiet, peaceful chapel.

But then, you have spent the last 20+ years suffering from the God-complex. You are tired of closed-room break downs. You are fed up with being damn strong. You're done masking throbbing migraines because you don't want to be the party pooper and have dates and friends leave early.
You're done.

So you slowly let in this person. You breed a monster as you let your usually stoic self show sides to you not even your closest friends have seen. You become a pile of major, jelly-like mush and somehow, somehow you're not self-conscious, or mentally dissing yourself for being...that way.

You're being silly but happy. You're caring about someone but you're being cared for as well. Sometimes, even more. You're excited but you're also calm. Because unlike most of your past closeness-building scenarios, this one has a great deal of solid about it. So even when for whatever reason you go a day without talking, you don't spend hours analysing all the possible ways you could have screwed up and gotten un-attractive over night.
You try to be a better person because you are imperfect and sometimes hurt and annoy this person but you're not scared of screwing up.
Because while said person doesn't take your...errr...crap, they also don't de-mean you in an attempt at bringing maturity into your sometimes childish self.

This is when Fate sweeps in and does a number on you. A major, number that leaves you up at 3am listening to Christina Perri and telling your heart that heart ache and loss are around the corner, she'd better get prepared (at least this time you saw it coming), you try to mentally prepare for the time when this person has to be set free, you tell yourself that God, the universe, has a better person in store.
But this is as better as it gets. I think.

Fate leads you to an amazing being of a man. And then Fate says you can't have him.

You smile but are ambushed by constant, subtle and sometimes loud reminders that this has a shelf-life. You attempt to cry but wah. Nada. Tears deserted you ages ago.

All you have are your words. Even those somehow fail you for weeks on end.
So you give up the battle to get answers from deities and gods who play let's screw-up-unsuspecting-humans games for fun. You convince yourself that the person in store for you will rock majorly more than this.
But you also can't help thinking..."What if I'm one of those people? what if the rest of my life is going to be a movie sound-tracked by Hinder's Lips of an angel?
Just, what if...this is as close as I get to almost.....(GULP) falling in love?
The real deal?"
Because while you're quite happy with what you have, you're not brave enough to fall all the way.

Some wounds never quite heal.
Some scars never quite fade away.
The break from such a fall would leave some massive injuries. And tell-tale scars.

You sit at your work desk and pour your emotional mess onto your blog because you do not want to even think of talking to any of your friends about this.
Not because they're not amazing friends or because they will judge you and be cynical.
They will hug you, and check on you every 5 minutes, but most of all, they will see you vulnerable.
And you don't do vulnerable well. Well...with some people, you actually do.

So you stop youself from fearing the future. You know you will be okay. Somehow.
You have horrible days and lonely, scared nights because you know you're the running sort who's not above sending a 4am "I can't do this anymore" text.
Because you do want to do this.
You make peace with the fact that, a good number of years from now, you will be happily married and mothering some beautiful children but might occassionally think of this person.
And what could have been.
Then you'll sit your children down and tell them of life's real issues. Not Harvard graduates whom they should emulate or your success which they should strive to achive.

The real problems, the real issues, are the ones you're never prepared for.
And the worst of the lot are the ones that come coated with bitter-sweet icing.
The ones that come bearing inexplicable complexities and make you question your creator. And His sometimes not-funny-way of doing things.
The real problems are the ones where smiles and aches quite easily go together.
And bear equal intensity.

Also, and most of all, you thank God and the universe.
Even you, Fate. Eh? You rightfully deserve a mention.
You thank the powers that run this universe for all things deep, tender, sweet, mushy, strong, caring, brilliant.
You thank them for wrapping this in 6'1 feet of darkness and awesomeness.

Then you post this. And go home. To lonely thoughts. And Christina Perri.


For...
You know yourself.

And to my friends; I shall not be taking or answering any questions.
This time, let me be.
Please.
Especially you, Yasmin. (that is said with love.)

Moe.

