Monahhhh Lisahhhh

I have a wicked friend. Well not wicked in the bad sense of wicked. She happens to have the best sense of humour ever, and that is what I call wicked. And she has indeed inspired me to write about Leonardo Da Vinci's Mona Lisa whose smile has puzzled so many people for so many years. I cannot take the full credit for the following but here goes anyway. So what was behind Mona's smile? Plenty of people have come up with as plenty of answers. My kind of questions, why is this enigmatic woman without eyelashes and eyebrows? Why the faint smile, which makes her look like the cat who got the cream? It is just a half-length portrait of a woman who isn't even pretty. And yet she looks as if she's got something up her sleeve... or down. According to my wicked (although I love her to bits) friend, the Mona Lisa gracing the Louvre is only part of a whole portrait which was censored. I love the idea. I wish I could draw. Since I can't I will have to draw in words instead. The half length portrait of a woman sitting down with folded arms.... that's because she was just lying there with another doing the job. What job? A blow job. Think about it, try to imagine the lower part of the portrait conveniently cut and stashed away never to be seen again. Mona is sitting with her legs spread wide open, her skirt is lifted giving access to a young girl who is intent on pleasuring Mona. In other vulgar words, some girl is licking and drooling over Mona's private parts. And she seems to be doing a swell job too. Otherwise why the cynic smile? Leonardo was genius hence Mona's no stupid bimbo. Her smile says... I've fooled all of you, because not one of you ever thought I had a lesbian lover. blowing me down there. But I had, and got away for it for the last five hundred years. Oh I got the cream all right. Big big sigh ahhhhhhh!

Strolling at Mater Dei?

I have just had to make an emergency visit to Mater Dei, although I did not actually visit it's Emergency part where people wait for an average of 7 hours. Thankfully, it was a visit to the ophthalmology unit, and it was over in an hour. Good doctor. But what caught my attention were the number of people all dressed up in their Saturday best, couples holding hand, mums and dads not holding hands but pushing pushchairs. What the hell? Has Mater Dei become the new Sliema front. I think so. No, I am sure so. Which sounds wicked. What is there to amuse people? Just a few stray trees, and good roads. Nothing to see, not my kind of fun. I can understand the people jogging round the block, a track is a track even if it is a hospital track. But taking your family out of a Saturday stroll in hospital grounds? That is unbelievable. But true. And I go back to the joggers, they could even do their thing if it's raining. Because the corridors inside Mater Dei could do the trick. I think I've walked for two kilometres in that building today. And it's tired me out. You see I'm used to travel in the royal coach complete with white horses and glass slippers. But they don't allow animals at Mater Dei. They only allow animals like rats which come in ready-made salad meals. Pity that. Bigger pity, what is the nation coming to? In a few days I'm sure hot-dog vans will be sprouting around Mater Dei. I'm surprised that some couples stay together. Firstly, a stroll on a Saturday evening is not fun, because you cannot wear your brand new high wedges without getting blistered. Secondly, wouldn't you divorce the man whose idea of fun was walking around a hospital? I would.

