Friends

I was reading back my blog a few days ago and I realised I write a lot about love. About falling in love and losing love, living with love and living without love. The thought that came to me was that love often brings with it uncertainty and insecurity, perhaps even fear. I contemplated a different kind of love – one that is only giving, that knows no insecurities and requires no reciprocation to survive. I thought immediately of my friends. So this one is for all the best friends in the world and for friendship...

This one is for the friends that smiled for you when you fell in love, and warned your boyfriend to take good care of you. For those who sat with the phone held to their ear at 4 in the morning, listening to you cry after a fight with your boyfriend even though they had to wake up at 6 for work. The partners in crime that take time off work just for naughty afternoon shopping and drag you to social events to distract you from a broken heart. This is for the friends that come to drive you home safely at 2 in the morning, the friends who respond to your every facebook update so you don't feel so alone. The ones who recognize you have a right to feel as shitty as you do about the man who broke your heart even though they'd spent the last two years telling you he was not right; the ones who don't tell you you're a fool, but say you have a right to hurt. Because they're also the ones who have the strength and the courage to tell you to snap out of it, that he was never worth it, never good enough for you. The ones who tuck you in nice and cozy on the couch and bake you a chocolate cake when you have been chucked and bombard his email account with warnings to leave you alone, to stop messing with your mind.

This one also goes out to the friends that stood by you in thick and thin, the ones who wiped your tears when you cried, shared your happiness when you laughed. It’s for all the “boy”friends that showed you not all the men in the world are screw-ups, the ones that helped you believe that good people still exist in the world. This is for the friends who swear they'll beat up the man who had the poor judgment to cheat on someone as wonderful as you. It goes out to the “other-gender” best friends who stuck around even when you abandoned them because your possessive ex-boyfriend went loco every time you even spoke to them. The ones you can laugh with without them wanting to kiss you and the one that hug you without asking for anything more. The ones that love you exactly the way you are and hurt with you when you're drowning in your darkness, because they see your pain and can't do anything to help you.

This is for the friends, my friends, who have made my life meaningful, my days beautiful. We might fight, sometimes, disagree, sometimes. We laugh together, cry together. We have lost together and gained together. What I was, where I come from and what I have become – you have seen it all, yet you love me exactly the same. We may not see each other for a century, yet the day we reunite, we would pick up exactly where we left off.

Friends, friends are something else altogether. Friends are God's way of saying: here, I know you will face many difficulties, but here are the people you can count on, the ones that will correct you when you falter, encourage you when you fall and love you when you least deserve it...they're like family but better because they love you without any moral obligation.

This is for all of you – a massive thank you, and a humble apology. For the smiles, the tears, the time and love shared. Thank you.

Yes, I Do Demand.

“Demanding”, when used as an adjective has a strangely negative aura to it – instantaneously the noun it describes becomes belittled, viewed unfavourably, somehow lacking the right to any respect or esteem as a result of being “demanding”. He, she or it are automatically assumed unreasonable and insensitive, perhaps even selfish. But when you really think about it, “demanding” in fact describes he who has made, is making or makes demand(s). And this isn’t necessarily a bad thing – after all if you don’t ask you don’t get. Without demand slaves would never have gotten their freedom, women would never have gotten the vote and you would never have gotten your way ;) Indeed, demand is what keeps our very stylised market economy ticking. What is produced, what is sold and how much for comes down to what we ask for – so what is so wrong with being demanding?

Demanding, when used in the context of a relationship, however, has proven to be lethal to the fate of the couple. When one partner feels the burden of a relationship more than another or when one loves more than another. Take it from me, I would know, because I am demanding. Wooed with flowers, romantic dates, beautiful poetic messages and emails, I, and perhaps many foolish women alike fall into this trap of expectation; we become accustomed to our lovers’ full attention, their affection. The passionate kisses, the impatient desire when they walk through the door and can’t wait to hold you. When suddenly it comes to an abrupt stop, and we dare to wonder why... well we are being demanding.

He no longer texts nor calls you when he finishes work – he no longer takes you out for a “date”, wines and dines you, neither buys you a gift, whether big or small. There are no more surprises, and no more spontaneity. What is a woman to think, that he just can’t be bothered anymore? Is it complacency, taking for granted the fact that you already belong to him... so why should he make any effort to “impress” you or “please” you? The funny thing is that now more than ever, 10 months into a relationship, I want to spend time with my partner. Yes, when you first meet someone it’s all very new and exciting, you speak until late in the night about this and that, have dinners together and buy gifts for one another... but why does that desire suddenly diminish? With the passing of time, you become increasingly linked with another person. Your thoughts are of them, your entire life and everything that you are is theirs. That persons small likes, dislikes, their habits become your daily routine, the familiarity and comfort you so much look forward to after a long day outside. He has become home. When suddenly the man who fought to have you in his life has neither time for you nor a desire to spend time with you, and we dare to wonder why this happened, well, we are being demanding. By demanding what is rightfully ours, the time of somebody who has taken us as theirs, just a small gesture, something to show us they care, that we mean something to them...well, we are being demanding. Yes, we are being demanding..

Perhaps You Remember Who I Am?

Some days, I cannot remember who I am. I look in the mirror and I am alarmed by what I see. The pale skin and vacant expression; the eyes that should house shame, guilt, regret, are empty. The girl who stares me back is unfamiliar, unrecognizable, irreconcilable. She repulses me, shocks me, disgusts me.

I am both terrified and confused, unsure what to think or what to believe. What is the truth, that what I feel, or that what I see? They say a mirror never lies so how can I possibly convince myself that I am who I believe I am, not what the mirror shows me and what the world can see?

