Four years ago today I was awake at this time anticipating how much my life was about to change in a few hours. I was swollen with emotion, atunned by the activity of the alien living inside my womb, I was nurturing life that was about to exist outside of me, a being derivative of myself was planted inside me to become it's own individual self, and I would be responsible for it's development. I was scared shitless.
I was excited. I was sad. I was happy. I cry when I think about how many things I was feeling at one time, I still can't verbalize all that I had inside me on July 31st 2007...I just can't
It was an intense day day and at the end of it...I was different than I was at the beginning of it.
Today I have my Amiya, the outspoken, crazy, insolent, manic and massive personality who has just blossomed into this creature that amazes me perpetually.
She has been through a lot which I think people don't see when they see her acting out the way she does...She can be impossible sometimes, push me to the edge of my limits...BUT, in defense of my baby, she is resilient, she is affectionate, she really has had a lot of things to overcome, more than she is able to truly conceptualise in her limited life experiences, she is a sweet child who is constantly teaching me so much about myself with her actions and I am grateful to have the opportunity to love her and mother her and watch her grow, always in awe that she is a part of me.
I think about all the circumstances surrounding Amiya's existence everyday. Sometimes I am angry without any person to blame but myself...
I am guilt ridden, afraid that she deserves more than can possibly give to her, I am afraid that I will teach her fucked up things about love and relationships with my inability to do it right. I am embarrassed that the person I am isn't a good enough example for my daughter to live by, I worry that I am selfish...and that I will lose who I am in my quest to create an individual.
Parenthood has made me a little bit insane, overly concerned about the future and apprehensive to trust people. My daughters most prevalent example of how to "do womanhood"is me and I don't know anything. I was scared 4 years ago today...and really I have been afraid ever since then, it all seems very unreal that I am here four years later and the lump in my stomach is now a walking, talking, dreaming, singing, speaking, dancing, smiling, loving child that I live to care for and work to make proud.
31.7.11
30.7.11
Bermuda freewrite.
The sun is amazing. Intensely penetrating the surface of everything in it's reach, the beautiful pale pink sands glimmer in the distance and the ocean looks like diamonds sparkling in the heat. Music blaring in the background and liquor, and the sweet smell of weed dancing on the wind like irie and people and people and people to spare. It smells like Bermudian summertime and the Bermy boys are walking around fresh pressed looking like a trillion bucks in their $200 sneakers for one time use, the girls are decked out, make-up, hair done, swimsuits not made for swimming in, and fashion and glitter and leopard print...it's time to join the parade and strut on the stage as we offer ourselves up for everybody's judgement in hopes that if we look good enough, people will like us. And we walk, strut, serve, noses heavenward and avoiding eye contact.
I'm home.
Bermuda really is another world. A country full of energies that penetrate us to our core...and make us connected to bermuda like magnetic rock, even when we have gone, our home lives in our tongues, and if not it lives in our actions, it lives in our memories, in our heads inside everything that happens Bermudians are OF Bermuda and some of us spend life trying to extract it from ourselves and lose sight that none of it is really that serious... that truly...if it wasn't Bermuda...it would be some other place that we hate and try to become free of at almost any expense...
It's daunting, and the sickness...I suppose...is only as real as we make it but there is no denying what the smell of codfish and potatoes reminds us of, or what we think about when riding/driving across the arboretum...no matter how many drunken nights we'd like to forget...ghosts of ourselves that are materialised in our minds eye are forever staggering alone front street looking for a ride that doesn't have to be paid for with money. and we are drinking, always, because there is always a reason and a tragedy to forget...
we are fucking our friends boyfriends even after we've made apologies, we are crying in the dark because we are Bermudians who understand that we are unable to be defined by any word that exists in the english laanguage and we are lost...and it is small...
Somewhere on court street a crackhead is defying gravity and tripping over barriers that don't exist and boys in white tees sell rocks to filipinos on axis mopeds while the cops sit on the corner reporting that "everything is square" on their radios.
and everything is normal...but nothing is right...I mean...it's okay I guess but I am so affected by my perception of Bermudian normalcy that it makes me less able to tolerate existing here...there is always a place...there is always a smell, a color, a sound, a person...that invokes a feeling that makes me want to shrink and lose the ability to think anymore and I just can't stop thinking...
and thinking and thinking and thinking and think and thinking and thinking that someday I'm going to truly forget instead of repress and pretend that I am over it all...
because I have to...because fuck...Bermuda is just too damn small.
