tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78078150476365090582024-03-06T00:55:54.151+00:00Gypsy souls, magic dust and life beyond the big 50. Unapologetically Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919393276754492787noreply@blogger.comBlogger142125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7807815047636509058.post-44419998153379371422023-10-18T11:01:00.008+01:002023-10-19T20:36:50.078+01:00Creative writing assignment - broken friendship<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Urbanist;">I couldn't have predicted it, even though I might have imagined the encounter many many times before. The truth is, chances of meeting her randomly, in the city we both grew up in, were actually pretty slim. We had both left the country, years before. I visited once a year, but I didn't often go to the actual city centre. As for her, I didn't even know if her family was still around that area. But still, when someone who's been in your life for 30 years suddenly cuts ties, without so much as an explanation and you come back to the very place where you spent so many hours together, year after year, you might catch yourself wondering what if. Although after over 10 years, those thoughts were starting to fade away. </span><br /></span><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">I was sitting at Martinho da Arcada under the arches of Terreiro do Paco, the big plaza down by the riverside, a walk away from the two big train stations. I sat on the tables outside, enjoying the shadow on a day that was just at the border between warm and hot and had asked for a 'pastel de nata' and a bica - Lisbon jargon for an expresso coffee. It was so rare for me to be on my own, in Lisbon, without the kids or my husband, that for a moment I just sat there, taking the city in. Lots of tourists everywhere, bright colours fighting for attention under the bright light of the sun. I was sitting with the stone wall to my right but decided to turn my chair 45 degrees backwards in order to have a wider vision of the plaza and as I did so, there she was, sitting at the table behind me, a herbal tea in front of her. Her eyes were down on her drink but in the split second it took me to recognise her, she raised her head and her eyes met mine. For a moment it felt a bit like the pause button had been pressed and we just stood there, both of us uncertain about what to say or do. Time froze for a while. Without moving my eyes or body, my brain did a double take: was it actually her or was I staring awkwardly at a perfect stranger? It was her, older, but still her. I could guess her gestures even in her then-immobile figure. Behind her, the old iron clock marked 4:01 in the afternoon and I have no idea why of all things, that was the detail that called for my attention. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">I took action first, seeing that she didn't get up and leave like she normally did in my imaginary meetings. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">-Ola, I said. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">-Ola, she replied. Was it a good sign she was replying? </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">-I can see you still haven't joined the coffee team. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">She looked bewildered. I couldn't fault her for that. Eleven years and my first sentence to her is about her choice of drink at a cafe. I made an awkward nod at her tea. She responded with an awkward laugh. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">-Oh.....no, I still prefer to stay off caffeine, I don't like to consume any stimulant substances, she added after a pause. I also try not to eat too much sugar these days. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">-Oh....right.....I looked down at my bica and my oversized pastel de nata. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">-I can see you are still big on coffee. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Urbanist;">-Yeah, I'm still very attached to my stimulants. </span><span style="font-family: Urbanist;">-Look, Silvia, I added quickly before my previous sarcastic tone had time to sink in, I'm really not sure about what happened between us but I am glad to have bumped into you. I thought about trying to contact you so many times, but I was so confused about why you disappeared. I wasn't sure if it was resentment or......</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">-It's ok. I'm glad we found each other again too, but I'd much rather not talk about the past. I'm not even sure I had reasons for my reactions. I was fragile, there was a lot going on, all the treatments took a toll on me. But the past is in the past.....I have no hard feelings. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">-I.....ok, cool....yeah, if you don't want to talk about the past. So how are things? How are you?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">-Oh, I am wonderful. Life is really really good now. It's never been so good. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">-I'm really glad. I heard you moved to Ireland.....</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">-Yes, I'm doing a project there. Very interesting, lots of people involved. Those Irish are crazy. They all adore me, I have to hide, I get asked for opinion on things so many times I hardly have time to breathe. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">-Oh wow, ....so are you managing the project or......?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">-No, I'm working as a volunteer. But it's a small community and I am just so well known, I need to create some boundaries to have some peace, you see?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">I wasn't really seeing anything at this point, I found the conversation a bit confusing and full-on, but I was keen on rebounding. You don't just delete 30 years of friendship on a whim. Or so I thought. I tried to keep the conversation going. I was so excited to tell her all the new things about my life. So excited to tell her I had had a second child.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">She carried on talking for a while about her life in Ireland and the Irish and the history of Ireland, even. I listened and asked more questions, hoping this would break the ice formed over years of distance I had hoped that by breaking the ice our conversation would actually get a bit more personal eventually. That we could maybe overcome the nearly tangible wall that was still separating us. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">She didn't ask about Cindy. And maybe I should have taken that as a sign. Eleven years had passed since she found out she wouldn't be able to have kids after the treatments, and 12 years since my Cindy was born.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">We had moved on to some memories of our past, being teenagers together, skipping classes to watch the sunset by the river. Collecting autographs from Adam Curry. Silly old memories. I said ''oh Gosh, I was at that place where Adam Curry gave us the autographs just the other day. With my kids. I have another one now. A boy!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">-Oh cool. Yeah, I sometimes think about those times, we were crazy. By the way, I went to a craft workshop the other day. I thought of you. You were always artsy.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;"> 'Oh cool?!' I thought. I had just told her I have a child she doesn't know, not that I had bought a new sofa. I stared at her dress, unable to look her in the eyes and unsure how to react to this, buying time for my feelings to settle. Could we be friends if I had to pretend I didn't have kids so as not to hurt her feelings? I noticed the pattern on her dress. It had some white shapes on it, against a dark blue background. Hills, maybe? No, actually elephants. They were definitely odd-shaped elephants, all in a row. And here was my brain again, focusing on irrelevant details.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">-What's wrong, do I have anything on my clothes, a stain or something? </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">-Sorry? No.....err, it's just a nice dress. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">-Oh, thanks. So as I was saying, I've been doing some art workshops. I wanted to do something different from what they were teaching. You know how much I like to be out of the box, but they wouldn't let me. They wanted me to follow the rules. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">I tried a polite laugh, but it didn't sound very convincing. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">-Sylvia, I am sorry for coming back to this, but I really feel like there are some things we should discuss, in order to clean the air a bit. I am so glad to see you again, to know about you, to know you are well. But things ended on such a weird note between us.....what happened? Maybe it would be helpful to talk about it....</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">-Ok, if you are not going to respect my boundaries, I'm afraid you will lose me again. I mean, I changed, you must understand that. What's the point of bringing the past back?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">-I... OK, whatever. So, tell me more about your life in Ireland. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">And she did. She didn't ask much about me. At all. But I was happy to hear her speaking. We were talking about some festivals she went to when I saw a chance to share my own projects. I guess I didn't read the room. Or I didn't want to believe she had no interest in my life whatsoever. I talked about my two exhibitions, the art project involving foreigners and some ideas I had here and there waiting to be developed. We had known each other since we were 10. She knew as well as I did, what a step forward it was for me to actually manage to make things happen, to project myself into the world. I thought she'd understand the significance of it all.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">I was right in the middle of a sentence when I saw her changing expression suddenly. Without any warning, she got up from her chair and with a half smile told me:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">-You really haven't changed, have you? Always talking about yourself non-stop. Always showing off. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Urbanist; font-size: large;">And without any warning, she just turned and left, her elephant-printed long dress undulating slightly in the afternoon breeze. The clock behind her marked 4:41</span></div>Unapologetically Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919393276754492787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7807815047636509058.post-89359166575057948092023-10-03T17:46:00.003+01:002023-10-03T17:46:35.615+01:00<span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: medium;">Life is crazy busy at the moment. I got myself involved in so many activities, I am having a hard time knowing if I'm coming or going. But, strangely enough, I am still enjoying it and I am not overwhelmed. Confused and all over the place? Yeah, maybe... But not (yet, at least) overwhelmed. Which is an excellent sign for me. So what's the teaching for the week?</span><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: medium;">I think believe in your path. Take one step after the other and we actually build it along the way. Drop what doesn't serve you anymore. But try not to drop things out of fear. Drop them out of a conscious decision that you know they do not serve your proposes anymore.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: medium;">I was so afraid to get more involved. I was so afraid it would be too much. But now the kids are a bit older more things are becoming possible. I can't do it all. Nobody can. What we can and we do is to make choices. Make your choices. And step forward. One step is better than no step. Half a step will still take you further than no step. If you take one step per day, that's 365 steps per year. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: medium;">Challenges don't work for me. Flexibility and persistence, on the other hand, do. For example, I have been wanting to exercise more, for years. I needed it. The whole turning 50 makes you realise even more that you actually do need it. Not because of the number, but because your body starts to creak and scream at every corner. But I can't be consistent about it. I joined a yoga class. It was free and it's doable. And the teacher is beyond lovely. It's not exhausting, I could actually do more. But you know what? It's a lot better than the yoga class I would do if I didn't go. By the end of the 10 weeks, it will be more 10 yoga classes I wouldn't have done otherwise.