It’s the most frightening feeling of all, staring at a reflection you no longer identify as your own. Your actions are read back to you but you cannot recall making those choices. Your mind is burdened with loss, with grief, with humiliation and with pain… yet your image is deceptively calm, blank almost. The mirror reflects not the storm that stirs in your mind, but only your inhuman façade. Who is the person that stares you back, no remorse, no regret on her face?

Who am I? Am I kind or am I cruel? Am I compassionate or am I cold? Do I have it in my heart to share, to give my time to another, a few words of comfort, a loving hug or even a listening ear? Or am I too inhuman for such emotions? Do I love you, or is my love just a selfish, self-satisfying craving for attention? Do I feel passion, or it is obsession, a painful addiction?

Am I ambitious, or am I not? Do my actions tell a story of one who values what she’s got, fights to preserve what is dear to her… or is it one filled with risks, some-one who will chance all that she has and all that she is, for want of a better life, a bigger gain? Am I vulnerable therefore cautious to minimize my loss… or am I ruthless, out to maximize my gain?

Once my father’s pride, I wonder today if he is ashamed of what I have become. My mother’s hope, her joy, her entire life – I wonder if she looks at me and sees just disappointment, a big waste of time.

Today, I cannot remember who I am. I stand searching in the mirror for some familiarity in the ghostly image that looks me back, shameless, soulless. I am offered no solace, no clue and no answer. I turn my back to the mirror, dejected, and I find you stood behind me. Like my shadow, never separated from me. I search your eyes for recognition. Perhaps you remember who I am?

L.O.V.E.

Love is just love. Somebody told me that we all love in our own way, show it in our own way, express it in our own way. Whether you tell of love or not, love will still be love. Whether you buy a gift in the name of love or not, love will still be love. Love without telling so will still be love. When someone wishes for your happiness without a care for their own, that is love. When somebody can walk away from your life simply because that is what’s better for you, that too, is love. Love expressed in a million words is the same as love felt in silence, a love without need for words at all. Perhaps this is because love is to be shown, not told. But what then, is love? If love has no measure, why then, my love, is her love different to yours?

She loves you unconditionally, without any bounds. You need not even ask and she will leave everything for you, she will leave who she is for you. She will leave her life for you. But your love is reserved, measured, considered. You are cautious, calculated, as though she is one of just many. She can neither touch you nor hurt you. She neither has you nor holds you – the key to your heart is beyond her reach, forbidden, unattainable. Your mind runs a thousand places at a time..

Her mind is just here, always, with you.

You tell her that you love her, just as she loves you too. So why is her love different to yours?

She loves you with all her heart, from the depth of her soul, with all that she is. She could sacrifice a thousand lives without you for just a moment with you. You could sacrifice a sacrifice a thousand moments with her, without even a thought… where is she going to go after all?

Who says love is the same, that love is love? Yes love is love... You either love or you don't... but the difference, my love, is that hers is a woman’s love, a woman’s heart. She loves you as a woman would love, and you, you love her as a man would love.

Valentine

Not a red rose or a satin heart.

I give you an onion.
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
It promises light
like the careful undressing of love.

Here.
It will blind you with tears
like a lover.
It will make your reflection
a wobbling photo of grief.

I am trying to be truthful.

Not a cute card or a kissogram.

I give you an onion.
Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,
possessive and faithful
as we are,
for as long as we are.

Take it.
Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding-ring,
if you like.

Lethal.
Its scent will cling to your fingers,
cling to your knife.

Carol Ann Duffy

Search.

Day after day, reckless, helpless

I search.

I search for soul, I search for love

I search for peace,

Maybe I search for salvation.

Bewildered, overwhelmed

Burdened with loss, burdened with pain

I search in desperation

For some meaning in life.

Some sense, some reason

Some explanation for my being.

A lost traveler,

Without direction, without destination.

Only destiny.

Unaware of my own actions,

I forget that I live,

I too must eat, must sleep

I just search.

Maybe it was for you that I searched.

Why then, do I still search?

I Hurt.

In a society scared to feel, I wonder if I am alone. I wonder if I alone want to reach out to the girl sitting on the park bench, crying. I wonder if I alone want to help the lady worn out with age shopping at the supermarket, slowly, painstakingly fulfilling a task once so effortless for her. Her young have flown, her partner did death do part – for whom does she live? Her nest, her heart, once blossoming with love are now barren. I wonder if I alone want to stop being alone – strangers whilst in company, lonely whilst in crowds. Why do you see me but not my pain? Are we afraid of ourselves, our own reality, our own feelings? Why do we meet strangers without any compassion, without any care… just expectations and prejudices? People talk about how great love is, but that's bullshit. Love hurts. Even if love is great, the pain it brings is greater. Feelings are disturbing, they are confusing. We are taught that pain is evil and dangerous. But how can we deal with love if we are afraid of pain? Thoughts alone are not enough, words alone are not enough. We may gather all the knowledge in this world, but we are not smart enough to learn how to stop feeling. Pain wakes us up, it reminds us of our weaknesses and our imperfections – pain reminds us that we are human. If we refuse to feel, if I can’t feel your pain and you can’t feel mine, how then can we be human? We try to hide our pain but we're wrong. Pain is something to carry, something to wear. We feel our strength in the experience of pain. It's all in how you carry it. That's what matters. Pain is a feeling. Your feelings are a part of you. Your own reality. If we feel ashamed of feelings and hide them, we're letting society destroy our reality. To feel is my right, to hurt is my right, to cry is my right. For I am no machine, neither a doll. I too, have a heart. Why then, must I hide, why must I hide my hurting heart, when I know that you hurt, just like me?