I'm home.
Bermuda really is another world. A country full of energies that penetrate us to our core...and make us connected to bermuda like magnetic rock, even when we have gone, our home lives in our tongues, and if not it lives in our actions, it lives in our memories, in our heads inside everything that happens Bermudians are OF Bermuda and some of us spend life trying to extract it from ourselves and lose sight that none of it is really that serious... that truly...if it wasn't Bermuda...it would be some other place that we hate and try to become free of at almost any expense...
It's daunting, and the sickness...I suppose...is only as real as we make it but there is no denying what the smell of codfish and potatoes reminds us of, or what we think about when riding/driving across the arboretum...no matter how many drunken nights we'd like to forget...ghosts of ourselves that are materialised in our minds eye are forever staggering alone front street looking for a ride that doesn't have to be paid for with money. and we are drinking, always, because there is always a reason and a tragedy to forget...
we are fucking our friends boyfriends even after we've made apologies, we are crying in the dark because we are Bermudians who understand that we are unable to be defined by any word that exists in the english laanguage and we are lost...and it is small...
Somewhere on court street a crackhead is defying gravity and tripping over barriers that don't exist and boys in white tees sell rocks to filipinos on axis mopeds while the cops sit on the corner reporting that "everything is square" on their radios.
and everything is normal...but nothing is right...I mean...it's okay I guess but I am so affected by my perception of Bermudian normalcy that it makes me less able to tolerate existing here...there is always a place...there is always a smell, a color, a sound, a person...that invokes a feeling that makes me want to shrink and lose the ability to think anymore and I just can't stop thinking...
and thinking and thinking and thinking and think and thinking and thinking that someday I'm going to truly forget instead of repress and pretend that I am over it all...
because I have to...because fuck...Bermuda is just too damn small.
28.7.11
all the things left undne.
We sat in the backseat of the car and wept. Quietly, in our respective corners we faced out of the window and hid our tears like we didn't know the oter as crying, emotionally startled by the things we had come to terms with earlier that evening.
My grandmother...is old...and I know maybe that sounds a little dumb but coming to terms with her approach of....well....the inevitable...I am just sad about a lot of things.
I am sad that we couldn't have spoken on a deeper level that I hardly know her story...that she used to take care of me when I was't able to...that right now...she is alone...in the darkness...at a time in her life when she needs people the most, my heart finds it hard to cope with the drastic changes in that beautiful woman who loved me into the person I am with all sincerity.
I take dinner to her every Wednesday and Thursday, I am never able to stay as long as I would like as I have to tend to my child, I have to get ready for the morning in case I am working, life is hectic and I always want to give her more time than I have but I never...know what I should say. What words can soothe her very real fear of being alone? I want always to make sure that she is comforted because she has been able to do this for me for all of my life, giving of herself for my enjoyment, even when it was not convenient for her, and now she needs time...and I simply don't seem to have enough.
What does she think about when all tha exists in her space are the walls and the television, what is her enjoyment in life right now I wonder. I wonder who she used to be when she was my age. Are we alike, what does she think of the time that has passed, was it all worthwhile and does she regret any choices that she has made up until this point. In the darkness when Mom is all by herself does she think of her youth and reminisce...wondering where the hell all the time went?
I have never helped my granny walk before, but I did last night. I held her with her arm over my shoulder and my arm around her back as she struggled to move "I don't want to fall again" she said to me, and at this moment, I knew that she was afraid and I knew that it was my job to make her feel safe "Don't worry, I've got you. You aren't going to fall" I said to her, this was physically difficult for me to guarantee as I was not sure if there was a more efficient way to help her. As I supported all of her weight on my arms and walked slowly toward the room she wanted to go into, she struggled. I had difficulty. I began to sweat, she...started to apologise. "No, don't worry, I don't mind" I meant that, but it was arduous. Several times I doubted my capability to fully support her weight, I felt her frail body shaking as we made slow and unsteady progress towards our destination, I made my grip more firm, my stance more sturdy. As we creeped slowly toward where she wanted to go I thought hard about the things left unsaid betwen us and I wondered if now was a good time to let her know that really love her with all the sincerity that exists in my body and soul. Of course I didn't. I just focused on where we were in relation to where we were going...In the hallway of my grandmothers house...in life.
My sister waited for me, she sat in the living room having several small epiphanies about the reality of life and mortality. She stared into her lap asI glanced at her over my shoulder. We were both experiencing something new tonight and neither of us really knew how to handle what.