Dear October (Wake Me Up When September Ends)

"Wake me up when September ends." Title of a song by Green Day. A rock band I sort of like. Good music.
That song, was my mantra towards the end of the A-level part of my high school. It is just so...sad. Nothing particularly gut-wrenching sad in the lyrics, but sad. That sad that creeps up on you, finds a comfortable corner in the centre of your already-bruised heart and curls it's lukewarm self in there. The sort of sad which doesn't have you doubling over in inexplicable pain. No.
The sort of sad Meredith faces when she asks McDreamy to choose her over Allison. And he doesn't.
The sad that does not prod or pinch, this sad is maddeningly polite. It just settles over you in a manner so complete and total...and subtle but entirely felt...it clouds and doesn't bring forth tears.
But sighs, yes. Deep, inner sighs that take the life in you and....make it one huge, burden of a sigh. This sadness doesn't present in form of wails, no. It has the ability to hide behind a good number of cocktails or a good book.

Then the morning comes. And the movie ends. And the book runs out of words.

September was bad. September was slow. Tediously slow. September was horrible. September brought no creativity, zilch inspiration and plenty melancholy. September was cold, and rainy. And awesomely ass-holey.

I fought dread. Yes, most of the past 30 days were filled with dread. Of the unknown. The horrible fear that doom and gloom were in the neighbourhood. I prayed.
Dear Lord, I prayed. And prayed. And run to Melanie. And Sara. And we prayed. But doom and gloom were just happy keeping around me.
So, in that manner of easy vulgarity I had mastered in my O-Level, I flipped them off. I flipped gloom, doom, despair, writer's block, inability to read any of the several amazing books that stood by my bed side.
I flipped them all, called their fucking bluff and told them I would be just fine.
At the right time. The fight to be gleeful and joyous...do you get the irony in that phrase? "The fight to be gleeful and joyous...?"  We are NOT meant to fight for joy. We fight to recover our waspy waist lines after child birth. We DO NOT FIGHT FOR JOY.

Screw Eve and her lack of self-control. A fruit? Come on.
Screw death. Death that went and took the mommy of 6 beautiful, intelligent babies.
Death that took away the mommy of my insanely gifted friend.
Fuck death that attempted to break the spirit of a vibrant, spiritual and God-loving man.
Screw death that made us sit in that church and try especially hard not to curse the God that is supposedly harboured in it.
Fuck death for reminding us all of our immortality. Our fragility. Our short spanned life times.
Fucking screw death for the unwanted, unnecessary and uncalled for reminder that, we are on borrowed time.

You gotta give it to death. We plan. And dream. And hope.
While the arse snickers. And then grabs. Steals. Tears apart.

We, the word bearers, we the writers, the grammatically and lyrically gifted. We who somehow manage to convey any message with a couple of well articulated paragraphs. We who always have the sharpest responses to the queries, errors and ineptitude of others. We...who make our living from stringing words together.
We were helpless. And speechless.
I sat with some of the most gifted writers in this town and all we could do was hold hands. And lean on shoulders. And cry. Silent, endless streams of tears as we watched the hearts of our friend and her family get ripped out.

Let me tell you about grief. The words to describe it have not been invented yet. You pray, and hope that you are dreaming. Or, night-maring. That you will wake up. That you will hug your broken friend and drain the hurt from her soul.
That she will stop crying, because you are getting bloody teary-eyed and she doesn't need you crying.
You want to hold her head on your laps and try to soothe away the pain you know without a doubt, will never really go away.
Our mommies are supposed to be with us forever. Oh, we scream at them, and yell, and bang doors in their faces and try to explain our excessive love of alcohol to them, but our mommies are not supposed to die.
Because our mommies are the rocks, the walls, the cooks, the doctors, the cleaners, the huggers, the embarrassing ululaters when our names are called out on graduation.

Our mommies are the grandmothers of our unborn babies. Our mommies should see us first dance with our husbands on our wedding days. They are supposed to tell you why your colour schemes are "too much" or why you do not need a wedding planner, "you lazy children of these days" and guilt you into inviting all their friends to the wedding.