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: medium;"> I could take the kids to school walking every day. I don't. Sometimes we are running late. Sometimes the weather is dreadful. But when I manage, I will. And if I do it say 3 times a week, those 25min of extra walking I do back and forth will transform into 5 more hours I will have walked that month, compared to never ever walking to school. I don't manage one drawing per day. But if I manage 5 per week, that's 20 drawings per month. See where I am getting? Just do it. It adds up. And don't beat yourself up for not doing it. Just shift your attention to the times you did it and how it made you feel. Did it make you feel good? Then maybe do it again. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: medium;">And those days in which you can do nothing but curl under a blanket with Netflix and cookies? They are important too. Those moments scrolling on your phone? They happen. Stop beating yourself up. Just try to find the moment in which you can manage more. Self-critique hardly ever leads to more production of perfection. </span></div><div><br /></div>Unapologetically Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919393276754492787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7807815047636509058.post-47741280153572133722023-09-25T14:24:00.001+01:002023-09-25T14:24:15.733+01:00<span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: medium;">You know how they say if you believe in magic, magic happens? </span><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: medium;">Well.....I think it's true. I always had problems with the flow of life. Life felt bumpy and back and forward for me, rather than flowy, and I always wanted a flowy life. But recently, I have realised there might be reasons for my lack of flow. When I started reading about undiagnosed ADHD in adult women I had a huge lightbulb moment. I won't go into it today, that is the subject of a different post. Today, I need to make a note of the magical nature of life. How, sometimes, things come your way. I was always extremely lucky with the people I found along my path. And recently, I feel I have been finding an army of kind angels who somehow, add to my life in ways they have no idea about. People who, out of the kindness of their hearts, decide to offer me something. Some things are big, some things are apparently small. But all of them have been making such a huge difference.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: medium;">So this post is an ode to the angels. It's a recognition of how thankful I am for their actions, for those little acts of kindness that have added so much to my life. Thank you. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: medium;">I need a photo to illustrate this, but I feel it must be created specifically for the purpose. </span></div>Unapologetically Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919393276754492787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7807815047636509058.post-29550235920909957482023-09-23T17:45:00.008+01:002023-09-23T17:59:41.665+01:00<span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: medium;">All my life I have searched for magic. The older I get, the more I find magic in little things, everyday reachable little things. </span><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: medium;">Today I went to Swansea, to the fabulous Elysium gallery, after dropping my child at the equally fabulous Volcano Theatre for a Storyopolis art session. In Elysium they had a workshop going on, run by my dear friend and brilliant artist Karen Hopkins and the also amazing artist Lucy Donald. We were painting nesting dolls. These were mine, I only got to the second one, and it's not finished yet, but I am still pretty chuffed with the result. (thank you, Karen, for the photos!)</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGzKb3VQWkp96XT55l49KHIsKFaEl-HusgGeJlYJXMXZI05r3LEDlbxoTO9PlTigLLbFq0_0SZsWg4YGGD1UOq9TuyBqKGt92PoUwxVfVKqFGWQkJipWWAwY_OMnxtzJE6JO903PDDVK5CO2yCsTelJ9YZGxyWIOM69yXWij3r4HVovbJNMDevKchUYCk/s2048/380228513_10161847055497269_487815511457393600_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1652" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGzKb3VQWkp96XT55l49KHIsKFaEl-HusgGeJlYJXMXZI05r3LEDlbxoTO9PlTigLLbFq0_0SZsWg4YGGD1UOq9TuyBqKGt92PoUwxVfVKqFGWQkJipWWAwY_OMnxtzJE6JO903PDDVK5CO2yCsTelJ9YZGxyWIOM69yXWij3r4HVovbJNMDevKchUYCk/w516-h640/380228513_10161847055497269_487815511457393600_n.jpg" width="516" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgey1mp-eHDNVAvkyr6fhhccNayY9bcPgbEo93LZeTTzAasKd-Mw6NW_3q7_YoBCYXCmdlFHx0s0PqI8yalHYMb5W7OATCnH7tz4anDmhxeNdCz4CVyAJZEuBx_2XiUVu3EI65C3qDDOlb135DE7725Xfc25-iA2Csf3ms470o9LgD9bUu7MVYQ8SPZBWg/s2048/381168964_10161847055727269_1058564109312130364_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1418" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgey1mp-eHDNVAvkyr6fhhccNayY9bcPgbEo93LZeTTzAasKd-Mw6NW_3q7_YoBCYXCmdlFHx0s0PqI8yalHYMb5W7OATCnH7tz4anDmhxeNdCz4CVyAJZEuBx_2XiUVu3EI65C3qDDOlb135DE7725Xfc25-iA2Csf3ms470o9LgD9bUu7MVYQ8SPZBWg/w444-h640/381168964_10161847055727269_1058564109312130364_n.jpg" width="444" /></a></div><div><br /></div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: medium;">I have always wanted, for my entire life, to explore visual arts more deeply. I feel so privileged, both for having deep ongoing passions for things and for having the opportunity to finally explore them. This school year will be a year of exploring visual arts more deeply. I will start to connect photography with other mediums, like charcoal and paints. I have enrolled for a series of courses and I am keeping my artistic practice very alive. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: medium;">And this is what I mean when I say age doesn't, really, matter. Health matters, but age doesn't. Notice my 70's patterned trousers and bright orange hair to prove it. Notice how I dive in on any art workshop, whether I have the technique behind me to support it or not. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: medium;">It's your life, don't let society determine your script. Be you, fully, entirely, unapologetically. Be free. Dive in and live it. It doesn't matter if you're colourful or monochrome if you like art or maths, if your idea of fun is jumping out of a plane or stay home with a book (definitely on the second group myself lol). Just go and be you, be you fully and enjoy it. It's worth it. It's doable. Get that tattoo when you can afford it, buy that dress you're not sure you have a place to wear and wear it to walk the dog. Or to dance in the living room. Do that course, be involved in that activity you always wanted to do and you now think you're too old for it. Get that crazy colour on your walls. Or colour-coordinate your full house if that's your cup of tea. Find your tribe. Your soul mates. Not exclusively your romantic soul mate. Your life soul mates. The people that make you feel being you truly is amazing. Have 1 close friendship or have 15, it doesn't matter. But live them fully. Do you and do it fully. It's worth it. Nobody will do it for you. And if anyone is preventing you from being yourself....either ditch them or impose boundaries. Be kind....but be kind to yourself too. Enjoy your time, because if you are anywhere as well lived as myself, you will know that there is plenty not to enjoy along the way. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: medium;">Cheers to life <3 <br /><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>Unapologetically Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919393276754492787noreply@blogger.com0Swansea, UK51.62144 -3.943645999999998929.558234673642161 -39.099896000000008 73.684645326357838 31.21260400000001tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7807815047636509058.post-24798487112861502852023-09-22T13:34:00.001+01:002023-09-22T13:34:21.662+01:00<span style="font-family: Mukta;"> <span style="font-size: medium;">A cycle has ended, fresh winds, clear winds. I thank you!</span></span><div><span style="font-family: Mukta;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Peace is within reach. Always. Who would say....age does bring some wisdom (for the ones who care to learn...thankful for that too)</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU-sjfqs7U9QE45mpZVDTS3brQV5CD187P3ndVyMcgVGP7CwzBNvxioRNoOvXfQJ6Fs48THdElz9R4REJDeyfOdIAmFx5UhoDYqJF7JvovD_8EUn4uTliLzmFu96rVsS0gAVkEUDSPl9iPrAYZzFnIgiI4BvEYG-xGSSHdsGthNklsTDeJ_JnRcO5h6zI/s2048/DSCF0435.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU-sjfqs7U9QE45mpZVDTS3brQV5CD187P3ndVyMcgVGP7CwzBNvxioRNoOvXfQJ6Fs48THdElz9R4REJDeyfOdIAmFx5UhoDYqJF7JvovD_8EUn4uTliLzmFu96rVsS0gAVkEUDSPl9iPrAYZzFnIgiI4BvEYG-xGSSHdsGthNklsTDeJ_JnRcO5h6zI/w640-h426/DSCF0435.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMiTXyo8amshgjLNY_8nT9s_kMGPNvB7Us1DX4s8L6cEgVneOkZjBTooQdE7MSF63U1fuNOl2J04LzewSpO72qfYRTSiUKKixLFcgxQh-O4_R8uS1lUP_p0KRQuVw9SjpdqUdt-tzn_IHJBkyRu6ZyyKwuOxiLb5AXWZ_D-DM6-k2jwAI2Y8YaqBba5MA/s2048/DSCF0395.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMiTXyo8amshgjLNY_8nT9s_kMGPNvB7Us1DX4s8L6cEgVneOkZjBTooQdE7MSF63U1fuNOl2J04LzewSpO72qfYRTSiUKKixLFcgxQh-O4_R8uS1lUP_p0KRQuVw9SjpdqUdt-tzn_IHJBkyRu6ZyyKwuOxiLb5AXWZ_D-DM6-k2jwAI2Y8YaqBba5MA/w640-h426/DSCF0395.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>Unapologetically Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919393276754492787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7807815047636509058.post-77742496394121034852023-09-19T11:00:00.004+01:002023-09-19T11:04:06.815+01:00<span style="font-family: Mukta;">One thing I feel proud of is that I do not pretend to be someone I'm not. Relationships are only truthful if we're brave enough to be ourselves. I walk away if I need to preserve my integrity, but I don't run away so that I can avoid seeing who I am. The difference is massive. </span><div><span style="font-family: Mukta;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta;">Nobody shines brighter by dimming anyone's light. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta;">Like water, life must flow. And like water, life can shine so brightly. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMSk825NAVjpmH3D7IpzWWiVF6A0NmKR2N0ac3MbM-dtCFoU9mTmZnpB4j2J1XoLcCOrseUZIdXz7Fmy3SUxQDypb6jfn6XYruBzi7mavDMyRceMT1PpbgftFaHQ-g-OqGWaSMPaO5zyCVvBqkanbP5dyMtq6wLXXuaUyNmjsrLUZiFtmv-2n1WEMyzQg/s2048/DSCF0398.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMSk825NAVjpmH3D7IpzWWiVF6A0NmKR2N0ac3MbM-dtCFoU9mTmZnpB4j2J1XoLcCOrseUZIdXz7Fmy3SUxQDypb6jfn6XYruBzi7mavDMyRceMT1PpbgftFaHQ-g-OqGWaSMPaO5zyCVvBqkanbP5dyMtq6wLXXuaUyNmjsrLUZiFtmv-2n1WEMyzQg/w640-h426/DSCF0398.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Mukta;"><br /></span><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Unapologetically Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919393276754492787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7807815047636509058.post-23427844196624292642023-09-11T14:58:00.008+01:002023-09-12T10:54:14.573+01:00<span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: large;">Recently two things happened. </span><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: large;">The first one was that I turned 50. And it felt amazing. It was a week ago, and I'm still feeling amazing. I can't say exactly why. I'm not one for milestones as such. But it just felt good. It felt good to have arrived here. It feels good to be here. I feel happy. Happy from the inside out. In general, in myself. Even when life is not perfect, I have learned to love myself. At last finally.. It's been a slow process and the last 10 years have been particularly relevant to that. In consequence, reaching 50 felt right. I feel not as if I have reached some sort of Autumn in life. From my perspective, it's barely spring. The first green leaves aren't even out yet. </span><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: large;">The other thing that happened recently is that a once close friend has disappointed me for the second time in a decade. Not a tiny disappointment. I don't sweat the small stuff. To paraphrase another friend, I'm too old for that (50 haha, get the joke?) I don't even sweat the medium stuff all that much to be honest.. But this was not small or medium. It wasn't exactly dramatic either. It was just a what-kind-of-psychopath-does-this-shit kind of moment. I would like to say it surprised me. It didn't, not really. But it made me realise how some people grow out of old patterns as they age, and others get more and more ingrained in them. I like to believe I constantly strive to overcome old patterns that don't serve me well. And when I fail to do so, at least I don't lie to myself. I face it. Or at least that's what I honestly believe I do. Plus you need to really not have respect for the person you're dealing with to simply run away. This estrangement reminded me that sometimes, I am too much for some people. But not necessarily through some fault of my own. I actually, hand on heart, did everything right this time. My heart was fully open. I held no resentment. I was being me and looking forward to holding space for the other person to be. Just be. But my simple existence was too much. At least it's the only explanation I can find. So, I can only let them go and find people who are a bit less. Because I didn't arrive on this side of 50 to try and contain who I am. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: large;">All this to say that life on this side of 50 is feeling pretty amazing, in spite of all the ups and downs. I have my tribe of people, and they are truly fabulous. Some close by, some far away, but every single one of them I carry with me in one way or the other. I have the most extraordinary kids in the world, because, obviously, our kids are all the most extraordinary ones we know, and that's how it should be. But really, mine are brilliant. Subjectively and objectively, they are absolutely brilliant. I also have an immense love for being alive, an acute curiosity, a body that is able enough to allow me to do all sorts of great things and a creative impulse that leads me to have the most deliciously chaotic and yet rich life. I'm lucky. My life has little to show for in what seems to be the conventional way nowadays. No Instagram house, no spotless skin, no butox, no impeccable nails or hair, fancy new cars, newish phones or solid career. Nothing of that means anything to me. But I am real and colourful. The friends that I do have in my life are amazing and I love them dearly. I love my life, my messy house, my people. I am trying to redirect my life so that after years of being with the kids, I can redirect my career onto something I might actually love doing as a job. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: large;">I'm in love with my own life and I am not ashamed of that. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: large;">And for all that, I thought it was adequate to add the 'beyond 50' to my blog title. Because we are told, all the time, in this society, that we become invisible beyond 50. That our life starts going downwards instead of upwards. That we are less attractive, less interesting and less considered. But that's all a load of bullocks. I love my body more than ever because instead of measuring it through the effect it has on others, I love it for what it provides me. I love myself more than ever because I have finally realised there is nothing wrong with being spontaneous, passionate, a tiny bit chaotic and, most of the time, unapologetic about myself. I love my friends more than ever because having lived for half a century, I understand people more wholesomely. I see people's value a lot more clearly. I judge less. I get disappointed a lot less. age has taught me acceptance. Of myself, of others. But also of what's for me and what's not. Deep conversations and real people are for me. That's my realm. Chitchat and games, on the other hand, are things for which I can hold no space. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: large;">I love my life more, because I have finally started living it from the inside, taking it at face value. Rather than judging it from the outside. So I will try to keep this as a diary. A testament of how we, over 50's or all decades, are pretty much alive and as full of dreams and hopes and plans as any other age group. I still like playing and I still get excited by the small things like a 5-year-old. I randomly dance in my kitchen just because, I gaze at the stars and will be the first one to point at a rainbow. Join me in this journey if you like. There will be ramblings and photos, and personal style, and random midnight thoughts. It will be my digital scrapbook. My open diary. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Mukta; font-size: large;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light; font-size: large;"> </span></div></div>Unapologetically Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919393276754492787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7807815047636509058.post-16180548149200728052023-09-03T12:32:00.002+01:002023-09-06T18:07:23.663+01:00Through other people's limitations, I find out how little I am willing to limit myself. I can't make myself smaller because my simple occupying of space bothers you. I can't dim my light because you constantly measure your own light through comparison and wrongly feel that you fall short. I can't walk on eggshells to prevent hurting your fragile ego. I can't keep my conversation to the atmospheric weather when there is a multitude of colours and feelings and underlayers to be discovered in the world. <div><br /></div><div>I can't nod yes to all the half-truths just to make people feel more comfortable in their own skin. I cannot dress in greys because you find my bright colours threatening. </div><div><br /></div><div>What I can do, is to accept you wholeheartedly, if you're brave enough to just be. I can cheer your conquers, no matter how small, no matter how big and I can marvel at the wonder of who you really are. I can share dreams and listen endlessly (as you probably know all too well I always have). I can support your choices and admire each step you take. I can show you my weaknesses along with my strengths. I can be a loyal and dedicated friend who will always tell you the truth, or the closest possible to it. I can love you even when you can't love yourself. Especially then. </div><div><br /></div><div>I can be me and allow you all the space to be you. But I can't, my friend(s), it to make myself smaller so that you can feel bigger. </div>Unapologetically Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919393276754492787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7807815047636509058.post-8870280880259568602023-05-11T20:48:00.001+01:002023-05-11T20:48:27.866+01:00<div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Creative writing - Prompt: suspense/horror</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">This story happened back in the '80s. It was the days before the internet and mobile phones. It all happened in the summer I turned 13. Summer holidays were about to start and I couldn't wait to have 3 full months of doing nothing but reading books and comics, going to the beach with my neighbourhood friends, eating ice creams, and watching weekly episodes of my favourite series. Which is why I wasn't particularly happy when my parents announced they would both be away for the whole month of July. They both had work opportunities they couldn't refuse that would take them abroad for a whole month and the only person available to take care of me was my father's sister, Aunt Vera. </span><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">My mum called Aunt Vera 'the gloomy one'. She lived in a big house in Sintra all by herself and according to my mum's words, she simply didn't like people. She was a writer which meant she could mainly work from home, but nobody in the family had ever read her books or even knew what she wrote about, because she kept them under a secret pseudonym nobody had ever been able to uncover. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The afternoon before I was meant to leave for Sintra I sat with my friend and adventure buddy Ana at the back of our building, where we liked watching the stray cats playing and she explained to me in detail how very spooky Sintra really was. She swore that spending a whole month in a big old house in Sintra could actually turn out to be the coolest experience of my life because I was bound to come across some of the Sintra's ghosts. I tried explaining ghosts were probably not a thing, but Ana was enthusiastic and convincing enough that by the time I said goodbye to her, with promises to write at least 3 times a week, I was actually excited about the month ahead and secretly hoping something out of ordinary would in fact happen. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The first days at my aunt's house were quite uneventful but enjoyable. I didn't remember her very well, because she hardly ever came to visit us, but I took to her almost immediately. Once I was left to her care, she wasn't as gloomy as her reputation sustained. She welcomed me without too much fuss and let me know she wouldn't be able to entertain me much because she had lots of work to do. But I guessed straight away I would have lots of freedom to wander around and basically just do whatever I wanted to, as long as I didn't get myself in danger or interfere with her work. Coming from a household of overprotective parents, I felt like I had been handed a lottery ticket. She didn't baby me like other adults did but she also didn't exactly ignore me. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The house was big, especially when compared to the tiny 2-bedroom flat I lived in, but after three days I knew where everything was. Aunt Vera had an actual library. Not huge, but still a library. A whole room dedicated to nothing but storing books and reading them! I asked her which books I was allowed to read and she looked at me slightly confused. 'How old are you?' 'Nearly 13' 'Amelia, you can read whatever you like. There are also some art materials in that closet over there. I haven't touched them in years, but if anything is still usable, feel free to use them all up if you like.' I couldn't believe my luck. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">By the third day, I knew my way all around the house and the limits of the garden. There was an old greenhouse outside that had seen better days, probably many years ago and a little pond with some frogs in it. Everything was a bit overgrown but unlike my mum, who called the house 'Vera Addams spooky mansion', I liked it that way.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> It was the night of the third day that things started going a bit weird. I woke up in the middle of the night feeling thirsty. I was sleeping in what for me was a huge bedroom, with creaky wooden floorboards and old but sturdy furniture. I decided to have some water from the bathroom tap. I knew my way even in the dark now, and there was some moonlight coming from the windows. It was a warm night and I went walking barefoot to avoid waking up Aunt Vera who was supposed to be a light sleeper. I got out of the bedroom, down the corridor and two doors down on the left I open the bathroom door. My hand looked for the string to turn on the light, but I couldn't find it. I tried feeling for the space instead but my hands found a hard wooden surface rather than the tiles I expected to find on the wall. I took one step forward and the door slid gently after me and closed itself, leaving everything in the most absolute darkness. I stretched my arms in an attempt to locate myself and went through my memory trying but failing to remember any piece of wooden furniture in the bathroom. My arms didn't find anything. so I took another step back trying to open the door again. If I opened it wide enough, some light would get in so that I could find my bearings again. I turned searching for the door but in front of me, there seemed to be nothing but and open space. By then I was starting to panic a bit. I wondered if I was in a bad dream but I felt awake enough. I stretched my arms to the side, trying to find the piece of wooden furniture again. Or the door. Or anything really. It was pitch dark and it didn't seem to matter how many steps I took to one side or the other, it was like I was in the middle of a huge dark open space, with no furniture or walls. I retraced my steps mentally, trying not to panic, but all I wanted to do was scream out loud for my aunt. I'm quite sure I would have if I was home, but I was too ashamed of doing it in front of the one adult who actually treated me like a whole person. I squatted down, trying to calm myself. As I did so my hands hit the floor and I had a sudden realisation. I couldn't be in the bathroom at all, the floor had wooden boards. It was the most confusing moment. It was not like the bathroom was easy to miss. I got onto my hands and knees and started crawling. I crawled until I finally felt some sort of surface and felt a huge relief. And then I had the fright of my life. Out of a sudden, light flooded the room. I let out a small scream and covered my eyes, hurt by the surge of light after such a long period of darkness. I expected to hear Aunt Vera's voice, but nobody talked. When my eyes finally got used to the bulb light I looked around. To my enormous surprise, I was in a library. But I couldn't be. Because the library and my bedroom were on different floors altogether. </span></div>Unapologetically Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919393276754492787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7807815047636509058.post-30094590351894417292023-05-11T12:40:00.004+01:002023-05-11T12:40:43.328+01:00<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Creative writing - Prompt - sci fi (I went with dystopian instead)</span><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">First chapter:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Maria parked the car and took a deep breath. She looked at Telma. Telma was looking ahead, tense. Maria could see the huge effort she was making to stop fidgeting and look composed. Controlled. Neutral. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'Are you ready?'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Telma sighed 'Yeah, I think so.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'It will be ok Telma. We just need to give all the right answers, remember?'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'I know, mum.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">They walked side by side across the hospital car park until they reached the main building. Inside, Maria scanned Telma's chip. The machine's answer was nearly immediate: 'Welcome to Cardiff's Central Health Reset Unit. Please take an interactive map to find your health restorer consultant. Once you reach your destination press the button twice to be allowed into the room.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Maria looked around. People were moving around in an orderly manner, some scanning the chip in their writs to access their health files, others already holding their maps and starting to follow the instructions. She hated this place. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The consultant's room was, as expected, extremely clean and minimalistic. Magnolia walls, white desk, a single diploma projected on the wall. The consultant showed them two padded chairs. He consulted his tablet.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> 'Good morning Mrs Hamilton. I can see you've been sent in as a precaution by the social services, am I right?'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'Good morning. Yes, that is so. The Life Learning Institute is concerned about Telma's productivity.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'Are you concerned, Mrs hamilton?' </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The question took Maria by surprise. Only doctors from a much older generation would still ask any sort of personal questions nowadays. She studied him with interest. He looked young enough, no more than 55 or 60. He had paused, actually waiting for her answer. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Maria knew better than to be too honest. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'I...no, I can't say I am. I think a bit of personal variability is to be expected at Telma's age.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'Ok, let me see what we have here. So Telma was born in 2099, right? Let me see her report: Produuctivity 80%...on average 10% less than what's expected on a child her age. Focus ability: 75% Response time: Mostly adequate. Agreeability: inconsistent. '</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> He paused for a moment as if taking in the report. 'Ok Mrs Hamilton, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?' The question was retoric. Nobody in their right mind would say no. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'Yes, of course' Maria dared side glance at Telma. She remained adequately quiet and unexpressive, as if awaiting instructions. Good. Nobody would imagine, by looking at her, how Telma really was like at home. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The doctor looked at Maria straight in the eyes. He was nearly smiling. There was something weirdly out of place in his attitude. Hardly anyone showed any sort of personal involvement in a professional interaction these days. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'Has Telma been following her diet and exercise regimen faithfully?'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'Yes.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'She's on an 1800-calorie diet, correct?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'Yes, that's right.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'Now, Mrs Hamilton, I am obliged to ask you the following questions, but you're not obliged to answer them. Do you understand that?'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'Yes, I do.' The doctor was just following the script now, but his nearly friendly attitude remained.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'Any access to illegal activities or products that might explain Telma's lack in productivity?'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'No, none.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'I will have to list them out one by one.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'Yes, I'm aware.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'Has Telma been sent for inspection before?'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'Yes, a few times' Maria's voice sounded empty to her own ears. The doctor looked at her. In another time, another life altogether she felt, she would have taken this look for sympathy. Nowadays, as things stood, it only made her feel slightly confused. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The doctor carried on:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'Access to books?'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'Only the allowed non-fiction literature.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'Access to art?'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'In moderate doses only. Once a week.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'Music?'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'Once a week. Only the tracks allowed for her age.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The exhaustive questionnaire went on for a while. Until he got to the most dangerous bit. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">He addressed Telma, rather than Maria. Telma nearly jumped on the chair on hearing her name. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'Telma, have you ever had any access to art-creating materials? Colour pencils, blank pages, paints, anything?'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Telma's voice was barely audible: 'No.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'Have you ever been allowed to dance?'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">She hesitated. Her answer came one second too late and it filled Maria with dread. This couldn't be happening. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'Never.', Telma whispered finally.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The doctor paused. He looked at the tablet. Looked at mother and daughter. Maria felt like she couldn't breathe. She had never felt so scared.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'Right Mrs Hamilton, I'm satisfied with this consultation.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">She couldn't contain the surprise in her voice: 'You are?'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Another pause. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'Yes. I'd like to see Telma again though. Don't worry about the Learning Institute for now. My report will keep you two safe for a while. I'll give you my card in case you have any issues with them between now and the next consultation.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Maria and Telma didn't utter a word until they got inside the car. Telma was nearly in tears, but too used to control her own emotions to actually let them out. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'Mummy, what happened there?'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">'I don't know Telma, I only know we made it this time. Let's go home.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>Unapologetically Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919393276754492787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7807815047636509058.post-24860312399538334802023-05-10T12:54:00.007+01:002023-05-12T09:34:49.330+01:00<div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span>Creative writing - Prompt - Nature writing</span></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span><br /></span></span></div>In recent years, I have often seen mentioned that the constant need to photograph everything with a view of either keeping every single memory or sharing it with our closer or broader circles through social media, is reducing our ability to be in the moment. As a photographer, I always feel a bit divided by this statement. I mean.....it's true. We see it every day, don't we? People detached from their own lives, living them through mobile phones or tablets. And yet, it feels different when I use my camera. I feel like my camera connects me to the moments and places I'm experiencing. My camera is the vehicle of my art, so for me, seeing the world through my viewfinder feels like a way of processing my reality rather than avoiding it. </span><span>I never gave the subject a second thought until recently I was introduced to the concept of Mindful Photography. </span></span><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Mindfulness is a word we see everywhere these days. From retreats to meditation classes to phone apps, we are offered a multitude of ways to reconnect to a part of us we seem to have lost over the last decades. We have become so fixated on doing things and being productive and making our time count, that we seem to be losing the ability to just be. I remember how over lockdown so many people felt lost when faced with the empty hours ahead of them, days and days of unstructured time that they were struggling to know how to fill. And it was also probably during that time that between banana bread recipes and early morning workouts, a few more people started having a go at mindful photography. <br /></span><div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Mindful photography is the act of using photography as a way of connecting to the present moment. The principle is very simple. All you have to do is to go for a walk taking any sort of camera you feel comfortable using. Any device will do as long as you are able to take photos on it without being worried about the technicalities of it. In that walk, the aim is to notice and take photos of the things we are drawn to, without any judgment. These photos have no other purpose than to bring us to the moment and help us notice things we might not notice otherwise. And then, we can look back on those photos and reflect on how those things we noticed make us feel. Why were our eyes drawn to these particular things? What sort of things are we drawn to?</span></div></div></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">It sounds simple in theory but the truth is many of us will find obstacles to fully achieving this because we are so used to adding layers of purpose to our actions. Personally, I find it really hard to just snap at things that call for my attention. A part of me is always thinking about how I can improve composition and constantly wondering if each photo I take is interesting enough and has value in itself. In summary, I find it hard not to work towards a final product I am happy with, which, in essence, goes against the basic principles of mindfulness. The closest I got to being able to do this, was to do my walks in nature. For this, I avoid spectacular landscapes which inevitably will call for big landscape shots worthy of social media glory. I prefer the small meandering paths. The ones that don't look like anything too special until we start noticing the small details. New leaves coming out here, a little shy flower there. The different colours on a tree bark. The number of different tones of green in the same woods. The different patterns on each leaf. The reflections on water surfaces like lakes or puddles. Raindrops on flowers. I sound a bit like a Julie Andrews song, but the truth is, when I see the details of nature through my lens, it's like being pulled into a Lilliputian world of wonder. I'm a child again and my senses are in a state of bliss. Eventually, I am led by the beauty of it all, and I stop consciously composing photos, I just let my eyes wander and press the shutter whenever I find an image that particularly resonates with me. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I have often asked myself why is it that nature alters my experience of being in the moment so much. Even though when I photograph my main focus is on the sense of vision, I think being in nature brings all my senses to a place of balance and peace. Nothing is asked of me and paradoxically sometimes being in nature feels like stepping into a place of my own imagination, where being marvelled is always possible. I think something essential and sometimes half-forgotten is triggered in us when we connect with nature. Something that reminds us of the value of just existing and being part of a whole. Mindful photography might be a way of rediscovering that connection. </span></div>Unapologetically Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919393276754492787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7807815047636509058.post-84053031062690660442023-01-26T18:19:00.004+00:002023-01-27T09:52:17.416+00:00What makes me 10% happierTonight, I am in need of a friend like myself. Who will listen without judgment or expectations. <div><br /></div><div>A friend who can take my troubles without the need to be the saviour that stipes me off them. </div><div><br /></div><div>A friend who is interested enough to ask questions and who's bold enough to take the answers. </div><div><br /></div><div>Tonight, I could use a friend like myself. Who doesn't measure me or weight in my reasons or flinch at the oddness of my inner labyrinths. Who doesn't get tired of my depth. Who doesn't need anything from me but my presence. Who takes me as I am and reminds me of what I do good, when all I can think of is my countless mistakes. A friend who will remind me where the doors are, when I keep bumping into solid rock walls. </div><div><br /></div><div>Tonight I need a friend like myself who, on hearing about my struggles, will share theirs, to show me I am not as alone and odd as I feel. Tonight I need a friend who will make themselves vulnerable rather than meeting my holes with their perfectly cemented and impeccably painted walls.</div><div><br /></div><div>Tonight I need a friend who can take not saving me, who can take my truth, without rising above me, who is interested in my humanity and knows that is the best thing we share between us: the ability to uncover the ugly and the beautiful in one single strike. Because neither of us needs or wants feigned perfection. </div><div><br /></div><div>Tonight I need a friend who is as imperfect and odd shaped as myself. But who still sees me underneath the rocky surface and, more importantly, lets me see them. Really see them. </div><div><br /></div><div>Tonight I need a friend who has no caution about bringing the words to the air around us, because they know we can talk. Because they know our bound is unbreakable. Tonight I need a friend who will meet openness with openness. Depth with depth. And the wavering of my self love with the absolute certainty they can meet me at my most humane place. Tonight, my friend, I need you. You have always made my life infinitely better and even the miles that separate us don't dim the strength of your presence in my life. </div>Unapologetically Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919393276754492787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7807815047636509058.post-61470256561198720932022-07-15T13:26:00.000+01:002022-07-15T13:26:11.849+01:00Another crack in the wall. I feel stone cold. <div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger". I feel the strength but I don't like the bitter undertaste of it. I search in vain for kindness inside myself. Something softer than the immovable walls. Moss maybe....with its weird capacity of existing somewhere between romanticism and underground. But I know I won't find it.....not just yet.....</div><div><br /></div><div>I will need to step away from the walls. From these walls that close up around me making me want to run forever or at least until all I can see is an open extension all around me, with air to breathe. To exist. </div><div><br /></div><div>I need to step away from the wall and follow paths of beauty and let my eyes and heart rest in open skies, brush strokes, harsh hot light, falling shadows, random rooftops, my foot on the asphalt, the golden light following me. I need to breathe in and allow the softness to re-enter me. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>As usual, I keep my cool. I'm the swan who only paddles underneath the water out of everybody's visual field. Only I hardly feel like paddling......but I make myself do it..... And as I make myself keep going, as I push through because there is nothing else to do, I am secretly praying I am mature enough to learn whatever lesson comes with these last events. </div>Unapologetically Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919393276754492787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7807815047636509058.post-90689349326113728342021-11-20T12:21:00.003+00:002021-11-20T12:28:04.349+00:00I could never understand people getting 'tired' of supporting their closed ones emotionally. Some people act like knights in shiny armour when they first meet someone who looks like they could use a friendly shoulder. They offer the sky. They go above and beyond. And then as time goes by and they realise that their presence, alone, though helpful, doesn't make the other person magically solve their problems, they get a bit bored of the whole thing. I guess it might not be as ego fulfilling, being THE one that provides a solution is such an attractive idea. <div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>But truth is, most deeply ingrained issues take years to see a way forward from. Sometimes decades. Sometimes they'll always be there, even though people learned to deal with them better. Our role, as friends, closed ones, partners, parents, whatever, is not to 'make them go away'. We're not Gods. It's also not up to us to decide how long it takes that person to overcome something. It's not up to us to decide how often they need to be reassured of something. Our role is not to assess whether the person keeps repeating the same complains or falling onto the same problems. Listen to yourself......we all repeat the same complaints. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>So if you feel your support might have an end by date... If you feel you can only deal with the same deep issues for a couple of months, or years....then maybe don't offer the sky to start with. Tune yourself down and offer what you can really give. Most of us need people we know we can realistically count on. People who will listen to us over and over often about the same old issues. People who won't mind repeating the same reassuring sentences for the rest of our lives if needed be. Nobody needs quick fixes and too much too soon and then nothing afterwards. If you promise someone your support and your listening ear, make sure your intentions are real. Make sure you're not only doing it to make yourself feel better and then lose interest soon after. </div><div><br /></div><div>But if I ever told you you can count on me to always listen and never judge....trust me to be here. I might not be at my best every single day, there might be days in which I am feeling too drained myself to physically go somewhere and meet you in person. But I'm here. I will listen. And I am here for the long run. And even if sometimes I might say things that sound like I'm challenging you, it's usually just my way of playing the devils advocate. At the end of the day, unless you're actually conscientiously hurting people for your own enjoyment, it's really really unlikely I will ever judge you. I won't expect anyone to be perfect and I will probably respect more anyone who admits to their own imperfections. I'm all too aware of my own. You can count on me..... </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unapologetically Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919393276754492787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7807815047636509058.post-446991463987762482021-11-16T16:33:00.003+00:002021-11-16T16:38:24.172+00:00It's dark outside. It's dark outside all day and I struggle with that lack of light, it's like a fog is over our heads all the time and my mind never quite clears as it should. Like I'm stuck in one of those dreams in which you want to wake up, but things don't quite work as expected.<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Having said that, it feels a bit like the world is not quite working as expected. People have gone obscure. Like there's a dark veil over their consciousnesses too. I feel like I'm waddling through muddy waters when I try to speak to people. Rejection sensitive dysphoria tells me it's me. I've grown dislikeable. Now that I don't try to please everyone, people don't like me as before. Is it that? Am I still accepted as I am, now that I grow more and more into myself? And how many people will get tired quickly once they get too close? How many of us ask themselves these questions but never voice them? And how quickly do we get disappointed with people because they don't tick all our boxes?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I rarely ever turn my back on people who are meaningful to me, but I am often left wondering......do I give too much meaning to things, situations, relationships? Do I expect too much truth. Is there such thing as too much truth? Will people be as truthful in their feelings for me?</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm drained. It's dark. Things are not quite right. I am not quite right. I want to talk about it but I have forgotten how to. I want someone to read my mind and know when I am just slipping. Slipping into chaos. Into confusion. Into this constant feeling of not being able to adult. Not properly. Not as a real adult would. But then again I strongly distrust real adults and never really aspired to be one. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Random, random, random like the wind are my thoughts.......</div>Unapologetically Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919393276754492787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7807815047636509058.post-5620861558927195752021-10-02T22:23:00.005+01:002021-10-02T22:32:48.990+01:00Different ways of communicating doesn't equal different or lesser depth of feelings.....<div><br /></div><div>It's common in the neuro-divergent world for people to mask our reactions to the exterior world. We pretend to be 'normal'. Which is weird and contradictory...because what makes us stand out is exactly being somehow different. I have no problems standing my ground against a society that dictates rules I don't agree with. But with personal/social interactions I often follow the other person's lead. Which means if you're a hugger, I'll probably welcome hugs, if you keep your distance, I will probably do the same. It takes a huge amount of trust and a perfectly clear situation for me to be able to cross barriers on my own, without the other person's lead. That usually means that if people take one step back I will usually take three just in case I was intruding too much. In other words, I'm terrible at making myself clear sometimes, unless people actually speak openly about what it is they want to say. Although I am also the master of weird and deep connections that go way beyond words. </div><div><br /></div><div>If relationships in general, were a dance, I could never lead. Exception made to my children, with whom I could dance to the end of love easily. </div>Unapologetically Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919393276754492787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7807815047636509058.post-40853601999505795912021-09-16T09:39:00.001+01:002021-09-16T09:39:40.811+01:00<span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;">Autumn is nearly here and with deep breathes I strive to keep faithful to my internal and external journey. The world asks of you everyday. Not only society and 'the world' in the more abstract sense of it. But people around you ask of you too, constantly, in ways that go beyond words. It's a weird balance to achieve, how much we can give without giving ourselves away, where do we meet each other in a free, fair, balanced way. How do we say 'I can give you more until I am able to give this much to my own self, without sounding and feeling selfish. Self centred. How can we feel peacefully entitled to our own space and time for growing and getting stronger. </span><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeCbPf8zGXvyi8h9Eo9uZvQLBXRNhPz_2zEh-vjxLrGHzjWq34dC7dLjB-toeQC3tmrY52BPFCcjYyZOnhEyINu4I-9j9AqH07T8nVLRqJcwlAUXTcuImnlI2HdtfkPfuErRzV_ZWo32g/s2048/_MG_0009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1363" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeCbPf8zGXvyi8h9Eo9uZvQLBXRNhPz_2zEh-vjxLrGHzjWq34dC7dLjB-toeQC3tmrY52BPFCcjYyZOnhEyINu4I-9j9AqH07T8nVLRqJcwlAUXTcuImnlI2HdtfkPfuErRzV_ZWo32g/w400-h266/_MG_0009.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;">Autumn is nearly here. I know what my path is but I often get stuck in this struggle of being thrown off my path by little things. Little things that have no name and are hardly visible.....but the weight of them can still be so strong, so perceptible, so unbalancing. </span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;"><br /></span></div>Unapologetically Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919393276754492787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7807815047636509058.post-81066828850632320892021-02-08T09:54:00.003+00:002021-02-08T13:06:33.179+00:00<span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;">Chilly morning. The coffee becoming quickly cold in my hands. Some days, it's hard to resist the temptation to jump ahead of myself, dream of warmer days, sunnier days, brighter days. </span><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;">My soul closes in itself when the winter has outstayed their welcome. I want to become silent and quiet like the snow. I want to roll myself into a small ball like a hibernating wild animal. But I'm human, and my humanity screams at me. Being human means I can't be content with just existing and letting the seasons past by me, sheltering when it's cold, stretching in the sun when it's warm.