When finally we reached the desired location, I was relieved. I kissed her good night and told her that I loved her.
We went to the car, my sister and I and sat in the back seat. I assume she too was contemplating the inevitability of death and how cruel old age can be, even for a woman as sweet as my dear grandmother.
and we wept. and we wept. and we wept.
and tomorrow we would do it all again.
My grandmother...is old...and I know maybe that sounds a little dumb but coming to terms with her approach of....well....the inevitable...I am just sad about a lot of things.
I am sad that we couldn't have spoken on a deeper level that I hardly know her story...that she used to take care of me when I was't able to...that right now...she is alone...in the darkness...at a time in her life when she needs people the most, my heart finds it hard to cope with the drastic changes in that beautiful woman who loved me into the person I am with all sincerity.
I take dinner to her every Wednesday and Thursday, I am never able to stay as long as I would like as I have to tend to my child, I have to get ready for the morning in case I am working, life is hectic and I always want to give her more time than I have but I never...know what I should say. What words can soothe her very real fear of being alone? I want always to make sure that she is comforted because she has been able to do this for me for all of my life, giving of herself for my enjoyment, even when it was not convenient for her, and now she needs time...and I simply don't seem to have enough.
What does she think about when all tha exists in her space are the walls and the television, what is her enjoyment in life right now I wonder. I wonder who she used to be when she was my age. Are we alike, what does she think of the time that has passed, was it all worthwhile and does she regret any choices that she has made up until this point. In the darkness when Mom is all by herself does she think of her youth and reminisce...wondering where the hell all the time went?
I have never helped my granny walk before, but I did last night. I held her with her arm over my shoulder and my arm around her back as she struggled to move "I don't want to fall again" she said to me, and at this moment, I knew that she was afraid and I knew that it was my job to make her feel safe "Don't worry, I've got you. You aren't going to fall" I said to her, this was physically difficult for me to guarantee as I was not sure if there was a more efficient way to help her. As I supported all of her weight on my arms and walked slowly toward the room she wanted to go into, she struggled. I had difficulty. I began to sweat, she...started to apologise. "No, don't worry, I don't mind" I meant that, but it was arduous. Several times I doubted my capability to fully support her weight, I felt her frail body shaking as we made slow and unsteady progress towards our destination, I made my grip more firm, my stance more sturdy. As we creeped slowly toward where she wanted to go I thought hard about the things left unsaid betwen us and I wondered if now was a good time to let her know that really love her with all the sincerity that exists in my body and soul. Of course I didn't. I just focused on where we were in relation to where we were going...In the hallway of my grandmothers house...in life.
My sister waited for me, she sat in the living room having several small epiphanies about the reality of life and mortality. She stared into her lap asI glanced at her over my shoulder. We were both experiencing something new tonight and neither of us really knew how to handle what.
When finally we reached the desired location, I was relieved. I kissed her good night and told her that I loved her.
We went to the car, my sister and I and sat in the back seat. I assume she too was contemplating the inevitability of death and how cruel old age can be, even for a woman as sweet as my dear grandmother.
and we wept. and we wept. and we wept.
and tomorrow we would do it all again.
27.7.11
What kind of Fock'ry is this?
It's not just that the cost of living is fucking impossible if you really want to live at all...but it's that these prices for food are nothing less than flabbergasting. I am sick and fucking tired of busting my ASS at a low pad job that I hate ad I'm barely able to save any money because most of the time I'm trying to buy food that isn't complete SHIT and pay off other expenses in order to prevent Amiya from having a fucked up future with a broke ass mother who can't afford to put her through school...
This is why I'm angry and fed up.
I am angry and fed up because nobody else seems to be.
I went to the grocery store tonight...I was buying food to cook for dinner, I bought a box of brown rice pasta, some burger meat substitute, some fresh green vegetables, some yoghurt, soymilk, frozen green beans, a bottle of Malbec, some oatmeal, and a few other necessities to last me the week. I get to the checkout. The cashier is ringing up my items and as the price of my groceries begins to climb, I feel a lump growing in my throat and tears welling up in my eyes, by the way, this is one bag of groceries I'm talking about...I am outraged.
when I reach the $100 mark, I am tempted to just walk out...I don't want to spend this much money on groceries for two people...I mean one person and a kid...It's disgusting...but I need these things and nobody is going to buy them for me.
