Last Saturday was my birthday, marking 29 years of my life. I’ve never really cared/celebrate my birthday and although I welcomed and was happy of all the birthday wishes, the Skype calls, the messages, the voice messages…I still felt that loneliness creeping inside me.
They say, we are born alone, live alone and die alone or something along those lines. And as much as one could argue it’s not ‘technically’ true; we are definitely not born alone by surrounded by doctor and nurses and definitely a mother. We do interact and socialise throughout our lives; it may not be meaningful. It may not be anything special, but we are not truly alone. And as for dying, nobody really can predict that; you can be surrounded by people or alone in bed. Death is not something you can really predict.
Still, the problem is not when or how you are born, how you live or die. It’s the loneliness.
I hate oranges. I hate their smell, their taste. I avoid touching them as much as I can, because they makes me nauseous. I don’t know why but they remind me of medicine- some traumatic childhood experience?
But anyway, I was chatting with a new teacher at school that none of my colleagues knows why she is there since we haven’t been told anything except, “this is a new teacher and she will be joining us.” and as we talked about our experiences, me telling her about how I moved from London, changed careers, etc, she very nicely offered me an orange. I nodded, and took it automatically, then lowered my eyes to those three orange wedges covered with white webs.
As I was googling, hunting for books to read and add to my tbr list, Their Eyes Were Watching God, popped out. I think it was featured in one of the books recommended by Florence Welch, and I immediately bought it, pushing it on top of the list and started it as soon as it arrived.
As Zadie Smith in her in introduction said, the writing is ‘lyrical’ (I love this description) and ‘accurately rendered ‘folk speech”. Pure art. Despite it was a slow start for me; the dialogue’s prose was a bit tricky but once I got the gist of it, I was fully immersed in the story. The love story between Janie and Tea Cake is one of the most real I’ve ever read, and that’s thanks to Zora’s incredible lyrical writing and her talent in expressing emotions and vulnerabilities.
A must read, one that I will definitely reread.
PS: Two quotes I fell in love with “An envious heart makes a treacherous ear.” and “There are years that ask questions and years that answers.”
I was scrolling down my FB feed the other day and realised, I haven’t been posting for quite some time and that FB has basically become a way for me to connect to just a group of people, while keeping track of what the other group was up to. Had they moved? Married? Given birth? Found new jobs, new boyfriends/husbands/wives/girlfriends.
This habit of comparing your life to the life of others offered on social media had made us not live our own life. Not value what we have, what we have accomplished and who we are. Whenever we start comparing our lives to others, we are already losing. We don’t compare the good things about us, but the worst. And the worst always looks bad compared to what “appears” to be the perfect live of others.
One of my friends on FB shared this and I admit I did the test a few times before I was satisfied with the answer. Basically, Apply Magic Sauce is a “A personalisation engine that accurately predicts psychological traits from digital footprints of human behaviour.”
This is done by either doing some psychometrics analysis on your Facebook profile, or on something that you have written online. I did both, but considering I haven’t updated my FB in a while (it counts likes you did back in 2007 or something), I didn’t find it quite as accurate as copy/pasting something I wrote recently.
Today, I made the awful mistake in confiding with my brother about my plans to move back to my hometown. I knew why I was trying to avoid this inevitable talk: 1) he would say things to make me doubt my entire two -year plan and 2) I would have his words stuck in my head making me doubt my entire two -year plan.
And that’s exactly how it went.
I’ve given myself a deadline to whether I’m moving back to my hometown or…Well, I haven’t quite decided on a plan B yet. But as April draws closer, I look around my little studio apartment that has been my home for two years and think…I’m not leaving anything behind. Each object, has a story that I know I’d want to remember when I need to focus on the good things.
I’ve experienced it, and accepted it, when I moved to Italy after finishing my studies in London. I took whatever I could with me, because they had lived with me and experienced my ups and downs. I came to Italy with 5 big bags carrying everything I needed to feel at home. To create my safe haven.
Last night my childhood cat passed away. She’s been with us for 14 years and it was my dad that found her. As my mum was telling me what happened between sobs, I tried to push back the tears and be the strong one because I knew I was really lucky not being there or being the one that found her.
“We also have to put this into account,”she said between sobs, “That there will come a day when they will be gone.” I looked at Cleo, my cat, sleeping next to me on the sofa and thought, “Not a chance.” I don’t want to be there when she dies. I don’t want to see it and I don’t want to experience it.
I’ve always found in yoga something similar to ballet; the grace, the elegance and of course the stretching. Having done ballet when I was a kid, I’ve always wanted to give yoga a try.
But in the little town I live in, the closest gym is 30 minutes walk from home and because I’m lazy, I couldn’t find a plausible reason to do a 30 minutes exercise-walk, to then do a 30/45 minutes yoga and then head back home for another 30 minutes exercise-walk.
Yea, no thank you.