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;">Being human means I have this will inside me, to explore further, to understand, to feel, to create, to love, to express myself, to have a purpose. To dream. To feel everything so deeply.. Being human means feeling all extremes in a way it becomes nearly overwhelming sometimes. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;">I try to focus my mind. I try to fill it with inspiration, creating. I try to find a path that leads me from this place of wanting to curl up in a ball, to a place of turning that into shapes, colours, expression. I try to colour my mind, when nature all around still remains grey, so grey and cold......</span></div>Unapologetically Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919393276754492787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7807815047636509058.post-28941781423409385472021-02-04T13:00:00.002+00:002021-02-04T14:39:49.346+00:00SAD, coronavirus and world changers<span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;">So here we are.....this is that time of the year in which I invariably hit a wall. I can not remember a January/February over the last few years in which I wasn't dragged into some depth of depression. I thought this year would be worse than ever, after not having my usual portion of proper summer last year. But against all expectations, things were going really well, better than usual. One should never speak too soon, though, or, as we say it in Portugal, expect the egg whilst it's still on the chicken's bum (I guess weird sayings are universal, hey....) </span><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;">It's a weird time to feel down, as I can imagine just about everyone telling me that it is such a hard time for everyone. Which, indeed, it is. But coronavirus or the resulting lockdowns were never a source of depression for me. Worry, yes, definitely. Not only for the pandemia itself, but of course, for all its possible ramifications. But not depression. I enjoy my own company and I have such a vibrant internal world, being confined wasn't an issue. Plus, it was good to relax from all the constant anxiety for a while. It was good to breathe. Being kept away from people I love is something I have learned to endure anyway. As long as I know they're there and well, I can take it. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;">Actually, despite all its devastating effects, this pandemia brought for me some sort of weird hope, I thought it would shaken our society a bit. I thought people would realise so many things were not working out. I thought it would somehow expose the skeleton on which we were basing our lives and as such, show the several places in which that skeleton is fractured. Which it did. Actually, it became crystal clear for anyone to see. I thought that would lead people to do something about it, to want to change things, heal the fractures, find new solutions, rethink this thing we call life. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;">Some people did. Some people saw the fragility of life and starting rethinking their priorities. Some people recognised the coronavirus crisis was exposing a social skeleton that wasn't working, that was based on keeping out of sight all its many faults. Some people are still sitting down and silently wondering what we can all do to change that same skeleton. But what many people did was point their finger at coronavirus for having ruined our lives. I'm not saying it didn't and that people shouldn't be shaken by it. What I just don't get is how so many people are ignoring all that coronavirus is exposing and not taking this as an opportunity to renew ourselves as a society. Of making it more environmental friendly. Less rushed. Not so full of things. Not so full of doing and showing off. More focused on being. With a lot more space for being real. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;">As months go by, I am realising what deep down I feared from the beginning, that there will be no awareness. That as soon as it's humanly possible, people will go back to what was familiar. What felt safe. Consuming. Rushing. Doing. A life we can measure. A place where you either fit in or you don't. Controlled, contained, reasonable. I fear that as soon as it's possible, we will go back to hiding our cracks underneath beautiful carpets and expensive paintings. We will cease questioning and just take old formats as a given. I fear.....</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;">It's not usually like me to sound this negative or to feel this stripped of hope. Which is why, for the sake of all the beautiful people I can still see out there rethinking life, rethinking was what taken for granted, rethinking how we can create a space that is fair and real and more inclusive for all, I need to end in a brighter note. Here and there, spread all around, I can see the people who are still, step by step, changing the world. The ones that don't give up. The ones that dare looking at things straight in the eye. The ones who are trying to do the good fight. The ones who dare to be real and stand tall and strong amongst all the faking. I watch and I learn and I hope one day I can get anywhere close to that degree of honesty. If you're there, thinking all the effort is just not worth it, I want to tell you it is. You're the ones quietly at the back. Working n the background of things. Not going against things just by the sake of being against them, but really working on every step. I can see you, I can hear you and I can feel you. Keep on going, the world needs more people like that. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;"><br /></span></div><div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Unapologetically Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919393276754492787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7807815047636509058.post-37659853407766596482021-02-02T15:24:00.004+00:002021-02-02T22:20:16.381+00:00The deep divers<p><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;">For years I thought that maybe I was weak. Because I didn't live life like others. For years I thought that maybe I was broken. My life missed the external skeleton others seem to have so easily.. For years others thought me eccentric, because my priorities differed from theirs. For years I thought I lacked bravery, because I didn't show up every day in a shiny armour, waving my weapons around. For years I thought I had more downfalls than most, because I could not pretend to have the qualities they spoke of.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;">But now, as I grow older I wonder.... What's braver than showing up dressed as you, when so much of the world walks around as in a masquerade? Does my life really lack substance, just because I failed to give it a shape everyone else seems to recognise easily? And what do words mean anyway, when actions fail to support them? </span></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifaEhhyXWGZR8FwuXCu3aF10IGs06chn8GMXMJ8Y5v1u91dSuWpa7XUwl4PSuB3y0CO_gQ7K1ak5KK14Us-1O41UDigm6hMwo2n3njnQFZxiCNOwpg9_nk-8xqSblnTjWZ8ZjuFxTtVgE/s2048/The+big+masquerade.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1698" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifaEhhyXWGZR8FwuXCu3aF10IGs06chn8GMXMJ8Y5v1u91dSuWpa7XUwl4PSuB3y0CO_gQ7K1ak5KK14Us-1O41UDigm6hMwo2n3njnQFZxiCNOwpg9_nk-8xqSblnTjWZ8ZjuFxTtVgE/w530-h640/The+big+masquerade.jpg" width="530" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: "Shadows Into Light";">Now I am able to value the fact that I have always been honest with myself. That I never let the image of the person I wanted to believe overpower the person I really was. That if I judged myself harshly was not because I was any less than others, but often because others just didn't go that deep. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Shadows Into Light;">Shallow waters are not for me. I refuse to spend my days embellishing the surface, staying untouchable, irreproachable. I will dive deep and get seaweed on my hair and sand in my face. I will look messier but live more intensely. And I will find my tribe there, amongst the deep divers, the messy haired souls, the ones who dare taking on the consequences of being alive and truthful. </span></p>Unapologetically Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919393276754492787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7807815047636509058.post-74547203437846988012021-01-29T17:51:00.003+00:002021-01-30T12:14:30.448+00:00ReconnectingIt's been a long long long time since I last had a personal blog post. Personal
as opposed to it being published in my website blog with preoccupation as to how
it affects my brand image and the coherence of my image as a business. Because
other than that, all my posts are personal to a level. I never write anything I
don't feel, and why should I? The whole point of writing for me is communicating
and one can only communicate through true feelings, anything else is nothing but
an exercise of style. <div><br /></div><div>It's funny to look back and realise how much have changed
whilst at the same time so many other things remain in their essence. I am still
a searcher of wonders, of true connections, of magic. I still get utterly
frustrated in a world that chooses masks over flesh and bone. And albeit I,
myself, carry and display my own masks, I have perfect awareness of what they
are and why I use them and assume all responsibility for the choice of their
use. In other words, I do not glamourize masks nor do I find excuses for using
them. I take in all blame and admit many of them should be disposed of. One
day.....one day...... </div><div><br /></div><div>I have over the years dropped quite a few of those masks.
I have over the years grown in myself. Nowadays I step firmer, I speak a little
louder and I am somehow letting go of the fear of losing people just by speaking
my mind. Actually, I think I became a bit tired of so many people around me
speaking their mind with no respect for how those words might impact others,
when I kept measuring every word, every gesture, wondering how they would make
people feel. It became too heavy eventually, the constant effort for empathy. Not
only that, but the constant awareness that my feelings were not always noble,
that I couldn't be the perfect person I aspired to be. Against all my
expectations for myself, when I felt hurt I often became resentful, I developed
barriers, I could be hurtful, I could develop competitive traits which I usually
don't have and become really petty about small thing. Against all my
expectations for myself, I was human and the knowledge was crushing me. That's when I started to realise two things. One is that I wasn't allowing myself the right
to be human, to have human feelings and human reactions. My expectations for
myself were way too high. I am not as noble as I dreamed.....but I am also not
as bad as I had led my own self to believe. The other thing I realised is that I
wasn't allowing myself to express my feelings. I was too worried about hurting
others, about how petty or unreasonable I would look and about how other people
would react. Would they be angry, would they not want me in their lives anymore,
would they like me less? So I kept everything in unless I was pushed to my
limits, I would express myself in passive aggressive ways, instead of stating my
positions out loud. Which then made me be more resentful not only of others, but
of myself. So I started dropping some masks. I started speaking. I started
validating my feelings, my experiences, my side of the story. And somehow,
that's when I started going from this:
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.....to this:
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It hasn't been easy nor is the process done. I still harbour many fears and
still carry around way more masks than I would like to. But enormous progress
has been done.... I have allowed myself to have a voice. I have allowed myself
my own humanity. I have also allowed myself the right to struggle, to show my
vulnerability. Sometimes the process has tore me apart. So many times I speak
my mind and it haunts me.....how will people take it. Will they hate me for it,
will they withdraw their affection. But it doesn't matter anymore. When I speak
my mind I try very hard to do fairly. Only nowadays I am trying to be fair with both
sides. I'm trying to be fair to myself as well as to others. Drawing boundaries.
Allowing myself feelings. Demanding respect. Demanding to be seen as I am.
