And then there was limbo

I’ve been wanting to write – something, anything. I really have. Only, nothing happened. Whole lot of nothing includes stubborn hair refusing to go to the hairdresser, wrinkly laundry refusing to stop chillin on the couch, a kid that doesn’t take itself to school, amongst others. The only saving grace is that we are fast approaching Summer. Or is it? This time, time really didn’t fly. I remember exactly how painful the lockdown was(is) and how slowly time passed(is passing) – each day like an aeon. But we’re done bitching and moaning about the whole virus situation, right?(not) Ho hum.

I have started a bucket list. So what if I am not doing things, I can plan to do things in the future. That surely counts for something? I don’t like bucket list even though I am a lists person. Making plans for the long term has never been my thing. So, very expectedly it is quite odd and almost completely taking over my life. I am now progressing the list of what does and does not go on the list.

This naturally led to a realisation that there are things I wish to do before I die. And I’d hopefully die when I am old enough to be called an old hag. On second thoughts that is quite open to interpretation. Let’s settle for a head full of grey hair, wrinkly skin, saggy bits and a sailor’s mouth. That’s when I’d like to die.

This and that

So this is the thing. I’m kind of wandering between being interested in something for sometime and then not so much. A bit like a tender sapling, which is not so much a plant and neither a tree yet, flailing in the breeze. Sometimes here, sometimes there, but really not anywhere. Sometimes I think I’m too scared to stay once place for long, afraid that I might realise that I hate that place. Keep moving, keep changing, keep things fresh, new. Of course the same thing applied to posting here as well. I have learnt to not kid myself that I know what I’m doing. Well, not anymore. The more I age, the more I see how much I haven’t grown.

I am a routine person. I like not having to think about things I do through the day. I like having my piece of toast with tea in the morning, looking out the window at the lone leafless tree, now sprouting life. Sometimes we engage in a bit of a chit chat, my daughter and I. One of the things I will cherish from this situation. I like having time to myself at night to waste as I wish (and then beat myself up for it later). Absolutely whiling away my Saturdays, filling it with nothingness and rushing my Sundays to get things done so that I’m not too hurried when Monday rocks up at my door. I’ll soon have to shuffle things around a bit. Change beckons.

The meditation-mindfulness-exercise routine has been thrown out of the window and replaced by this inane need to work relentlessly. Thankfully though, I have come to enjoy what I do, so I don’t mind doing a lot of it. Oh, I did find a job by the way. So that’s one less thing to worry about. It is not so much the over-working that bothers me. It is the disinterest in pretty much everything else. Well, except for gardening. I really like and want to do so many other things but can’t seem to be able to bring myself to do them. It is as if nothing really matters anymore but survival and the bare minimum. Sometimes I even feel a bit bad that I am doing so well than a lot of other people right now. Australia is officially in a recession.

I am another year older and for some reason this one has kinda hit hard. Not in a I’m getting so old kinda way. More like I can’t believe I’ve been alive for this long kinda way. It’s bloody unbelievable how little of what I wanted to do that I’ve actually done. Talk about ideals. Probably deserves a post of it’s own.

I haven’t anything special or nice to say right now. Not that I use this place to say particularly nice things. But right now, it is just this. The here and now. And getting through all that needs to be gotten through.

Illusion

Is it real? Is it not?
Nobody’s here to find out
Drowning dreams, helpless cries
Grey clouds filling the blue skies

Darkness slowly swallows the light
Caged bird takes its very first flight
Leaving behind its mournful song
Can’t hear it now, it’s been too long

Somewhere is heard a cry of joy
Somewhere is seen a glimmer of hope
Maybe there’s meaning to it after all
Or
Fooling oneself is one way to cope

…

Wait of a thousand years
But there’s been no sound
Nothing to be lost anymore
And nothing to be found
So round in my head I spin
Round and round and round

K

Holding mirror

I feel fundamentally different.

To be quite frank I am a coward even now but perhaps a tad less. After what feels like a lifetime of letting the world sit on my shoulder, I now feel a sense of weightlessness. Lot lighter. Lot free-er. There is much grounding in cutting the strings. Much stability in letting go.

I have always seen it from one perspective. Always wanting to know what to do, what to feel, what to think.

