Instinct

For a long time I could always be myself here. My blog was my refuge. But it has since come to my knowledge that anything which goes on the world wide web suddenly becomes accessible. I have no problem with real men reading it, the ones who I am sure will never turn a word against me. But I am not so sure about somebody who has betrayed me, when he should have done quite the opposite. I will one day face this man, but now is not the time. He is too calculating, and so two can play at a game. It just means that sometimes I have to write in some form of Morse Code, made up by yours truly. No problem, I still have volumes to write.

I am missing something. And the missing is terrible. I wish I could invent some sort of direct phone line, it would then be all so easy. I feel so cheated, I cannot even write freely in my own blog, because he's there lurking in the shadows waiting for a slip of the tongue (or a slip in the typing) to slam down on me. Had he to just slam down on me it wouldn't be a problem. You see I'm a big girl and can take care of myself. But someone else will be in the equation and I cannot risk that. I have given up questioning why. No reason would ever be plausible anyhow. It's just that some people are perfect and forgiving, while others are very imperfect and unforgiving. Truth is stranger than fiction. My cat never left her kittens' side when they were born. It is instinct. Some people could learn a really good lesson from my cat's behaviour. And she's just a cat. Four years down the line she still behaves like a motherly cat, it is amazing and so beautiful. Other people, like the ones I cannot trust, have babies and leave to have more babies and leave again to have yet more babies and leave again. It assures that the human race will not be extinct for the next 50 years, but that's about it.

I am not a mum. I can never feel what a mum feels. But God made me a woman, and somewhere it's all there in the instinct. I of course have no practise, but my cat has taught me a whole lot. My dad taught me even more, and he's not even female. So it's not as if it's a battle between the sexes. I wonder what it really is.

In My Dark....

It's been a mad, mad day, full of rushing, meeting deadlines. I've met all of them. Thank God for deadlines, I work so much better under the pressure of deadlines. I don't know why.

It's dark outside, I can see the darkness from my back terrace where there are trees, cats running around which make for the fact that there are no mice or rats. It's safe outside, it's dark, but still safe. I used to shy away from the dark when I was little. I was terrified that sharks would come out from under my bed, and even as a child I knew it was impossible, but I still took no risks. I have since made peace with the dark. Nothing terrifies me now just because it is in the dark. Not even the dark in my heart. Before, I could never cope with the dark, what was worse was the dark in my heart. I was once so happy go lucky, so free, until the first hitch with the dark. No I couldn't move, it was that bad, debilitating. And I couldn't find the light switch. Until I learnt that nobody finds the light switch suddenly and becomes exposed to bright light. It happens gradually, getting that bit brighter every day. I don't want anybody having dark in their heart. Life is too short for that. It happened to me, and I had to go through the whole process of moving the dimmer switch one millimetre every day. And it's not easy but somehow I made it. It pains me to see other people in the same process, so much that I want to suddenly shine a floodlight so they may carry on in peace. But it's just my wish, because I know it cannot be done overnight. Pain is easy to acquire, hard to get rid of. In the same way it's so easy to put out the light but so hard to find the light switch again. Because it's dark and finding our way in the dark is a difficult task. Enemalta... I don't care how much it costs, I don't care about the surcharge, or even if the price of oil suddenly soars, I will pay in advance if need be. What hurts me the most is not the fact that sometimes we adults are suddenly dealt a big blow in life, we somehow cope, or perhaps we heal through acceptance. The unsightly gash will somehow heal into a scar. Still a scar, but never the infected wound again. Can we really say the same for little people who are wounded through no fault of theirs? And can't we do something to disinfect the wound and patiently clean it daily in a bid to heal it once and for all? Or is it just in my dark?

Vulnerable

I have been editing for Arani Issa. I used to edit for Nies ta' Veru. In other words, I am looking through a lot of gore, pressing Enter, and Delete, and doing a lot of the dirty work that comes with TV exposure. It's fine by me, as long as I'm behind the cam and not in front of it. That's my twin's job. And he does it to a perfect T. I could never do that in the same way he could never do what I do. That's the beauty of twins, we come as a package, we're never self-sufficient on our own, if there's one then there's the other.