Whoever is in my life that feels having reciprocal respect is too much.....they
probably shouldn't be in it. Not if I respect myself. And not if I truly respect
others. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It's January 2021. Coronavirus days still. I wonder how one day we will
look back on this. For me, it has been an awareness year. For so so many
reasons. Reasons I somehow need to document. For myself. Maybe even for others
that might feel similarly. So, suddenly the world was sort of turned upside
down. Our lives have changed. Drastically, from one moment to the other. Nothing
too weird there, we are all aware that somehow that might happen. We are all a
short moment away from a potential radical unexpected life change. We pretend
that possibility is not there because at the end of the day, it's only a
possibility. A possibility we don't want to face, so we live our days pretending
nothing can change our carefully built lives. Until some day something happens
that shakes us to the core. Only this time, it was a collective change. For us
in some places in the world, a collective change that fell on a society where we
had forgotten about big life changing moments. A society where we had learned
to be sheltered, we had learned to expect normalcy and comfort and security. We expected individual changes but we forgot collective ones can and will happen at any
given moment in history. Or we had forgotten to remember they can happen. We had forgotten we
are not owed any security in this life. We had forgotten we are not owed or promised an undisturbed daily life. </div><div><br /></div><div>The thing for me is.....my day to day never felt
undisturbed. I never fitted in a society that works in an order that feels alien
to me. I never adjusted to this place of hidden emotions, of controlled
reactions, of expert use of masks. I'm a terrible pretender, so if asked to
pretend, I just draw in myself more and more. I can't live hiding my own
emotions, pretending my truths are any different than they are, I feel them all
at the surface all the time. I feel the pain, the dreams, the expectations, the
love, the hurt. Everything for me is felt fully, but can't be expressed fully,
because then I would be considered ''unbalanced''. The pressure to appear
''balanced'', normal, not too much of this or that, takes a huge toll on me. It
makes the world feel unsafe. If I can't be myself, with all the extent of my
emotions, then who am I supposed to be? How am I supposed to play the part every
day? What am I supposed to expect? That makes every day life a constant source
or anxiety. </div><div><br /></div><div>This comes together with many other things...in resume, I am not
neurotypical and I am asked to adjust to a world designed for neurotypical
people. Explaining what this means, it's the subject for a whole different blog
post. Where I am getting at is that, when coronavirus bomb exploded on
us, suddenly the world felt more familiar to me, more approachable. You will
think I'm crazy now.....but bear with me. I'm not that crazy (just a tiny bit
maybe, whatever measure is necessary for artistic creation). The thing was,
suddenly everyone was more in contact with their feelings, with their
vulnerability, with their inner selves. Suddenly, everyone, and not just us, the
''weird ones'', was feeling uncomfortable, out of place, vulnerable. Suddenly,
life didn't feel safe for anyone, and people were starting to have all sorts of
weird reactions. Reactions they couldn't even understand themselves. People
started dropping their masks, reacting emotionally. Sometimes reacting
absurdly. </div><div><br /></div><div>People complained their lives were suspended. Interrupted. The
funny thing was, for me, there was no interruption. My life was still pretty
much going on as usual. I mean, I still have a body, which I was lucky enough to
have remained healthy through all this, I still had my loved ones, near or far,
but still pretty much there (again, luckily), I still had mornings and days and
evenings, the will to create, my books, my very beloved children. The day to day
changed, yes, but nothing was stolen from me. Not really. Don't get me wrong, as
everyone else I have had to give up on some plans, to postpone others, to adjust
to conditions that I might not have chosen. I haven't seen everyone I wanted to
see or as often as I would have liked to see them. It felt disappointing and
frustrating at times. I have my good and bad days. But truth to be said, that is
no different from what life always is. I'm not more emotional than usual,
definitely not more anxious and life doesn't feel any less uncertain because of
coronavirus. Or limited. Because at the end of the day for me, that's how it has
always felt anyway. </div><div><br /></div><div>So whilst, like everyone else, I wish for coronavirus to be
under control and I wish we can all be free to move around, meet each other, not
fear catching or transmitting to others something that could potentially be very
harmful, this whole situation offered me a whole different approach on life, on
how other people live life, on how I live it and my own limitations. Truth
is, I have always felt something was not quite right with me. I didn't live like
everyone else seemed to, I didn't have the ability to control my feelings the
majority of people seems to have and I just seemed like too much of some things
and too little of others, to fit in. My priorities seemed different from the
majority of people. The attention I pay to the world is highly filtered by what
really interests me there is a lot going on that doesn't capture
my attention. </div><div><br /></div><div>When confronted with this situation though, I suddenly didn't feel
so inadequate. My executive functions (or should I say disfunctions) didn't feel
particularly out of place. I was being able to be as productive as everyone else, if not more. With the stress of having to run from one place to the other out of the way, with no need to pretend every day for the outside world, much of my anxiety was eliminated and I was left with myself with a big purpose in hands: make this time as good as possible for my kids, carry on making their days interesting and at the same time, allow myself some time to grow creatively. I am fully aware I had the luxury of being able not to have additional worries throughout this time. But as with everyone, life goes on and not all worrying or troublesome situations are eliminated. So it's not by any means as life was perfect.....I was just suddenly feeling like the world was a more familiar place. People were speaking from the heart instead of from their carefully constructed towers. I saw people becoming more vulnerable, people who always have it all together struggling to get it all together. It came to the point in which the whole thing was a bit upside down. I had it more together than most. Now, don't get me wrong. I felt no pleasure whatsoever seeing people struggling. And I totally sympathise with the fact that people were struggling, It was just the fact that it finally gave me the opportunity to be kinder and more understanding towards myself. To realise that the amount of anxiety and stress many people feel under right now is the same way I feel the rest of the time.</div><div><br /></div><div> I know many people will read this and think everyone is under stress and anxiety. But the truth is, it's not the same for all of us. Some of us live in a permanent state of alert and it's exhausting. We all have an ideal environment and degrees by which normal everyday life comes closer or further apart from that ideal environment. Mine doesn't come anywhere near close. Actually, it's so far away, I don't want life to be ''back to normal'' as many people are stating. Not the normal we knew previously. I obviously also don't want this ''new normal'' with masks (as in physical ones ha), travel limitations and suspended activities. I do believe it's a very necessary evil at the moment, but like everyone else, not something I feel comfortable with, just something I endure because I believe it's really important to do so. </div><div><br /></div><div>The new normal I would like us to have is a more real world. A world in which we are allowed to say we're struggling without being labelled as weak, drama-queens/kings or weird. A world in which when people ask us how we're feeling we don't need to moderate our response in order not to make anyone feel uncomfortable. A world in which crying is not embarrassing and neither is jumping for joy or hugging trees or dance in the streets or photograph in weird positions in the most unexpected places (that last one would be me!). A world in which we can take a book to a queue at school without having 20 of the parents asking me if I expect to be bored by the school performance (I don't, I just hate waiting in queue and love my books). A world in which we can change course as many times as we wish in life without fearing the weight of society deciding how right or wrong our decision is. A world in which we don't need to keep up a farce to appear professional, we just need to deliver good quality work. A world in which human relations are worth more than status, mobile phones, how you choose to dress, how highly educated you are, where you came from, the colour of your skin or your preferences when it comes to romantic and sexual relationships. A world in which you don't need to be a certain shape or struggle to keep up with unrealistic ideals. A world in which children's learning is not measure in achievements that must be completed by a certain age otherwise they will be considered to be ''falling behind'' no matter how much life knowledge they are having access to. A world in which we can actually respect different choices and we don't need everyone else to be like us, we don't need our choices to be THE best, just to be valued and respected. A world in which we don't need to be divided into corporate people and hippies, because no matter what your skills are, they all have a place to exist and be valued. Very organised scientific minds are essential and so are the more chaotic free artistic ones. We don't need to choose a side, we don't need to determine which ones of us are more valuable. We just all need to see our best abilities and skills valued and respected. And the fact that we all don't work the same way. Some of us are early risers, others work well into the night, some of us love living in a suit, some of us like sporty comfortable clothes, and others yet see dressing as a blank pallet in which we feel free to express ourselves in all colours of the rainbow according to our present mood (that would be me!). </div><div><br /></div><div>Above anything else I wish for a world in which we can be real. Grow older without feeling that showing our age makes us somehow inferior (what sort of crazy reality do we live in anyway, that have allowed us to feel like that??) A world in which having extreme feelings doesn't make others uncomfortable. A world in which we are not afraid of our own feelings, in which we are open to live life in all its beauty and not only within the constraints of what feels safe. A world in which being is valued more than doing. And for heaven's sake, a world in which we finally understand how much we need to respect this planet and realise it really needs our attention. In which we realise that coronavirus is not the cause of all problems: we are. We drove the world to this. It's now being made into a political and social problem because of the issues our society carries. It has gotten people against each other but from where I see it our fight should be only one. Get this thing under control before our health systems crash and then start thinking different. About the planet, about how much we are threatening it. About life and how we waste it on petty fights. How are we not learning with this, how are we not seeing ourselves with all our downfalls so clearly. Was life really that comfortable before for everyone, that we can't wait to go back to the usual mindless rush? Can we go back with a heightened awareness? Of ourselves, of life, of each other? <div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Knowing the world won't change that much as a whole, I am left with the next question, which is, what have I learned from all this? What can I take from this situation that will make me grow and help me in the future. There are a few things I can think of straight away:</div><div><br /></div><div>1. Resilience: I should have known by now I have some degree of resilience, but this crisis made me realise sometimes our resilience comes from unexpected places. We can't all be resilient to everything, and that's ok. But sometimes we are surprised to discover resilience in places we didn't know we had. I could give examples, but they would make this post far too extensive. The bottom line is that there were instances in which I thought I was hitting a wall to then understand I could go over that wall, or find a door or a window big enough to let me go through. </div><div><br /></div><div>2. Accepting one's limits. One thing is the person I want to be. The person I am doesn't always measure up. Just because I decided I would have a full day that included successful homeschooling, baking, creating and some business and skill learning, on top of dyeing my hair it doesn't mean that if I only achieve one of those goals and poorly, the day was necessarily a failure. Accepting that sometimes things just are as they are while still striving to be the best version of ourselves everyday is a great skill. And one that avoids the all or nothing mentality. Over time