And then break into sobs as she watches her gorgeous girl redefine bridal dazzle(ness.)
My mommy is supposed to walk me down the aisle. Because while she has broken my heart in various and callous ways, she is my mommy.
Mommies are our angels. They are not meant to have a shelf-life.

Dear October.
Today is my brother's birthday. Arnold is my favourite man. He is growing into the man that will make God change His mind about annihilating all male species.
Dear October, come laden with blessings. And joy. And inspiration. And friends. And love.
September took the life out of us.

I came close to self-destruction.
I do not know how my usually perceptive friends were not able to see it.
The alcohol I was drowning in wasn't meant for recreational purposes at all.
The intention was to forget. But I couldn't. You cannot forget the despair that resides in the depths of your soul.
I lost alot of me to September. Creativity. Love-that came a tad too late, joy, passion, hope, sleep.
I lost the will to be alive. September. You hit me hard.

October...
I am a recovering life -and-it's stupid happenings-patient.
Be gentle.
On us all.
Rest In Perfect Peace, Mildred's mama.

"Wake Me Up When September Ends"

Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
wake me up when September ends

like my father's come to pass
seven years has gone so fast
wake me up when September ends

here comes the rain again
falling from the stars
drenched in my pain again
becoming who we are

as my memory rests
but never forgets what I lost
wake me up when September ends

summer has come and passed
the innocent can never last
wake me up when September ends

ring out the bells again
like we did when spring began
wake me up when September ends

here comes the rain again
falling from the stars
drenched in my pain again
becoming who we are

as my memory rests
but never forgets what I lost
wake me up when September ends

Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
wake me up when September ends

like my father's come to pass
twenty years has gone so fast
wake me up when September ends
wake me up when September ends
wake me up when September ends 


                                     Green Day.
                                                   

Fear. Acer. Him.

I will start by venting. On God. I got up this morning feeling all inspired and ready to write about three pieces today. So I log in and type away. Then some criminally-stupid error happened to the page and poof! went my deep and witty blog post. Man did I swear. After months of totally zilch inspiration, which is the most essential part of writing, the dwanzie of a computer eats up the first thing I put down. All swear words and curses to the silly computer fairy who was sleeping on duty. Msssscccchhhheeewww.

Unfocused Just.

Hours later, after I have gone over every possible way to re-acquire my handiwork, I have moved on. Life is short. Abusing this Acer gadget will not help. Let me put what's left of my inspiration to good use. New posting. Arise fairy. We've got knowledge to impart. Wisdom to share. Fears to confess.And you need to keep any form of article-eating, mind-flaming and talent-disrespecting bugs out of my way. Here goes;

Passion is underrated. Fear is the enemy. The enemy who knows all your deepest, darkest doubts, misgivings and character patterns and will not be shy about using them against you. The shrinks insist that that giving attention to fear is the surest way to have it wreck havoc in your life. But we do not give attention to fear. Fear pays us the attention. Fear clings to your heart and invades your mind and clutches your soul. Fear is not scared of us. Because fear has been around longer than any of us has. So it has the experience necessary to pin you down. Fair and square.

I have been engrossed in a battle with this enemy. Who seems to think that dragging images and replays from my memory bank will cause me to scare and like I always do, run. The fear is right. At least the tactic is. My memory bank is filled with scenes I wish I could erase. With faded but clearly-there reminders of past pains, past aches, past losses. The memories which are mine are being used against me. To eventually create more painful memories right after I give in and create a huge, dirty mess. Isn't life ironic?

Isn't fear devious?

How does one ever totally wipe away those stains to the mind? How does one let the past fully go so they can enjoy the now with no qualms about the past being repeated and causing the same past pains, with the same spirit-crushing results? Because I would like to go on. With life. With him.

But he scares me. He always did. Flame-hot passion doesn't exactly help matters. Especially since this is first-time-flame-hot-passion. Oh, there has been passion. The sort that warmed me.