And of course there is no dearth of perspectives either. First it was the virus getting in the face (quite literally), which is now replaced by #blacklivesmatter. Its a shitty time, real shitty time to be congregating for protests. It really is, but if it stops it loses momentum. It has been horrifying to watch the brutality and injustice. It’s shameful for us as humans, that we cannot see past the colours of our skins. That we cannot tolerate each other. Well, I can’t tolerate most people, but I don’t go antagonising them. Wait…. writing about them doesn’t count, right?

Looks like we’re all gonna die! Probably for the best.

Does that make me happy? Not really. But it seems fitting. Do we deserve to survive even though there has been zero accountability? Not so sure. But if we do die, we might as well die happy and free. I feel free just by the thought.

Now, don’t go imagining me to be vomiting sunshine and pooping rainbows. I will continue to look like I’m about to throw a punch. But you’ve got to trust me when I say, it’s not you, it’s just my face. Too late to do much about that now.

Well then

A gorgeous cloudless blue sky, crisp but fresh air, surprisingly non-deceptive fully bright sun, and a leisurely but somewhat brisk walk. Today was both warm and cold at the same time and how stunningly beautiful. First time in a long time I got outside my head and actually saw things.

Birds and a whole lot of them were out to soak the sun. Purple swamphens, dusky moorhens and ducks digging for worms, making pretty sounds. Some lorikeets were around too, looking lost, flying everywhichway, making a ruckus. Perhaps they got the wrong migration schedule and got here way ahead of everyone else. Like a season ahead.

A rather peculiar blue heron was trying to intimidate a signboard, going round and round and pecking at it. It was pretty funny. That could very well have been me getting worked up about insignificant things. It is indeed funny now in hindsight.

Free wordpress. No videos. Enjoy the blurry pic

I sat down on a bench, soaking up some warmth myself, enjoying the little piece of solitude in the midst of civilisation. I sat there, the nearby freeway roar drowning out the din inside my head. And then there was nothing. Nature is wondrously calming and surprisingly liberating, especially when you’ve been caged inside your own head for a while.

I consciously slowed down my brisk pace, taking the time to look at the intelligent Currawongs (who I mistook for huge crows until now) and magpies (always liked them for some reason). I walked my usual uphill path back home, noticed the “naked” trees (as my daughter likes to call them) lining the sides of the road.

The naked trees

No sarcasm? No dig at anyone? There must be something seriously wrong with me. That or the peace before shit hits the fan.

I even looked up names of the birds I saw. The horror!

Futility

You’re an ocean wave

Reaching the shore but

Going back for more

Always moving Always playing

Never stopping Never staying

I’m a rock on the shore

Glad the second you’re here

Sad the second you’re gone

Standing there forever

Waiting for you to come home

K

Shower philosophy

Showers, after a long rough day are absolutely divine. The spray of hot water on the tired achy muscles, immediately relaxing them. Almost like a warm hug. Soothing. Somehow healing. It has to be a spray. Neither a drizzle nor a jet but just right. The sound, the low rhythmic pittery-pattery hum of it calms me down. Perhaps that is why I like rains so much.

People have shower thoughts. But random thoughts leave me as I concentrate on the falling water. Almost meditative. Peaceful. It draws me inward, into quiet introspection, self affirmation and gratitude. Perhaps this is what prayers are supposed to do?

Showers certainly signify cleansing, to me. Transcending the physical. Washing away the muck stuck to me after having waded through the murky waters of everyday existence. Very effective for catching better zzzs. Struggle through the day but at-least sleep through the night.

This is turning out to be an interesting post. As if someone challenged me that mundane can’t be deep. Since my propensity to deal with non-sense is now almost nonexistent, there is a lot of space for all things deep, dark, silly, crazy and downright outrageous. Worry not if you don’t fall into those categories, just fling your adjective at me and we’ll take it from there.

So, yeah, those are my not-shower-thoughts. And for a sustainability-champion-wannabe I sure used a lot of water to come up with them.

Moral of the story? Shower everyday kids. Who knows, you might reach that elusive enlightenment after-all.

And maybe, just maybe, others might start feeling okay to be around you.

Hunkered down

So this thing happened and now I am spouseless and jobless. I’m one of the many fortunate ones that were laid off due to Covid19. Also trying to meditate the shit out of dealing with all things ex. Not too much of a bad thing if you think about it. But a bit too much since they are both happening simultaneously. Also happening is the final leg of legalities that need wrapping up, on the relationship front that is. These things are bloody complicated. Both legally and emotionally. More so if you share a bundle of joy together. Oh the joy!