I have developed a bit of an aversion for very tangible goals, mainly because they can result in very tangible disappointments. So instead of telling myself ''I will do Pilates every day for at least 20 min 6 days a week'' I now try to plant the habit of introducing Pilates whenever I can. Any session I can make, it's a win. If I don't manage one today, I will keep the focus and maybe I will manage one the next day. The goal is there....just not in a fixed shape. It works for me, not for everyone, some people need tangible goals to be motivated. I prefer to have a focus that allows for a lot of flexibility. I am too much of a perfectionist to be able to deal with a goal that is not flexible, because then each mistake renders the whole effort pointless in my head. Lockdown made me extend that notion. </div><div><br /></div><div>3. Be in the moment. I constantly project things in the future. It's my nature. I have a focus, I have things I am constantly working towards. Many people wouldn't know that because they are not things you can necessarily be seen, like a big house, or a recognised career (though I do want that too at the moment, but maybe not in such a visceral manner). My main goals are somehow more diffuse. I want a truthful life surrounded by people that make sense in it. I want to grow as a creator, as an artist. I want to grow as a person. I want to overcome fears and become a better person. I want to be there for my children the best way possible and keep growing as a parent and keep our connection strong. I want to be there for the people I love and grow in understanding and fairness and tolerance. I want to be more connected to nature and to its natural rhythms and I want my life to feel more like flowing and less than spurting irregular amounts of water randomly There are other more tangible goals, but these are the things that keep me going. These are my most visceral goals. They are connected to life itself, to relationships, to growing as a person, to growing as an artist. Without that, my energy is gone, I am nothing but a shell. But that somehow gets projected onto more tangible things that have me looking forward, giving me the impression my life would somehow be closer to my true wishes if only those particular things took place. Some of them might be true, but it's easy to lose track of now. It's easy to lose track of what we already have going on for us in each moment. In the attempt to keep doing, it's very easy to lose track of being. Everyday life is so full of things that must be done, I can hardly breathe sometimes and I get caught in the must do fever. Lockdown allowed me to slow down. Look at my days. Take each one as it came. Accept them. Accept the different hours and the different changes we go through as they go by. Which really, takes me back to acceptance. Of my limits but also of life, of things as they are. Living each day as well as possible with whatever we are given. Now, if I can do this when things slow down, my quest will be to keep this ability when things speed up again. Maybe I need to determine how fast I go. Maybe I need to be the one taking responsibility for the speed of my life, rather than always saying that life ''demands'' us to go at a certain speed. Easier said than done, especially since when we have kids, our choices affect them in a domino effect, but it's a good thing to have in mind.</div><div><br /></div><div>4. Not being afraid of setting up boundaries. One of the most unpleasant feelings during this pandemia was the way the world seems to be divided. I have been trying to do what I consider to be the best course of action since the beginning. It hasn't been perfect, not many people have managed perfection so far, but I feel it's been fairly adequate to the best of my knowledge. At times that meant being in disagreement with people who are close to me. At times also, it meant being wrongly judged as being in panic or reacting mindlessly to the media. I must confess, that one has annoyed me, because for one I haven't actually been this calm in years and years, and second, I am doing my very best here and it doesn't come without an effort. And people who know me should know me enough to know, if I take a decision, it's usually based on something very tangible. Eventually, being afraid to offend or being too honest about my opinion, finally turned into being able to confront people and not being afraid of the conflict it may cause. Because at the end of the day, people who are in my life will need to respect my decisions, even when they don't necessarily agree with them. I think for every one of us though, that has been a two edged sword over the last year, which leads me to the next point:</div><div><br /></div><div>5. Learning acceptance towards different opinions. Now, there has been an awful lot to disagree about over the last few years. Brexit, racial views, politics, you name it. Most of these issues are as old as time, but suddenly we were all discussing them openly online and often being shocked at finding people who we really admire have a very different vision from our own. Where do we stand then? How do we accept different views on things we feel so viscerally about? Some of those things for me have not much space for a middle term, others are a lot greyer in appearance. Coronavirus, let's face it, it's a very grey area. Sort of (or is it??) . I will make a confession, when I think I'm right, I think I'm right. What I don't normally have is opinions on what is right for others, but I know what I think is right for me. And as everyone else, I have an opinion on what I think is the right course of action for the well being of the community when one's actions do affect the community. Tricky one with coronavirus, because it managed to get quite a few divisions, with we all feeling that each person's individual choices were affecting our own, no matter what side of the argument we were in. So I have been doing a huge exercise of trying to accept different views. I fail at it every day and then try to pick it up from where I was. I take deep breathes and try not to get annoyed at actions that differ from what I think is the right thing to do. It's hard and it's hard to admit for someone who always defended tolerance like myself, to admit I am having a hard time digesting approaches that are different from mine. It's a bit of a slap in the face. But one I will gladly take as I don't want to shy away from being gloriously human, because I don't want to sugar coat who I really am. That is part of my quest. But in doing so, I also know my tolerance towards people will be decreased. Not in terms of accepting different views in this case, rather in terms of self honesty. The more I am able to look myself in the eye and admit my downfalls, even the ones I most despise, the more I will want to surround myself with people who can do the same. Because what I won't do is stand in the middle waving my downfalls around while others use them to glorify their own pretend perfection. If I'm going to be honest, I will be wanting honesty. More and more so. And there are many people who feel the same as me, thankfully. </div><div><br /></div><div>6. Learning to be flexible, thankful and making the best of what we have. There was a time in the past in which I felt that if I didn't leave the small town we live in every single week I would suffocate. It's been over a year in which we hardly stepped outside Llanelli and we haven't left the house excect for walks around the neighbourhood since somewhere in December. Guess what, I am still breathing. And surprisingly enough, I am still bloody excited about life. I don't know why or how, I just am. I look forward to the next day. Not only the day we will come out of lockdown, but the actual next day. Sometimes I am bored to death with school tasks and I feel that if I see one more dish to wash or have one more meal to cook I will scream. Sometimes I look outside and the grey weather is enough to make me want to hide under the covers. But then I engage in something that I enjoy, spend some time laughing with my kids or chat to a friend online and the next thing I know my mojo is back and photography images run through my mind. Maybe it is because what was preventing me from breathing was not so much the lack of stimulation. My mind is a world of its own and together with my camera, books, internet, nature, craft materials and the presence, distant or close, of loved ones, I have more stimulation than I could wish for in 10 life times. What was preventing me from breathing was the demands, the rush, the stress of having to do it all, fitting it all in all the while keeping the pretence I am sane and I am a valid member of society as determined by our insufficient social rules. Maybe what I need to is to stop pretending even more. Surround myself with people who need no pretences to accept me. Slow down. Tell the inner voices that tell me I need to achieve this and this and that, they can do one and let life flow. Let life happen instead of running after it. That doesn't mean not striving for better, not improving myself or allowing things to be horrible. It just means not to force things, accept my own rhythms, accept my own boundaries and make sure other people can accept them as well. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I might be writing in here more often again. Maybe. For now, the need to put all this in a text flooded over me, I just had to do it. And I allowed myself to demand that time from my family. Everyone is still alive and well and no harm came into the world. Now that this very strong internal need has been met, I will have more availability to be with the kids, all we need to do is to stretch the boundaries of our already flexible schedules a bit more. I congratulate you if you read this far. If you empathised with some of it, that was the point of making it public. If you didn't, but somehow got to understand other people maybe a bit better, that too, would make me happy. I am writing to myself more than anything, but it's an act of braveness to share this with (some of) the world. As such, feel free to comment. </div></div>Unapologetically Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919393276754492787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7807815047636509058.post-2720607256944329852016-08-31T11:38:00.001+01:002016-08-31T11:38:25.186+01:00Again and again, I pick myself up and carry on. Because that's life and life is beautiful. So I will do it one more time, and will forgive myself for being human. Unapologetically Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919393276754492787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7807815047636509058.post-38030188437794252452014-12-26T20:42:00.003+00:002014-12-26T20:42:45.755+00:00Weird are the days when you realize that someone who was once meaninful to you is permanently disappearing into the shadows of indiference. Empty memories are like dance full of tecnique but without soul....they have no particular effect on you, apart from the oddness this lack of effect causes. Weird.Unapologetically Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919393276754492787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7807815047636509058.post-7122147701259393372014-12-17T00:15:00.001+00:002014-12-17T00:15:54.121+00:00It's been a long time since I don't blog....and I am enjoying creating a whole new blog elsewhere :) Unapologetically Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919393276754492787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7807815047636509058.post-60924550027168750472014-03-02T10:28:00.002+00:002014-03-02T10:28:53.188+00:00Materiality can be overwhelming, and not many people understand just how overwhelming it can be. I wish we had soft words and bright spirits, I wish we were able to pull each other up more consistently. I wish we could all take the necessary steps to make other happier. But we are only human, and all we're left with is the everyday trying.<br />
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Grateful, so grateful to be alive and for the life I do have, still I sit here waiting for the courage to organize this space, this sanctuary, waiting soon, so very soon, for welcoming changes yet once again. Still, I wish we could feel the joy more consistently, how to bring the optimism into the soul of the pessimist?<br />
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And I breathe, breathe deeply, and ask God or some unifying power to give me strenght. So much strenght is necessary to be sweet and kind, it can be so much easier to put our defenses up...<br />
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I miss my special people, the ones who were always there and will always be, but phisically far away. I miss the sun and the long days. I miss the freshness of not feeling the weight of worry because there's nothing more than the present and sweet dreams. But I cherish so much what I have today, and wouldn't change it for the world.<br />
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Necessarily, I have to close my ears to harsh words that are said with no real meaning but to vent the frustration in one's heart. Not all the cumplicity I have always wished for is here, but I am stronger even than the lack of it, and there are very good reasons for that.<br />
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I wish for the sun and breeze inside and I will find them myself. The door is open for whoever wants to join me. We must give the example. Unapologetically Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919393276754492787noreply@blogger.com0