"Can I pay with my card?" I ask the cashier, she pushes the button and advises me to "swipe now", I swipe. The machine checks to see if I have enough numbers on my card to cover the cost of the food. I have enough, the machine asks "Is $124.56 OK?"...I am just out of it because I am about to spend $124.56 on things that will be invisible by the morning time...so I ask...out loud.. IS it okay??? Seriously...what the fuck am I supposed to say? Of course it's NOT okay for me to have to spend a fucking arm and a leg on this shit just because I want to buy foods with a decent nutritional content for my child. This food, that probably costed cents to produce...has come up to much much more than any groceries of this amount should cost. it's less than 20 items for fucks sake Why the hell does it cost so much?
It's not okay...IT'S NOT...it's extortion.
and then they wonder why the crime rate is increasing, they are paying grown ass people with children $500 a week to cover rent, transport, electricity, water and food. The cost of living isn't relative to the wages, because we know that the AVERAGE Bermudian is always JUST over broke, the price of everything increases drastically from year to year, we live in a country where a loaf of bread is 6 fucking dollars...WHERE in the world is that acceptable? and yet we grin and bear it. and We eat food that we can barely afford and drive cars that we haven't finished paying for and live in houses that will leave our children in debt and we work and we work and we work and we keep on spending and hardly anything is accumulating in our savings....it is absolutely NOT okay...
but...I lie...and it kills me...I am going against all the natural urges in my body that want to scream about the injustice of this insanity and say "NO! I am NOT going to spend THIS MUCH MONEY on THIS MUCH GODDAMNED FOOD!"...I chuckle...I swallow the words before they fall off of my tongue, swelling with the taste of things left unsaid, my hands are weak...I can't nderstand what it is that I've done wrong in shopping. I read the credit card machine as it sits before me, self important...mocking me...taunting me, throwing in my face the inevitability of my surrender to the madness...I press "yes" and it kills me because it's a lie...I sing my name, I consent to it...I give up my freedom...I take my bag...and I go...
More than anything...I feel defeated.
This is why I'm angry and fed up.
I am angry and fed up because nobody else seems to be.
I went to the grocery store tonight...I was buying food to cook for dinner, I bought a box of brown rice pasta, some burger meat substitute, some fresh green vegetables, some yoghurt, soymilk, frozen green beans, a bottle of Malbec, some oatmeal, and a few other necessities to last me the week. I get to the checkout. The cashier is ringing up my items and as the price of my groceries begins to climb, I feel a lump growing in my throat and tears welling up in my eyes, by the way, this is one bag of groceries I'm talking about...I am outraged.
when I reach the $100 mark, I am tempted to just walk out...I don't want to spend this much money on groceries for two people...I mean one person and a kid...It's disgusting...but I need these things and nobody is going to buy them for me.
"Can I pay with my card?" I ask the cashier, she pushes the button and advises me to "swipe now", I swipe. The machine checks to see if I have enough numbers on my card to cover the cost of the food. I have enough, the machine asks "Is $124.56 OK?"...I am just out of it because I am about to spend $124.56 on things that will be invisible by the morning time...so I ask...out loud.. IS it okay??? Seriously...what the fuck am I supposed to say? Of course it's NOT okay for me to have to spend a fucking arm and a leg on this shit just because I want to buy foods with a decent nutritional content for my child. This food, that probably costed cents to produce...has come up to much much more than any groceries of this amount should cost. it's less than 20 items for fucks sake Why the hell does it cost so much?
It's not okay...IT'S NOT...it's extortion.
and then they wonder why the crime rate is increasing, they are paying grown ass people with children $500 a week to cover rent, transport, electricity, water and food. The cost of living isn't relative to the wages, because we know that the AVERAGE Bermudian is always JUST over broke, the price of everything increases drastically from year to year, we live in a country where a loaf of bread is 6 fucking dollars...WHERE in the world is that acceptable? and yet we grin and bear it. and We eat food that we can barely afford and drive cars that we haven't finished paying for and live in houses that will leave our children in debt and we work and we work and we work and we keep on spending and hardly anything is accumulating in our savings....it is absolutely NOT okay...
but...I lie...and it kills me...I am going against all the natural urges in my body that want to scream about the injustice of this insanity and say "NO! I am NOT going to spend THIS MUCH MONEY on THIS MUCH GODDAMNED FOOD!"...I chuckle...I swallow the words before they fall off of my tongue, swelling with the taste of things left unsaid, my hands are weak...I can't nderstand what it is that I've done wrong in shopping. I read the credit card machine as it sits before me, self important...mocking me...taunting me, throwing in my face the inevitability of my surrender to the madness...I press "yes" and it kills me because it's a lie...I sing my name, I consent to it...I give up my freedom...I take my bag...and I go...
