Feelings that Took Five Years

It took five years for me to cry over American or Canadian English,to flip out when I find Honey Nut Cheerios in a grocery store. It took five years for me to cry sitting on a mall floor, at the sight of shoes I know people in Canada would wear.
The intensity of longing and desire, of yearning and of miss, derives from the length of time they have been felt.
I laugh at this. I embrace it. I am in love with it.
It is a part of me now. I will not always miss this.More importantly I will not always miss like this.
So even though this breaks me, even though this aches, even though I crave English interaction so much I talk to myself almost every day at lunch,
it is beautiful.
It stuns me.
The simplicity of it all.

More than half of my friends, will never feel like this. More than half, have not lived abroad, let alone for five years.
I accept that it will forever make me different. That those friends I had, will not understand.
I accept that now, maybe my selection of future friends will have to have had simliar experiences to this, thus slimming the amount of friends I find and connect with.
I will take a hold of this and run with it.
For to deny change at such a level, is a hopeless solution.
I will only be weak because of it. And if I am weak, how will my future friends confide in me or find solace? How good of a friend will I really be?

Resentment

We all feel resentment.
And I wonder just how much it affects how we do things.
It’s a difficult thing to curb, even once realised.
We can blame for the poor quality at which we handle things.

I feel less good of a Mom when husband falls asleep in the same room as we are playing. I am not angry that he sleeps. It is being in the same room while he does. I don’t try and be quiet but I can’t help trying to. I take my frustration out on Zeek.

This is just one example of the many ways I experience it.

Back in Memories

This morning I’ve slipped fast into a sullen place.
I’ve got country music in my ears, cold air blasting and an empty coffee mug.
Country music brings me to the summer of 2011 back in Canada, when it’s all I listened too. My heart aches.
For those people. Those memories.
Memories are special because you don’t get them back.
How intricate are the sad ones mixed in with the bad ones.
How good the idea of leaving it all behind heightens every single thing that happens in my time there.
But it doesn’t matter how much better it makes it.
I would choose to stay there without the idea of leaving.
And maybe next time I go back, it is what I will believe.

Making Good from ‘ Bad ‘

I write differently to different people because everyone is different and people need to hear things differently or read them written that way instead of the other way and each way makes you pick up snatches that aren’t the same.
People make me figure stuff out about myself.
I only have my own self reflection here in Thailand so going to Canada and being exposed to mirrors that talk back is incredible. It makes me feel more like a person instead of a shell and it is scary to think that I may think of myself as a shell in Thailand and only that. But there is so much to feel in Canada. So much to give and so much to take and I have to stay sensible and realize that it is only because my time has been limited each and everytime I have went back,for the past four years. It affects these things so much so, that breaking down isn’t so much of a surprise. Because these are the life sized things. For me. These are the things that pinch my heart and stagger my thoughts and wind my ideas so that they go walking across the carpets on missions to unknown destinations.
That is me dealing.
There are always many tears when I say goodbye in Canada and I am always trying my best not to drown in them. Being conscious of it. It is good to feel that way even though it is hurting.
If I felt none of this, could I really sense the better in the good? If I had nothing to compare. Nothing extreme to relate it to, then the good wouldn’t be so good and the value would be non-existent.

I Stayed Quiet

We all need to write about ourselves. To use the words ‘I’ and ‘me’.
More importantly, to speak about us.
If we don’t ever say or write about ourselves, we will get in a rather tangled place.It may take years for us to notice. But it will happen.
Living abroad for the past five years has added so many eggs to the mixture. And get this, they’ve had the shell on.
Living two lives is easy when they are on either side of the world.
I would have rathered one. But I got a taste of both. And I’ve been mixing them since I was 17. I didn’t mean too. It just happened.
I spoke to friends in Canada very little about my life here in Thailand. They didn’t ask much so I didn’t tell. I’m like that.
The very few Thai friends I have, well, it’s just useless to try and explain any kind of passion or love I have for my own country and the miss that comes with it.
Over the years I have got more quiet. It’s easier that way.
But it’s done some serious damage. Now I’m in this spot and I’m like, ‘Who the hex knows me?’. Noone does.
Maybe I’ve written about myself here and there, but over time I have slid in more deeper and became more afraid with revealing the actual me to the people in my life. It got easier to hide away and when people don’t ask any questions.. well.. it’s current that I don’t even mean to be in.

I stayed quiet, let time unravel, and now the string of it is wound up tight all around me.
Writing about me helps, but it’s action that’s going to change anything.
Oh the things that living abroad does.

You Can Know You’re Tired When..

There are lots of ways one can know they’re tired.
Lots of ways someone can not feel tired, but by the things they do, can know they’re tired.
For instance.
I didn’t pull down my underwear to pee. Thankfully I realized this before I did.
I was trying to put milk into another bottle-from a milk box-through a straw. Once I realized that I was trying to use the slow and messy process of a straw, I got scissors and cut the box open. But Milk sloshed out onto my keyboard base.
Ohuurrggg! Rats as big as alley cats!!
I put the milk in the fridge and knocked something or other but closed the door because I was in a hurry to do something or other else.
When I opened the fridge five minutes later, a whole tray on the door came off and clattered to the ground. Butter, cheese and eggs.
Eggs.
Some were hard boiled, some were not. And I’m halfway inside my fridge reaching for the ones that rolled inside while goop is seeping out of the one in my hand and I’m trying to figure out which ones are hard boiled by smelling the ones that aren’t cracked?

Making Happy

People make me happy. So I do spend time around the one’s I connect with the most.
I know what gets me to happy so I make sure I don’t lose sight of that.
Sometimes my surroundings only provide me with what I need. And that makes me able to go find what I want. Happiness I believe, is a need. But there are many places to get it from. And sometimes the place I want to find happy in, is not directly related to my surroundings. In finding it, I am creating it. In the areas of creativity and interaction. In expression, in questions and mutual understanding.
People are darling creatures but sometimes you only want certain ones to experience you, and sometimes you only want to experience certain ones.
Time is valuable. And we have a lot to learn.

I hope that we all strive to make our days happy. Because after all, that’s the timeline of you that people have to go by. Now, and when you are gone.
But what good of a line, if you were never happy making it?