Ave Maria?

There sometimes comes a time when I just need silence. There also sometimes comes a time when I need my mum, no not my actual biological mum. I guess she has good intentions, she tries to help, but immediately starts blocking my pleas for help because they are too controversial for her. In reality it's just a normal girl wanting her mum. But I cannot have my mum. So I steal someone else's. During this time the bitch in me locks itself up for a good while. Because I'm a thief enough, stealing someone's mother makes me a grander old thief. I do not just want any other mother. I want Jesus' mother. I don't know why, but she is probably the only mum who gives me solace. Somehow through all that Church indoctrination, she is the one who has stuck with me. And in panic, it's her I turn to. No other saint, perhaps not even her son, or her father in law. It's her I want. I figure she's a woman, and I'm a woman so we can have a tete-a-tete. And of course I don't care if she's a virgin or not. I don't size women up by if they have known men or not. That doesn't make them less or more of a woman. And perhaps this Madonna doesn't have my taste in shoes, perhaps she doesn't lust after diamonds. Yet she's still a woman. And everytime life makes me feel like a stranger in my own world, I turn to her. Because she can hear me. Of that I'm convinced. I think she must know what it means to have her loved one taken away because it was in God's horrible plan. I think she must know what it is like to cry for days on end till you cannot even open your eyes properly. And no I don't go about it kneeling. Girly chats are never held kneeling. And I know that she will protect me from all the evil, the misery, the madness. Because she knows, she must know. And yes I am fully aware that she is a saint and I'm just a fool. And yet somewhere inside, I think she really likes me. She sees past all the paint, the drag queen aura and is willing to keep me, to adopt me even. And she's always been my last recourse. Call me mad, but I like this woman although she's had enough of the blue veil and probably now wants an upbeat Cavalli veil with shoes to match. She keeps me close to her heart, and I close to mine. And she might have millions of people talking to her. She also might be more than 2000 years old. But I think she just might understand my stealing, my lack of kneeling, my very little knowledge of praying. And she's protecting me right through all of it. What a woman.

Yvette

I am not about to forget today in a hurry. There I was in the middle of sleep and consciousness and I decide to check my emails. No more sleep, I was wide awake in a second. Message said... It is hard to write this but our dear colleague Yvette has passed away. Yvette has done what? Of all the things she could have done, she just passed on? It's a Saturday, couldn't she have gone shopping instead? To the beach instead? But no, Yvette has passed on. I'm not sure how old she was but my guess is she was 26. Too young damn it, way too young. I had no clue that something was wrong. She was bubbly, a sweet face, strawberry blond hair, and so so polite. So caring. And we would grumble about our daily load, and laugh at the same time. Not anymore. No more loads now. And Yvette once again chooses to open my wound again. It's death. And it's not very nice when you're the one left behind. And I kind of wonder, Yvette will aways be 26, while I get older still.. at least as to date. It's not yet time up for me. God bless Yvette. A` bientot.

Moving

Tis a day of moving. Not moving house, not moving furniture. Moving people... perhaps. But everything's moving fast, maybe too fast for me to handle. But I guess I'm a big girl and I can handle the moving. What I cannot handle are ultimatums. Nobody ultimatums me. Ultimatums are not very good carriers of love. You have to choose, and there are times when a girl does not want to choose. Why choose ice cream over chocolate when you can have both? Why choose shoes over boots when you can have them both also? Ultimatums mean you've got to make a decision. And I suck at making any decision. I can never even decide what colour to paint my nails. Enough said. Back later. More moving...