I’ve been listening to slow jazz the past few days and I really like where it takes me .
It’s in elevators,airport lounges, in the background when you are sitting in a plane with 300 others, it’s under the tables of fancy restaurants, on a tv channel with the monthly events in the area scrolling down,
It has a way of making life feel important.
An unrust-like quality to it.
It makes the steam from my coffee and the dance in the candle flame,seem even more approriate.
My mom relates an incident that I was apart of. I was there. She is telling it to my Aunts. And it is not how I saw the occurrence at all. How she tells it surprises me. Because I didn’t get what she did from it.
I don’t remember the first time I recognized this. But I know there was a point that I did. Because ever after that, I was at the very least, the slightest aware, of the relation between stories and their tellers.
I find it interesting how perception is. It is.
My mother wasn’t wrong telling that story the way she did because it was the way she saw it. And how we see things make up who we are.
When I hear stories I often get wrapped up in the story of it. I can forget that it is coming from someone who has perspective too, different from my own. The stories people tell, that you and I tell, are all told from the person we are. From our eyesight and brain sight and even our heart sight.
So when people tell stories, no matter what they are about or whether they are true or false, they are telling stories of themselves.
So when you meet someone in which from the beginning their stories grab a hold of you and make fascination spin a few wonders, there’s a good chance you’ll like who they are.
And when a person tells you that you’ve become apart of who they are, which is something that you like, you will begin to like that person more than a friend.
I didn’t think much about it. It’s just something that locates itself in the back of the mind and stays, sitting on a chair of confidence about it’s own knowledge. Indeed it is a fact that I have been with WordPress for two years. I created a blog before I even found out I was pregnant. I didn’t even want to incorporate a lot of baby and mommy stuff into it. When I think back now to my real reason in signing up for this and whether or not I’ve achieved what I’ve wanted to, I can’t say I have. It’s because I didn’t set a goal nor a level of accomplishment I wanted to reach. I am happy with that. I know mainly, that when I look back on these posts years from now, I will be able to collect a lot of these feelings I have had. I will be opening a chest of the forgotton treasures of my past and it will instill a sense of youth inside of me.
I don’t write just for that.
I write because it makes me feel a different type of worth. Because I like how I write and what I write. I think if any of us bloggers wrote posts we hated or didn’t like how we constructed sentences or ideas, we wouldn’t have a blog. We all feel a sense of worth when it comes to our blog domain.
Happy Two Years to myself and the ones that have followed me from the beginning. Happy all around to the recent ones that have clicked follow and to those that clicked months ago. It is all so appreciated. 🙂
I think about how living here affects my marriage.
We don’t ever go out on double dates or go out just us two. We have only met and bonded with one couple over coffee when Zeek was first born. And that was because she was pregnant and wanted some info regarding our labour and delivery.
When we get into arguments, I don’t phone up a friend. I don’t go walking down the streets. Because I can’t. I have no friends and it’s a bigger deal then just to get up and go with a 6 month old.
So our arguments rarely happen. When they do, we may be quiet for a little while but we are forced to revert back to one another. We live under the same roof and he doesn’t have friends either. We just haven’t bothered to make any.
I’m a pretty social person so you wonder how I can do it.
I guess this country does a lot for me in the way that I reflect and do personal things that I otherwise wouldn’t be finding the time for.
I’ve made scrapbooks and albums and videos over the past few years.
I think a lot on when we move to Canada. Because within two years, we will.
I think about how I will change. How certain aspects of me will be highlighted. Stuff that maybe he hasn’t seen before. Like, ordering my own food. And being talkative and interacting and being dependent.
I wonder what it will do to our marriage.
I wonder about good things and bad things.
I think when we argue there, we will be able to put more space between us and that may resort to the issue taking longer to resolve. It will be a challenge.
It will be like a new relationship all over again. I am excited for it.
So I live it up here. I focus on the good this place does for us and how close we are because of it. I think we have been here for a reason and I think we have been building on that without realizing it.
I can stand tall and be proud of us because we are doing well for being so far away from all that we know…from any help I would be getting, from time away from Baby, from time with friends..
I’m awake before all the others in the house.
But outside I hear the birds and the cars exiting the village.
Even with all the blinds still closed, I know there is a world bustling out there.
I know that people change as time does its thing. I know that people can grow apart because of it. It’s one of those things that I didn’t ever think would happen to my own best friends and myself.
But who was I kidding. An entire year away from them coupled with drastic changes in all our lifes…there’s bound to be some new gum to chew in the package.
I live abroad, away from a fast-paced ride I grew up smiling on. Over the years I’ve adapted to this slow, un-hurryable lifestyle and I’m okay with that because the speedy ride in Canada is something I know I can get back on.
And because I enjoy this snail spin.
Both of my best friends have changed differently. Except for the part where it’s the same. They’ve always had a backbone. An opinion. But now they vocalize it like its the only thing worth selling in the world. They’ve got speech and conversation down pat like I used to. They’ve got bigger words that I haven’t used in years, and I feel alittle overwhelmed and lost.
I don’t have friends here that speak proper English. I have my boyfriend and that is whom I go to with it all. But I’ve turned into more of a listener, because thats partly how him and I work. So when my friends come over-seperatly mind you, and visit me in my house here, I feel the difference.
I am being spoken at, not to. My thoughts and feelings are belittled because of the easy confidence they sway in. I’ve been aware of which happenings I put my energy towards and so far this dishevelled gum tastes like surprise and confusion.
For now, I leave my two best friends and I with a quieter woman because I have yet to swallow.