Gold and red

I have finally put the last bit of tinsel on the Christmas Tree. It's huge and I like the fact that it's big. It's also all gold and red, my best colours. And although I have really really tried, I guess it's not perfect. It's just as perfect as I could do it. So at least I have tried. I tried and cried. Not because I am unhappy, certainly not. The way things stand right now are fine. I'd never in a million years imagined that I would say it. But I'm saying it.

But something is missing. And I'm going through one hell of an ordeal. Now I understand why so many people adopt little kids from Cambodia, Ethiopia, Romania, but not from Malta. Because Malta and it's system make it close to impossible, makes you want to holler in frustration. I do not want a little child. And I do not want a foreign child. It's all Maltese. And although it seems that I am satisfying all the criteria, it also seems that it's taking such a long time. I understand, people have to be scrutinised before the system lets a child go. But come on and scrutinise, I have no problem with that. But no, since it's the holidays, then it must wait. And all for the good of the child. I wonder if it really is. I have never ever thought about this in my life, I just assumed that kids would come when the timing was right. But it didn't happen. And somehow it didn't even matter. I never ever was on the look out for a child. But no matter how hard we try to separate our emotions through being professional, relationships are born and we can do nothing about it. Or maybe we can. I think we really can. I am not super mum, I have never changed a diaper in my life, but then nobody knows how until they try. Nobody is born as a mum, life gives people that. And although life hasn't given me that, I am not at all bitter. Perhaps being around children somehow fills that void. Perhaps love shouldn't come into it, but it does for me. And love is one controlling master, one which controls for the best. I have somehow managed to distance myself for the time being with the hope that things can be speeded up. People can dictate what I do, but they cannot dictate my thoughts, and they could try their best at dictating my emotions. But it doesn't work. I wanted a magical Christmas, not for myself, I've had my share of magic. I wanted to pass on a little of that magic, but magic is magic and it doesn't have to be Christmas. It's the kind of thing you never ever planned on doing, then suddenly find yourself in the situation. If anybody wants to prosecute me for love, then I'll plead guilty. But nobody anywhere ever relayed the message that love was a crime. It certainly hurts, but it's ok, as long as the pain stops with me. And although I have been extremely careful, yes, I love that little man. And it will most certainly be gold and red the whole year round.

The Crying

I have just read on a magazine distributed together with the Sunday paper that one woman got a scare at 32. I know the woman, I actually admire her a whole lot too. And she was 32 when she got scared. I am 35 and I think I am scared too. I never thought my life would turn out the way it has till now. And perhaps that was a good thing too. Yes, next to the Ethiopian 35 year old whose every day trouble is finding food for her kids, yes I have been so much more fortunate. But we tend to overlook the blessings which we really are so accustomed to that we do not think they are blessings. I don't know what is getting under my skin so much. I now defend God, when I once blamed it all on Him. Now, I try to point out that no, it's not God's doing when bad things happen. Bad things just happen, God steps in to help out. I have no answer as to why bad things happen to one and not to the other. Sorry, I really don't know, but my guess is that free will (which is not always a good thing) is a protagonist. We all experience nasty events, for some of us, they are more traumatic. And if that happened to some of us they would never cope. But I did. I made it out of the tunnel, out of the black hole that I was thrown into. I didn't even have a say in that. It was a time when God was so far away, I was angry at Him. And He probably wasn't at all responsible. But God is an easy subject to blame, because He doesn't pay anything back. It is true, that no matter how bad it gets, once a door slams shut, a window is wide-open, the problem is that we're so bottled up in our own grief, we don't see it. Because we're humans, not because we're bad, we're just very hurt. It happened to me, and once the miracle of me bouncing back to life happened, then it was all so very clear. And I became sorry for having blamed God so much. But He understands so much more. My life has changed so dramatically, well it has been quite dramatic. What happens after the pain subsides is that we suddenly have learnt to listen, we have learnt to see, and we have learnt to sense another being's pain. And we want to tell them that it does get better. But if anybody had so much as tried to tell me that, I probably would have hit them hard. And I always say no to violence. Before it all happened, it was quite nice to live as me. When it happened I would have traded myself for the Ethiopian woman. And now, I am just glad that it gets better, and deeply saddened for the ones who are a long way from getting better. I used to think I was so so bad. I don't think that anymore. I am not going to be the first female Pope Benedetta of course. But I don't think I'm that bad. Still, living the life of AnnMarie is difficult, because I cannot get away from the big thing called emotion. I want to save the world from anguish, torment and sadness because I know exactly how that feels, and no, I am far from exaggerating. And if I can at least save one person, then I could happily die tomorrow. I am not waiting for Death in the post, or as an email, not even as an sms, but when you've had a really difficult brush with death, then you're not scared anymore. When you've been so pained that it really starts feeling the same as fear, then there is nothing else to fear. And my anger has all evaporated. I'm not angry anymore, I've gone through the golden word acceptance. I also know now that no I am not responsible anymore, henceforth bye bye guilt because there never should have been any. But it's still hard to live as me. Sometimes it's too overwhelming, so I cry. Not for myself, I don't need to cry for me. I cry for the ones who are not listened too, the ones who seem to be stuck with no way out. I cry for those who are lonely, for those who feel le sentiment de vide. And I cry even better because sometimes these people are little people. It is the one thing I cannot handle. And I cannot very well act crybaby just anywhere. Maybe schools should be equipped with crying rooms, not for kids, but for adults like me who have never grown up on the inside. I'd book a place there everyday for a whole year. Or I'd just do what I do, take it all with me and knock on God's door everyday. It's a wonder He hasn't put a No Entry sign yet.