Arani Issa. The programme involves watching hours and hours of hurt all caught on tape. People are hurt, vulnerable, sometimes in psychological turmoil. It's so sad sometimes, that yes, I cry. I'm just one big baby, and I am moved by watching, at first hand, the joy of people who have had their dream accomplished. A lot of pain translates into even more joy. That's how it works. I am and will always be amazed just how pain can turn a strapping 6 footer into a small vulnerable sight. Because where Arani Issa is concerned, one has to tread very carefully. Our interest is not into compounding people's pain, but rather easing the pain, and just as a snake does, our interest is in making them undress their formal vulnerable self into new self-confidence. There are a lot of words which we never ever use around these people. The programme has taught me a valuable lesson. Never ever utter the F-word (as in fat), the N-word (as in nose), the B-word as in boobs, and the list goes on and on. If only more people would make the effort it would save so many people all the extra unnecessary pain. If only they could think of the lines on... it could be me. But that doesn't happen in the real world. We think we're so drop-dead gorgeous that we have the right to stare until our eyes are going to pop, to mutter names under our breath sotto-voce, and some are even more brazen, they actually call people names in one big fortissimo. These are the people who I would gladly wring their necks and not be an inch sorry about it. They never learn, it's useless teaching them because they don't even want to learn.

I want to save the world, but I know I can only start from my world. To me, people are the same, regardless of height, weight, size and age. A vulnerable 6 year old is vulnerable as is a vulnerable 60 year old. I am not saint, but for my part I will always try my best never to judge, and certainly never to hurl abuse at anybody and anything. This I promise in my full capacity. I do.

The praying

I have done so many things in life, some of which I should be proud of, other of which I shouldn't be. The thing is I don't feel proud or not, they are just fact that happened. I have worked too much already, studied like a beast and practised as if there were no tomorrow. I was so young back then, nothing else mattered. But I am suddenly 35 now, and a lot of things have started to matter. The first grey hair I find will matter (I don't have any yet). The first signals of menopause will matter (even though I guess I still have some years to go). And the day will come when I'll spot a wrinkle, no, two, or perhaps a dozen. It's this thing called life. And what will I have accomplished when the good Lord comes and asks? I'm not sure I have accomplished anything. Which is strange, because if the good Lord is omnipotent and knows everything, then why should He ask in the first place? But I still hope He'll come because I have a lot to ask Him. I try, even now, but I never get an answer. Or else it's such a cryptic riddle that I cannot solve. I want to ask Him, where are You God when we lose our soul mate to the savage thing called death? Where are You when children in Ethiopia do not have clean water to drink? And where are You when someone sends You a secret wish? Do You act on that? Can You act on that, and if the answer is in the affirmative, then why do You just watch on? Why don't You do something about it?

I guess I'll never have an answer. But I still keep praying. I don't know if that classifies me as a complete moron or as a human being who is reluctant to let go of her faith.

Fairy Tales

I am hearing flares, and bomb sounding petards. I, who am not exactly in tune with dates of public holidays as to why (I am just thankful that public holidays are holidays) have had to do a mental retake. OK now I know, it's for the feast of the Immaculate Conception. Two difficult words which basically mean the conception of the Madonna through extraordinary means. The means is also called Immaculate. And if the means are immaculate in the Madonna's stakes, then have we all been conceived through non-immaculate means? Doesn't that sound dirty? So we all have been a by-product of some dirty business. But babies are born into the world without having a degree of mental or psychological dirt. Then what's this Immaculate thing? Is it for the Madonna to raise herself as being by far the cleanest woman, making us all look as if we needed an hour's long hot scalding shower? I don't understand. This and many more things. But it doesn't bother me anyway, it doesn't interfere with the way I act, speak, and hold myself in any way. So if some people want to celebrate what really looks like a fairytale, then so be it. Fairy tales will always have a part in every person's upbringing. And they're not bad. The moral of the story always celebrates and rewards the someone who had the kindest heart, the one who could look beyond physical imperfections. Even nasty witches sometimes find a good heart inside them in fairy tales, because they have learnt their lesson. And who am I to argue with that? I think that's just fine. And if only we started fairytale telling earlier in life. They are like our grown-up Aesop's fables. They are ageless. And I have a penchant for the fairy godmother witch who not withstanding all diversity, greed, hatred and lies will wave her magic wand in favour of the least lucky, the least loved and turn them into princesses, princes, and guarantee that they live happily ever after. And nobody's too big for fairy tales; look at me. And nobody's too old either; if you are, then you have missed out on the possibility of seeing the world through a child's eyes which is magic.

