It's red

So Nigel's been and I am transformed. It took three hours, apparently because my hair is very strong in its pigments and resists change. I could be talking about myself, I too resist change. But it's a job well done and I'm so happy I took the plunge for red hot red. And it was so nice with my favourite boys around, Nigel, Joseph and my boyfriend. It was really really nice, just as it was when we were kids. Perhaps I have too many men running around in here. But the total is still not satisfying. What would complete the picture is if I had just one more. No I am not trying to create the first male red light district in Malta. I am just trying to complete the picture of a family, just before Christmas. I'm pleased my hair is still there, after all the bleach put into it. I'm also pleased that all my boys feel comfortable about opening my cupboards and fridge. On the outside, I'm one happy gal. On the inside I'm one happy gal with a poignant constant reminder. I've gone red, but never green. And that will always stay the same no matter what.

Looking back...

I am patiently waiting for Nigel, who is always worth the wait. And he's always late, which I don't mind seeing that I can come and blab in here. I am certain that in the next three hours I'm going to be transformed. Because that is what Nigel does. And as I was flipping open the paper with coffee, a cigarette, and all the non chalance in the world, I see something which hit me far worse then if the ceiling had to collapse. But then again, I expected as much. An ex-colleague who got himself in hot water, who stooped really damn low. And for once, although shocked, I am not feeling very sorry for the person in question. My first reaction was just that, I felt so sorry. The next was, well it really looked like he would branch out to that kind of a life. And no I have no empathy because life literally kissed his ass hundred of times. He could have made really something out of his life, so talented. But no, after God kept knocking at his door incessantly, giving him all the opportunities in existence, he still decided not to listen and do it his way, his way which was never a good way. I do not feel revengeful, although perhaps I should feel a teeny weeny bit of that. It just makes me sick to the core. Because it's all about greed. Greed which which starts to fester in a young boy, then graduates a little bit more each year. The guy wasn't a pleasant one, his ego was as swollen as the Mosta Church's dome, and yet I was so hooked. He was never kind to me, on the contrary, he always knew which words to pick to brainwash a young girl into thinking she never was good enough. And no I couldn't see clearly back then. Because he was like a drug. Perhaps it is because greed is the actual root of all evil, but I suspect he was also mean just for fun. He doesn't need sympathy, or empathy because he wouldn't know how to spell them anyway. I have so many memories which I think my mind makes a point never to drag up again. I actually had trouble realising who it was. He was the one who would brainwash me to a point where I really would start thinking I was hopeless. Once he was gone, then suddenly success was knocking at my door. I cannot erase some things he said in continuo, not even now that a good 20 years have passed. And I don't think I want to remember. I can only look at myself in the mirror now and see that I have not become the President of the world, but I am happy with my achievements, which are, at the end of the day, something more than he accomplished. Because we always have a choice. His was to wreck himself, mine was to try and make something. I was then 14 and a little innocent girl, he was 15 and already a grown man, and not of the very kind. I was defenseless next to his greed, and I never understood it anyway. But I'm content with life, no matter all the strife it has posed. At least I can sleep with a clear mind. And I can only thank mum and dad and Joseph, for all the times they saw me hurt. and tried to make me see the truth. For all the times they got angry. And for all the times when they tried to break this man's hold of me. I thought they didn't understand. I now know they did. Now I can understand that parents and twins do not like seeing their daughter and sister in the sorry state I was. They could have been clairvoyants, because now, after a good 20 years, the truth is out, and justice is done.

The Quiet Time

I'm awfully quiet, not that I'm really noisy anyhow. But it's the almost-sad quietness, not of the unhappy kind. This year I'm ok. But I'm quiet because usually the something I want comes during Christmas time, that Cartier bag, that Chanel watch, oh and those Bvlgari earrings. And they usually pop up hey presto wrapped in red and green, and gold and silver. And with those come gift cards full of heartwarming messages from the heart, because they're usually from my boyfriend, or my twin brother, or my brother in law who I love to bits. Mum and dad play safe, although this year there will be a change of monetary denomination, lots and lots of Euro. Which is just fine. So it should be an awesome time to look forward to. The thing is I'm hoping I'll survive this year. Perhaps I'll give a miss on the shopping. Because there will be so many children with their parents on the look out for the perfect gift. I will have to act awesomely pleased, and perhaps I will be. But it's all there inside and it doesn't feel very good. I try to forget but it'll probably take the biggest sedative in the world to make me forget. And I am not one to sleep on troubles. And I think I'm going to cry which is ok since I'm alone and only one of my cats will see me. I am acting like the mum who will constantly make excuses to get up from the dinner table to call her babysitter. I know it's not very fair on my boyfriend, but he'll understand no problem. It should be the best time of the year, and in all fairness I cannot grumble, but and but and but. I feel I have let down someone. But I tried, and tried and tried. I wrote countless of emails, my telephone bill is going to be as big as I am, and my incessant meetings with this and that have turned me into some ambassador of something which is yet to be invented. I tried. I tried my best. My boyfriend tried even harder. We are almost into the 7th year of our relationship which so many people would have thought wouldn't work out. But it has. Because I can never find any wrong with a man whose sentiments are as noble as Mother Theresa's. Just when, at 29, I had given up and almost resigned myself to being left on the shelf, although that in itself was a problem because I have never seen household shelves big enough for me.