This is burning me. And I am begging to be scorched.

Fire, follow me...???

There are things you do not believe in until you have seen them yourself. That I just might have found my human kryptonite is one of those things. I do not believe in kryptonites. I do not hold with the belief that one can have a great weakness for another human being. I do not understand being weak for another person. And I am not weak for this person. I am not being kryptonited, please. I am simply caught up in an intensity that has this rare but enduring ability to get deeper. I am running in a circle that for two years (albeit at intervals), has refused to come to an end. I am the girl who is being forced to question everything I ever stood for and believed in. Because what I believe in is simply that-beliefs. What I am in is words and everything else. Action. Feelings. Blood rushes. Everything deep and scary.

Pain is pleasure. And passion is pain. My body and heart have minds of their own. And I am no competition. That's a lie. I do not want to fight them.

There is something to be said about not being able to last an hour without touching someone and of the man who will not last an hour without turning to look at you. 

It is meaningless but somewhat deep things like these that are giving rise to the cold demons of fear within me. I do not like to be this way with another person. Yes, I wish for it. I pray for intensity and depth and friendship and that searing passion. I know I would not be in any thing that is without passion and intimacy. I pray for all these things and when they do show, I am like the dog that chases the car but doesn't know what to do when the car does stop. 

Because when you are this way with another person, you are vulnerable. Vulnerable and me don't make good friends. I prefer to have my head screwed on right at all times. But he makes my mind run away. And honestly, I don't exactly miss it.

Until it strikes.

Fear of the past repeating itself. Fear of the future that is unknown. Fear that if this the real deal, the battle is just beginning. Hell will break loose and commitments will be put to test.

I fear that because we have somehow failed to grasp the-let-us-leave-one-another-alone-and-actually-move-on part of this entire thing, we are in line for shocks and surprises. 

I fear that because we will not let go, because even when I am tantrum-ming like a three year old and we are fighting like cats, you are there. You never really leave. Some of the things that you did in the past are begging to be revisited. In the name of experience being the best teacher. The stories of your past are little arrows that pierce me each time someone unknowingly speaks of you. The extent of your drama pushes the run alerts so hard, I have to stop myself from picking the phone and cutting you completely out of my life.

Heaven doesn't seem to be in any hurry to help me. And I am only human. I am a girl who has come face to face with the stuff real life is made of. 

I am the girl who doesn't understand how pleasure and pain can go together. Because I am the girl who always had it figured out. Now I am the girl searching for answers. In not-so-clever-places.

His eyes for instance do not hold written-in-stone-answers. 

On Struggles... And Bling.

"The Struggle Continues For Greater Horizons." That was my primary school motto. Kitante Primary School. It does sound quite philosophical. Like the tons of deep phrases out there that make you think the moon is an aim away. Albeit an imaginary aim. I am with Mos Def on this one. No one's really been to the moon. I mean, how would we know? If you're remotely intuitive, you should realize by now that this isn't going to be one of those believe-you-can-and-you-will sessions. It's a very down& low post. This woman is fighting. Against life-as it is right now. The currents have sworn battle, the gods are in the mood to play human chess& I am their current toy-victim. Even fashion is in the mix. I couldn't find my choice of lipstick at any beauty shop all weekend.

So, you said Maureen, right?

In brief, my fists are bunched up, my helmet is on, but I keep bouncing off the walls I'm trying to break. Mostly because the elements of life that are these walls, are made of steel.
Battle Hardened Steel. Meet the forces up in arms against me.

Grain-Sized Faith.
The Good Book tells me that if I should but have the faith of a mustard seed....Right now, I'll be grateful for for pepper seed-sized faith. Yes, to believe is an easy thing. One day, I will afford a cappuccino maker. But to believe when all is falling apart around you, when all that matters the most is crumbling, and not responding to your panicked prayers.
How is one meant to find faith when not even one aspect of one's life has some form of stability? How do you believe in a better day, when each passing day brings more gloom?
How do I believe in a just God when all I see is pain? and anger? The pain of those I only see on TV I can ignore. The pain of those that matter to me shreds my heart to bits.
How do I believe in happy endings when the road to said end is only filled with thorns& more aches? Now would NOT be a good time to mention Cinderella or any character from the Fairy tale neighbourhood. Faith gets you through life's current messy mess. But right now, I am siding with Thomas.
A clear sign from above would be welcome.

