Archive for September 14th, 2007


A Different Diary…

I’m not happy today…

My arms hurt and my legs hurt and my shoulders feel heavy and my neck is stiff and my stomach hurts… And something inside me is kind of in knots! Am looking for an opportunity to just bawl my eyes out for no reason other than that I think I need to. I do that occasionally. I sit like I used to when I was younger with my arms up around my knees and my head down and I weep. Somehow the drama of crying into my pillow at night has never appealed. Yuck!! Imagine sleeping on a wet pillow…

It’s odd. I was thinking the other day that even when I feel hurt or I am in a bad place, I get angry first. When the hurt is fresh and my emotions thrust me right into the eye of the storm, I rant and I rage and I have the capacity to tear off strips of a person let alone the poor inanimate objects around me, both verbally and physically. I am excessively aggressive and quite physical in my expression, good or bad. I can admit without a qualm that in a rage, I am a very difficult person to deal with. Look at this in light of what I said before and I came up with the startling revelation that I’ve never cried in front of my friends. And I’m not talking people I’ve known for a year or two. I am talking about women who I got to know on my first day of school when I sauntered into KG in a chic red velveteen dress, complete with red shoes and red cherry bows in my two long ponytails off-set wonderfully with my red lunch box. It’s been twenty-three years that I’ve known them. They could probably count on the fingers of one hand the times they’ve seen me cry and all of those times would relate to our time in school… And no, their memories are not quite so faulty, nor so old yet. My post-crying face is actually the stuff blackmail is made of, thanks to a pink nose that clashes with the streaks the tears leave on my equally pink round face. Ugh! My life’s mortifying moments have been those where I have been forced to face people who’ve seen me cry.

But to get back to it, they’ve seen me screaming and raging and swearing the house down. Certainly many of them have had to physically restrain me from doing ‘any more’ damage to somebody and they’ve seen me take my room apart a considerable number of times. And when the lightening show is over, I shut up completely. No voice, no sound – I am ice, baby! Sure, they sit for a while and talk and I am the unflappable, logical, pragmatic, very realistic person who will call a spade, a spade and then tell them what they need to do to dig with it. I sound like a saint when I talk to them. They’ll try to pussyfoot around the issue and I’ll look at them and grab the issue by its proverbial horns. Truth be told, I still don’t know whether I do that to shock them or simply because I’ve always believed that problems don’t vanish. They’re there and good or bad, easy or hard, torture or bliss, you have to look at them, to see them as they are, on their own merit so that you can deal with them. The jaundiced versions, nor the ones with the pretty rose coloured glasses don’t help. They don’t. Eventually, in order to sort anything out, you need to look at it in the cold, harsh light of day and at the risk of repeating myself call a spade, a spade.

I have no idea where I’m going with this, so don’t ask please. I doubt I have an answer to satisfy myself even.

I guess it started with wondering why I chose to call my blog ‘Tears of the Moon’. Besides the fact that it is the title of a Nora Roberts’ book that I really liked, the phrase appealed to me on a more basic level. The moon has that quality, doesn’t it? Of being visible, of following routine every night that comes, yet its solitude remains intact at the very essence of what it is. For all my yens of being a ‘people person’, when it comes down to the heart of it, I actually like the being alone part.

I wonder if it’s because I now believe that only you can wipe away your own tears. Tears hold so much of what you are inside and precious for that reason alone. Most people who we end up crying in front of, are the ones who are behind those tears in the first place. Yes, that we allow them to drive us to tears is our own admission of helplessness and their power over us. There is a part of me that thinks that had I grasped the courage and actually slapped a certain person’s face the first time he crossed the bounds of our relationship as decreed by Allah as was my first instinct rather than following the tried and tested and failed path of female subservience, compromise and general misplaced belief in give and take, I would never have had to face the indignity of feeling the sting of that very slap on my own person…  And I don’t think I mean it metaphorically!

‘Nuf said!!

September 2007