Stars and the Secret Subconscious

Yesterday I made a change in my schedule. Not that I have a schedule, I am not very organised when it comes to myself. But I was intent on staying in and dreaming. Instead I went out dreaming. Just a change of scene, and a change of everything. Sometimes I want to talk, talk, talk. Other times I know it's useless so I just shut up and listen, or nod in agreement to something which I haven't a clue about while my mind is miles away. It depends. We do not choose our families, but thankfully it hasn't turned out very wrong. At least I have a twin who can listen too, one who has a heart and is able to see things with his heart. And as a lawyer twin, that's a miracle. Perhaps we do not choose our partners either, we never choose who to love, it just happens. Love is not the answer to a tangible equation, but perhaps after so much time, I've got lucky in that too. Worse still we do not choose our brother in-law, but there it is, another heart there. So I guess I am quite lucky. I have also been lucky as whom I was born to, but of course there will always be the odd disagreement with my mother, which usually is her disagreeing which colour of nail polish I am wearing, and that's not too bad.

So yesterday's change of scene was supposed to be no big deal. But it was, and it hurt. And the worst part of it was that the people in the scene were only doing what is correct. So I couldn't even swear (ok that's not ladylike) under my breath at them. I could only sit and watch and approve and be thrown into a multitude of emotions. Perhaps my brain never registered pictures of yesterday's but now it seems it's making up for lost time. Nothing was wrong with my focaccia, nor with my risotto, no anywhere else. But at one point I had to get up with the excuse of needing a smoke. I don't think I really needed it, but I just had to get out, it was interfering with me a little too much. Mums and dads seem to be springing up like mushrooms in the rain forest, and they seem to be doing a good job at it. What made me an emotional flip was a child who, probably too tired, just slept at another table while his mum artfully wrapped him up in an almost white big cashmere scarf. Very pretty, but it dragged me to hell, and I didn't just have to look the other way, I just had to get out and fast. It was way too much. All righty, I have to admit that I am slave to a competitive streak (music does that for you), but this wasn't even competition, this was downright hurtful. And I couldn't very well walk up to that table and ask, Excuse me Madame would you mind taking your business of wrapping up your child lovingly, complete with a kiss elsewhere? That would have been loony, but still I wanted to get away. Not because I thought that the child didn't deserve his mum's behaviour, certainly not because I thought that the child didn't deserve all of that with the kiss as the cherry on the pie. It just made me realise what a lot some little people are missing out on. Forget the focaccia, and the glorious mud pie, but I couldn't forget what I had just saw. At 35 I know how to remove myself from things and situations which are hurtful to me. They are not necessarily hurtful to the rest of the world, but if they so much as touch me, then I'm gone, and fast. And outside, everything was dead quite. I felt so helpless. So I lit up, took a drag of nicotine (I know, I know, I'm trying to cut down), and tried to think what I could do in my helpless situation. Nothing. And that made me feel even more helpless. So I did what the Three Wise Men did, and took a look at the stars and pleaded with them that they might give my message. Nowadays it's called telepathy, and no I couldn't and will not go into the debate of whether it's real or not, whether it works or not. Because it's the only thing I have. In this day of communication, mobile phones, PDA's, laptops, computers, Internet.... I have to turn to the stars. So yes, I'm wishing on a star, plenty of stars just in case one won't do it, perhaps another will. Stars are safe, they know how to keep a secret. They know how to separate good from evil. It was a star which led the Three Kings to their destination, and I hope, that 2008 years later some star can deliver my message. I hope that stars have a very long life-span, so maybe that same star is still in business.