So, Hmmm...It is kinda freezing in here...

The Love That Never Comes.
Love is taking her time getting to me. Oh yes, I have semi-experienced love. The mostly-fake, "not meant to last- I know-it -will-lead to-no-good-but, What The Hell??;I am in." That type of love.
If you can call it love. I believe in love. Partly because movies such as "A Walk To Remember" are in existence. Mostly because I believe in God. And more mostly because Amy Lee& Seether went& did that" Broken" song. 
But to the heart of the matter. I have seen more pain, more loss, more tears& more disappointment come out of love& love's assumptions than I have joy, or gladness, or diamond rings. I loveeee diamonds.Yes.
Love has proven to be elusive.

Aim better, Love-god.

I am not desperate, no. But am also not the sort that will settle for anything less than a racing heart, promises of semi-blackout physical unions& a deeply embedded love of God. Plus monogamy.
Especially monogamy. 
So, am stuck here waiting on....something that has only worked against me thus far. I have broken hearts; very knowingly. I have have taken heartless to new levels. In attempts at something akin to love. 
Also, I have been broken. I have died on the inside, hardened on the outside, and had everything in between wither away. 
But I remain hopeful. One day, a certain stranger will smile at me, I shall smile back, and this frost around my heart shall melt. And the fear of hurt will be conquered. With his arms around me. And a big rock for me.

Hellooooo Darling...

                                                                    

Me Has A Dream

And my dream, it is very hazy. Almost like I am actually sleeping& dreaming about what my dream should be like but it is not exactly very clear, mostly because I am actually awake Capiche? Non? Me neither.

That's how dire the situation with my dreams is. Dream actually. I am on the right path-dream wise. I know that for sure. But when the path to my dream(s) gets jammed with a number of nightmares, I...well...I do not. WTH? I get mad. 

Let me tell you how frustrating it is, when having finally put your life's vision in perspective ( you figure out what you're good at, get your behind on the road that will get you to that dream, at least it should point you to the Main Dream Road). And then what you are good at decides it doesn't want to be excelled at any more.
I have failed to write anything for weeks. My favourite music hasn't helped, neither has Maya Angelou. Reading my own blog didn't help much. It just reminded me that my finally-on-the-road dream was slowly burning out. 

Crumpled Dreams

Allow me to point out that writing is what I love best. I need my inspiration source to wake up& realize I die when I can't write. 
Oh, I smile, and laugh. But I die. Because my words are my connection to life's source. Not writing means I'm disconnected from God, somehow. And that drains me in ways no words can aptly describe.
Writing is my life. And I am fighting for dear life right now. 


Blasts From The Past.
The past should be left alone.Mostly because it is over& done with. But more because we cannot go back& change it. Am sure God had a very good reason for this particular plan of action, or rather lack of action.
Say, God, being able to change the past might work for us all. We'd go back& uninvent formal schooling. Look at all the damage; home work, atomic bombs, George Bush...And men would give birth ( I see every female solemnly agreeing)....
But the powers that be didn't think it wise to enable us change our past. You'd think I'd have learnt the reason behind that by now. Nope. Poor, poor God.
My past has become my present. Not in a wise way-thingy. In a," But if I don't find a way to let go really soon, I'll soon be a case study for failure-to-move-on-psycho illness" sort of way.
I want to let go. I want to move on. I want my heart& whatever other organ aches each time I remember the past, to stop hurting. But how do I let go of some one I let so close? How do I let go of the person that made it a point to engrave themselves on to me? How am I supposed to forget everything? Pretend we never were? How do I make my friends see that the reason it gets so hard is not because it was all roses? But precisely because, the thorns were almost non existent? Except the one that took you away.