Dignity

Some things are best left dormant. Some others are best left 'forgotten'. But then, it's a heart over mind thing. My heart is scared it will not cope. My stubborn mind says, go for it. No I am not talking about a love affair with a man or a woman. It's the love affair that started very very long ago, I was perhaps 4. I will always believe that since the moment of conception, that foetus is already shaped not just with it's skin colour, eye colour, hair colour and texture, but also with it's own special mind and heart. Yes I believe that people are born intelligent or less intelligent. Some are born stupid of course but I am trying to be nice. I also believe that people are born good or bad. Perhaps good or evil sometimes too. And I am not about to go into the discussion of, if that is the case then are they really responsible, because I don't need it right now. Because that would mean that Mother Theresa was born good and Adolf Hitler was born evil. It still doesn't let Adolf get away with it. And I could probably argue that he was flipping mad too, but that still doesn't let him off. I know plenty of mad people who aren't evil. So what is it I am chasing, what is it that makes my heart scared and my mind not? It's the opening a four year old bomb which left me almost devastated, I say it again, almost, in its wake. It was enough to send other people mad, and although I love the royal me, I am still not special enough to not have gone mad. And yet I didn't go mad. I cried buckets, but that was understandable, somebody, or a lot of sombodies hitting at my dignity made me sad. Hence I cried, because in a democratic country I have the right to cry. But I didn't go mad, perhaps there was some pretty angel cuddling my brain. Fact is, my mind stayed healthy. I was not about to succumb to the enemy, I am a fighter when necessary. I know I have disappointed plenty of enemies (yeah I have loads of them), but then was I about to let them dance on my grave? Of course not. I bet they would have given me a lavish funeral for free, with all the music and musicians shedding the tears, some of genuine sadness, others of genuine joy. But my time is still not up yet. It takes more than all of that to wear this girl out. I'm not big for nothing. But why all the hatred, hatred so bad that it made them lose their mind and provide me with plenty of black on white proof? That I know not. I can only say that there must be a love at first sight thing since I am so certain that there is a hate at first sight thing. Why the hate at first sight? Perhaps weighing 80kgs at the time clinched it. And yet the hatred came from a pompous asshole who weighed much more than that. So I couldn't show him my butt crack, but then I am not a fan of butt cracks anyway. Dirty dirty idea. But I could show him his wrong choleric anger towards people who were blameless, and show him I did. I feel no hatred now, because I am selfish and I know that if I had to harbour any it would make me sick. But it still makes me retch. The baddest baddest man I know. But then during the last two years I have also known a fair, kind man, with brains and a heart and endless amounts of patience, and he's a perfectionist and he's not big in size, and through him life made me think twice. I write about this man from time to time because he makes my day a good day. Life gave me that to make me see straight, to convince me that not all men are hateful. The thing in question here is morals. Being big doesn't mean you're big on morality, take it from big old me. Being small doesn't even mean you're small on your morals. So I will have to drag up all the filth which has been lying dormant for four years. But this time round, I have faith in some people. I talk a lot about this perfect man. It's because he's made an impact on my life and through his behaviour shown me respect. I met him when I was a big girl stripped of her dignity. And he gave me back my dignity. And if only I could nominate him for the award of the bestest man. That means that life again has given me opposites to think about. I could have turned bitter because I'd known the baddie. But then I couldn't have turned bitter because I came to know the goodie. The baddie has always puffed up his chest as if he weren't big enough already. The goodie does nothing of the sort, he's a small big big man. And when the dirt and filth will be dragged up, I won't be the scared little big girl, I will think of him, him who did the biggest thing of all.... restored my dignity. Thanks Sir.

Voting, a duty?

I cannot say that I have been waiting for this time in earnest. I usually do. Any mention of voting for whatever reason normally sends me the good adrenaline rush. Not this time. This time, my voting documents are in one of my kitchen cupboards. And they are staying there. The only crack of daylight they'll see is if I somehow get absolved of being a victim of gross misconduct, abuse of power and a shitload of other things. Because somehow this is the time when I finally finally get to be listened to. And I have. Three cheers mum, sometimes you do something right. Perhaps she does love me in her own way. Because in support my mum's voting documents are staying not in a cupboard but in a drawer. Still locked away from the daylight. And as pre election voting goes, we get door to door visits. And my mum, who is worse with people than I am, suddenly opened her door and voiced her (her daughter's) hurts. And somehow I get important calls from a ministry. Cool, I never knew that quiet mum had so much power, or maybe it's the fact that 4 voters are about to abstain. Last time round, I was promised things would change. So I went to the voting polls. Things changed, for the worse. This time, I'm not about to be so naive. Things have to change before I give my vote, and things have to change for the better. I am still awaiting justice. Had I killed someone I would already have done my time and be free. No I didn't kill anybody, and perhaps that is my mistake. Because some people being killed will not be a loss to a nation at all. And no I don't want revenge, I want what is mine, what should have been mine for a long time ago. I don't care if some pompous old fart with his playboy bunnies think they rule the world. Because nobody rules the world, not even royal old me. We talk about duties, what about talking about rights, my rights for a change? I am so so sure this is just a pre-election stunt, where people with a lot of letters after their name will try to convince me. One went so far as to tell me.... ask not what your country can do for you but what you can do for your country. I was livid. I've done enough. Because I too have a lot of letters after my name, but I don't flaunt them. This time, convincing will not do. I have to have cash in hand, literally, because I am owed all of that and much more. If my country does its duty towards me, then I will due my duty and vote. Otherwise, I'm staying put. Period.