An ordinary question

That heady mix of what I would like to do versus what I should do. That rhetorical question of yes or no. How do you go backwards when your foot is stuck on the accelerator?

You turn my world into a ball of questions. You take ordinary everyday and make it look incomplete. You start at the end and smile as I try to catch on. You casually slip into my world and don't even look for permission.

Simple. Yes. Magical. Yes.

And that's where the record gets stuck.

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Could I have imagined you?

Every year, I think about you. Not too many times, but consistently, a few times. And each time I am not sure how I should feel. There is a vague sense of loss, a subtle tinge of abandonment, a painful realisation of independence. But mostly, there is just a numb nothingness. Who were you? I am not even sure I remember your face. Your smile, yes. Your eyes, too. But in pieces, in context. I can't imagine your reaction in a new situation. I can't see you as you may have become. I can only see the frozen moments that I have embalmed in my head. I wonder if you feel the need to see me. If you imagine what it may feel like to talk to me now. If you wish you had known me all this time. If I am even a real person to you. If you have convinced yourself that I don't exist. Perhaps it isn't as simple as moving on, as erasing, as avoiding. Maybe it's an intense removal, a complete denial. I don't hate you. I don't love you. It's an absence of anything ta...

Well kept secrets - Part 3

Why am I writing all this? What is the point of saying these things aloud? For many reasons. One, to remember. So I can always go back and re-experience the first joys of motherhood. Second to heal, forgive and forget. For those moments that were traumatic - to be able to let go. Third, to inspire more sharing. Pregnancy and labour came with so much advice and so many stories - from every woman I knew. In contrast, the weeks and days and hours after the baby arrived seemed like an empty vacuum. It's almost as if all this is a well kept secret. (I am not sure if its just me that this was a secret from, but I was caught by surprise by the first few weeks of Rumi.) And so, as I dealt with all my emotions, and physical sensations, I decided to break the silence in my own tiny way. RCH was different from Peace Arch. In many, many ways. Among these was that they didn't allow our 'Doula' to stay with us at night. And in a way we thought it was okay. There was only one couch ...

Brainless heart

Instinctive desire Animal sanity Human need No rationality Taking every risk Making every move And then Regret Reckless desire Left uncontrolled Effortlessly moving In opposite directions Pulled together Ripped apart Stupid emotions Brainless heart

Life Itself

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