There are people a lot worse off than me right now. Thinking about that calms me down when the jitters start setting in. Also, I’m probably living in the best place possible, all things considered (Covid situation notwithstanding). That counts for something right? Right?

I’ve been the model child, even as an adult. Doing what is ideal, what is expected. Good grades, obedience, family oriented, putting others first, what have you. What went wrong? Wasn’t I supposed to live the best life ever? A job that’s secure, a family that’s well put together? Happiness should be oozing out of my picket fenced, whitewashed, flower filled cottage house.

Ding ding ding and the grand announcement – Ladies and gentlemen, unfortunately it has been found that the formula doesn’t work.

Because there is no friggin formula. There is no manual to life, to happiness. Life does have its way of teaching. Starting with a tight slap in the face.

I’ve decided not to be a pity party. But not feeling sorry for oneself in a overwhelmingly sad situation is damn right impossible. Compartmentalising comes in handy in times like these. Ha! Who’d have thought I’d be the one saying this. I still remember telling someone that I am incapable of compartmentalising – it is just impossible. Well, turns out life really does have its ways. And I’m learning. When you’re in existential crisis mode, you learn rather quickly.

You hit back the hardest when you have nothing to lose. Like now. I am pretty much backed into a corner with not a lot of options and nobody by my side. And I’ve been thinking and thinking and boy do I do a lot of it. I seem to have hit rock bottom. Well, it’s also scary to think that the bottom can sink further down if I’m not careful. So I try and look up and somehow teleport myself back to the surface. One breath at a time.

I picked up my stuff at work last week. Not that I had a whole heap there. Usually just a water bottle, a mug and a few books. I may or may not have shed a tear later that day, the closing of a metaphorical chapter and all. I’m usually not so sensitive when it comes to jobs, so, let’s blame the isolation.

On the brighter side, all this is making my creative juices flow. Nothing like a good crisis or two to get me going. So for now, I’m exploring new sides to me and my writing. If I’m coming across as cynical, sarcastic, sceptical etc., it is because I am. New flavours of the season.

So what’s the plan you ask? None. I’m going to give the spontaneity thing a go. I planned and it was going well, until it wasn’t, so. Right now I’m just hunkered down digging my heels in, refusing to back down, looking life in the eyes for once.

And so the devil returns

This is the third time (or is it?) I’m returning to blogging after either consciously shutting the place down or just ignoring it. It is always a major life event that triggers it. Thankfully that’s still in single digits. I have tried, time and again, to reinvent this place. Instead of meaninglessly ranting, I tried to make it more meaningful to the lurkers. I really was kidding myself, wasn’t I?

I’m trying to breathe new life into this place, that has collected dust and cobwebs for years. A lot of what I wrote the last time I revamped it, I realise, is pretty much meaningless and shallow. I also see that I’m scared to write about my innermost thoughts, lest people find out who I really am. I don’t really know who that is anymore.

Like I said, a major life event, something that makes me mad enough to want to rant, makes me come crawling. This time around it’s my divorce. And as always, I come seeking refuge, shelter, comfort. Inside my own head, but also somehow out there.

I finally deleted my second blog. I had to. It was hard to let go. Also this isn’t my first, if you’re wondering. I doubt if someone from early 2000s is still hanging around here. They’re probably the ones who know of my deepest wounds and darkest fears. The thread connecting the two worlds severed, there’s no use hanging on to the past anymore.

With the devil riding my back, here, I come alive, slipping off the veil of polite sophistication. Baring his fangs, he hooks his claws while the scorched thoughts leave me, to find home in his devious mind.

With love

Dear daughter,

You laugh with gay abandon, accompanied by snorts. Don’t let anyone tell you it is not ladylike.

You climb on your dad, roll on the floor and play with cars. Don’t let them tell you should have been a boy.

You run, scream, jump and talk non stop, trying to burn the seemingly inexhaustible energy, I am still wondering the source of. Don’t let their disapproving stares bother you.

You play with your dolls, cooking for and feeding them. You even put them to bed. Don’t let them tell you that is how girls play.

You like ribbons and pony tails but couldn’t care less about princesses and unicorns. You sleep with a teddy bear. You like trucks, aeroplanes and skateboards. Digging in the dirt and climbing trees are some of your favourite past times. Don’t let them teach you to choose between any of those.

Don’t let anyone define who you are or what you should be. Wear blacks, reds and blues if you like and be who you want to be.

You are just a child, free and wild. And that is how it should be.