I know people are watching my blog. For what reason I have no idea. But I don't care. I write anyway, one because it's therapy, two because maybe someone out there will realise what is going on and have a heart and help, not just me, but a little person. No, I am not Mother Theresa and yes, like all people I am prone to mistakes. I am constantly questioned why the particular young man. I don't know, because we never chose who to love. I am also asked why that child because he is no genius. Well genius is very much open to perception isn't it? I am also questioned why I don't want a newborn, why I don't try looking for a foreign child. But I want a special child who is not foreign, who is not a baby, and I want him not any other because it's him I love the most. It's that young man who, in his own way, made me realise that I should look at the world through his eyes, which in turn made me realise what a strong young man he is to have survived. And perhaps I should make this clear once and for all, I did not want him just for Christmas. No child is a Christmas dinner's roast. It would have been nice, but it isn't happening, so I'll keep hoping for the New Year. I have so little time left, the little man will grow into a strapping young man soon. I hope he will, and I hope he keeps his promise.... that he'll remember his schooldays no matter what and grow up into a good man. I think he will. Because he too has a big heart, and you can never go wrong with that.

What can I do?

The man who invented laptops must be a genius. As is the man who invented high heels. And the man who invented the hobby called shopping. And the man who invented cosmetics, although this one has long been buried in some Egyptian pyramid. And the thing is, they're all men, I am sure of that. Laptops give an air of an in your face kind of power, and only a man could have been troubled by his ego so much as to go to invent laptops to rub his ego. High heels, no woman in her right mind would have invented something which gives us back pain, but looks so good anyhow. It must have been a man who didn't try the killer heels on, but just thought they added beauty to a woman's posture, it could also have been one big sadist. Shopping, this is the only one which could actually have been thought up by a woman, but since we're nearly almost always hitting bankruptcy because of it, and since women haven't been able to work for not very long, then it must have been a man who was happy to have his wife vacuum his bank account. And cosmetics, well since they have been around for such a long time, my guess is that these too have been thought up by men because men wanted their women to wear it. Nobody ever asked us for our opinion did they? And we never minded because we in fact liked it so much. And finally we're now also able to buy male make up. Seriously. I recently saw a whole stand of male make up. Which is fine by me. I like well groomed men anyway, and if that is going to mean that they plaster on the war paint, then ok, go ahead, it doesn't hurt. We're getting more and more primitive. Take herbal teas, herbal this and that, St. John's Worth. After going to such great lengths as to invent all kind of medication, now we decide we're going with what the witches did and try stuff growing off trees and bushes. And we get away with it because they don't burn witches at the stake anymore. Which in turn may not be such a good idea. The picture of some really horrible female finally burning at the stake... well sometimes as gory as it might be, is good for the imagination. But I shy away from any kind of capital punishment, I don't even like the feeble break-in kind of punishment. I'm that soft. And people know. Even children know. I might be big, but really never judge me by my cover. Spare the rod and spoil the child? Who in his right mind cooked this up. I would never ever be able to stand and watch a child being punished like that. Yes, it would make me cry. I don't even like the fact that criminals are sent to jail. Because it's not just them who are being punished, but perhaps they have kids who in turn are also being punished when they're so innocent. There is just one thing I will never tolerate; bullies. And then again somehow I start feeling sorry for them too, because their behaviour might be concealing a lot of insecurity which in turn means pain. If I were prime minister, the whole country would fall apart. Because the word fairness from my point of view can stretch a long way. I could never hold an administrative post because I'd end up feeling sorry for everyone, including the ants trying to look for food for their family. I'd probably just crush a slice of bread next to where they live, so they don't have to look far for food, and they don't risk getting squashed. I'm that bad. Yes, I know, in this department, I'm hopeless but what can I do?