How do I let go of Stella when I somehow start to talk to her each night? Especially when it all hurts like hell? You think I am weird? I don't know who else I'll allow to see me that way. How do I stop cursing her& being mad at God for taking her away so soon? Just how do you get over the death of one of your soul mates?

I Miss You 'Ella.

The past has become my shadow. It clings to me& sticks to anything that will evoke the semblance of a memory. Blowing old life into new mornings, and further haunting the nights. How do I get over my favourite jeans failure to fit perfectly because they will not make friends with my hip add-ons??
The past.This struggle is hardest.
The fight against time is futile. Unlike dreams, faith and love, there is no story where time succumbs to the pressure of happy endings. Always gets her way. Her way to the future.
"Wounds heal,
Scars remain.
Whether we want to, someday we stop clinging,
And move on."
So, in a post, I am fighting. Against all the elements that seem intent on taking the light out of my eyes. I am fighting because I will not live a life minus my God. Because I will not give up on love, scarred heart be damned. And most of all, because I will not live in the shadows of what could have been. Shadows are dark.
And darkness simply means, life is out the door.

OK. Moving On. To LIFE.

You, Me And Gin.

You...Me...Our place...

You and your smiling eyes,

That twinkled even when you meant to be serious.

You that had become the dawn of my days

You...that would only rest after you sealed off my nights;

With the warmest of holds

And kisses that wrecked havoc and would linger long after your final seal.

Me...the one you could not get, but the one you had to get

Me and my stoicism and insecurities

Me with my laughing eyes and bleeding heart

Me and my weaknesses, and strengths and a weakness for you

Swearing you'd never have me,

Then, praying you'd never leave me.

Me, You...in our world, our place

Our hushed giggles, our racing hearts,scared to admit

That this was becoming an obsession, that we no longer held the reigns.

Oh, we laughed at the world, we held hands

I couldn't bury deep enough into your arms..

You couldn't get enough of the girl and her face or her small fingers...

Me and You. The world saw us trip...fall over the boundaries we had set

We laughed at them, but they knew better.What we fought to hide,

What we would not admit to ourselves, they saw clearly;

When I swept in and you could not take your eyes away...

When you walked in and the warmth lit up my face.

You, Me...Gin.

I was your addiction, you were my drug,

Gin was our solvent.

Windy nights..warm holds..

Passion...and tenderness

Warmth, laughter and fear...fear of the future

A future that meant we would be no more.

We tempted fate and broke hearts...

You were never mine...

Was I ever yours? 

You, Me, And .
We are buried with the past.

Except the days are filled with quiet reminders of you

And the nights are torturous reminders of what we lost.

I Miss us; You, Me and Gin.

I Miss You. 

CAPTIVE.

You found your way into my dreams...again.
You always knew just how to get in:find your way into those parts of me that I held sacred.
You fought your way into my heart...You embedded your face on my mind...
And now you haunt my dreams.

I fight you more each day, fight to forget you, to rub away your mark..
But I fight a victor..You branded me...Made sure the print was permanent... the grip on me, firm.
You accused me of weakness,of running...of giving up.
You saw from the start, how easily I could take flight.I bruised you when I gave up on us.
You saw the weakness that made me put up walls..But held so tight those who got in.

You turned and used my weaknesses against me.
You knew that time was all you had before the demons took over.
So all my time you consumed.You became my waking song..the shadow that followed me all day..
And when night came, the warmth that took away the harshness of the day.
Even as I ran...and put all those questions in your eyes,
Causing pain only I could see.You fought on.

I ran to find freedom, and ease..I ran from you that held me so captive.
Only I ran back to you, with pain in your eyes.And victory in your look.
You that knew me best.And sees the defeat on my face.Defeat you put there.
I ran from you...back to you.You made your way in,swore never to leave.
To torture me back.Now my own dreams master me.
Once a willing captive...now am a haunted prisoner.

 Let Me Go,Please...