More than anything...I feel defeated.
3.7.11
There are better things to do than eat.
There must be but I can't think of any. Here I am theorizing the genetic reason why my sensory response to food is so fucking brilliant, I am so vividly imagining the texture of thousands of semi dry crumbs all colliding with eachother in a symphony of catastrophic beauty, It's so real that I can feel it, I can taste it, my memory glands secrete the recollection of the mixture of baked cookie into my tastebuds in the form of exploding beads of saliva from my inner cheeks and the sponge within my tongue is absorbing it all. I can't think of anything sweeter than what happens to me when I eat. In addition to the pure pleasure that I feel, I am nourishing my body, sustaining myself. It is good. Right? It haas to be good, it feels so fucking good.
Hello.
I am Sharla and I am an addict. I am seeking to cure myself of this disease, this closet affair with an inanimate object, how do I eat smarter, how do I not eat the way I've been used to since I could prepare my own food? What can I do that is so profoundly exciting that it distracts me from my oldest love? I sit here guilty with the taste of oat groats and onion on my breath, I have consumed at least 235 calories more than the 900 that I'm supposed to on this diet programme I'm doing and surprisingly, I did it pretty flawlessly for the first two days, Now I'm on day four and I am sneaking little bits of food in the darkness and all I can think about is the opportunity to right this wrong...tomorrow.
It's funny enough that the 900 calories satisfy me, physically, I feel as though I have eaten enough and I am energized, consuming half the daily calories that I did just last week, I have eaten drastically less than I am so used to...and I don't feel hungry. What I do feel...is hunger...
metaphorical hunger for something that I am beginning to understand cannot be sated by food but really, food is one of the most gratifying ways to shut up whatever lack I have that I'm unable to decipher.
FUCK. what am I even talking about? I'm talking about being a fucking blob of never enough and too much all in the same pot. I should be asleep really instead of awake thinking and thinking hard about all the things I want to eat that aren't inside the house right now.
The truth is that I am in a desperate situation, I am obsessed by the foods that I am unable to eat on this programme, All I can do most moment is think about what I'll get to eat when I reach my weight loss goals...diysfunctional, I know.
but the doctor said...I will have a stroke at 30 and die at 34. So I need to think of things that are better, more exciting, more rewarding to do than eat. I have just...come to the realization...that I live...to eat and it's a little sobering, a little scary...a lot pathetic and I want to change. I will myself to change, I will let go of food and maybe food will let go of me and I WILL see it for what it is...as opposed to seeing it as life. Or death.
Hello.
I am Sharla and I am an addict. I am seeking to cure myself of this disease, this closet affair with an inanimate object, how do I eat smarter, how do I not eat the way I've been used to since I could prepare my own food? What can I do that is so profoundly exciting that it distracts me from my oldest love? I sit here guilty with the taste of oat groats and onion on my breath, I have consumed at least 235 calories more than the 900 that I'm supposed to on this diet programme I'm doing and surprisingly, I did it pretty flawlessly for the first two days, Now I'm on day four and I am sneaking little bits of food in the darkness and all I can think about is the opportunity to right this wrong...tomorrow.
It's funny enough that the 900 calories satisfy me, physically, I feel as though I have eaten enough and I am energized, consuming half the daily calories that I did just last week, I have eaten drastically less than I am so used to...and I don't feel hungry. What I do feel...is hunger...
metaphorical hunger for something that I am beginning to understand cannot be sated by food but really, food is one of the most gratifying ways to shut up whatever lack I have that I'm unable to decipher.
FUCK. what am I even talking about? I'm talking about being a fucking blob of never enough and too much all in the same pot. I should be asleep really instead of awake thinking and thinking hard about all the things I want to eat that aren't inside the house right now.
The truth is that I am in a desperate situation, I am obsessed by the foods that I am unable to eat on this programme, All I can do most moment is think about what I'll get to eat when I reach my weight loss goals...diysfunctional, I know.
but the doctor said...I will have a stroke at 30 and die at 34. So I need to think of things that are better, more exciting, more rewarding to do than eat. I have just...come to the realization...that I live...to eat and it's a little sobering, a little scary...a lot pathetic and I want to change. I will myself to change, I will let go of food and maybe food will let go of me and I WILL see it for what it is...as opposed to seeing it as life. Or death.
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