Suggestive Asking

We do a lot of suggestive asking.
” Doesn’t the grass look a little long?”
” These cups are really old aren’t they”
” Now, how long have we had these chairs dear? It’s been ages since we’ve got new ones.”

It’s a really bad habit.

It’s okay to define what you want by being direct.
It’ll save a lot of frustration and confusion- when your partner,sister,parent or friend, understand exactly what you want from them.

Clear cut questions may seem unappealing and too ugly to apply. But you start asking straight, and then continue asking straight, and you eventually get better at your wording, your tone, and your expressions.
Until they come out nice, and habitual and easy. 
As if there was never a need for them to be curvified in the first place. 

Get going. Go in the direction of being direct, until you ARE direct


until being anything other than that,

is the absence of direction.




Showing 3 year old pictures of my pregnant belly

I have shown my three year old son this morning, pictures of my pregnant belly. The following are some of his comments/questions.

“Who put me there?”

“How’d I get out?”

” I comed out?”

“What size am I now?” ( I have pictures each week of what size of fruit he was. )

“I want to go back in”, as he proceeds to push his head into my stomach.


Unless I Am Asked

It feels weird to talk about my son. I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or not.
Specially with my sister.
two weeks ago, I made the conscious decision to go on this giant ramble of what Zeek used to do and funny cool things he did and does, and a few ways of how I go about things with him.
Mid-say I realized that It felt weird-that it wasn’t something I did often-and that I almost didn’t like it,based on there quiet reactions. And I had wondered if they find it weird that I don’t talk about him like that, that often.
I know it is more odd with my sister because she is around kids all day. I know she is interested in Zeek and his growth and ability, but it seems less rewarding telling it to her, when I’m thinking of all the kids she is mentally comparing him to. I do know a good portion of that thought process is all me, and that she really doesn’t do that. But I have a hard time sometimes, not thinking that Zeek is just another kid she takes care of.
I’ve never been big on the tellings of milestones- I’ve kept track of a lot of them- but they have never seemed so worthless as they have with my sister.Again, mostly my warped creation with my feelings the only valid thing, and the rest,untrue. Haha.

Sure I am proud of him and find him hilarious at times. Sure I am impressed and over joyed at points, but I don’t often express that with anyone.
I think living away for two years is a part of that. But I also think it’s how I am about having a child.
I try and be careful about mentioning Zeek with friends that do not have children. And that’s practically all of them.

I’ve wondered if it’s healthy. If I should be more talkative and praising of him with others. I don’t agree that the amount at which you talk about your kid depicts the level of love u have for them. But I do wonder if my family thinks I am dettatched or unconnected with Zeek because of it. That I don’t seem to care about his accomplishments or his personality.

Coming here, I won’t deny that my bond with him has felt threatened. And it is obvious to me as to why.
But it still feels yuck at times.
It’s like I ‘have’ to push myself to spend even more time with him because I’m afraid he’ll start liking everyone else more. Which i know is a natural feel. And I understand it. I have to be careful that resentment doesn’t start driving towards him either,because of it.

I also believe that questions have a lot to do with it. People rarely ask me about him. About certain things I feel about things he does. About being a parent. About why I think he does that or how did i get him to be like this or is it just because that’s what he’s like. And why.

I go into detail about some things, I talk a lot or in circles about a subject, but I don’t think I often sprout something new or in depth about personals unless I am asked.
I won’t go into specifics about an evening unless I am asked. I won’t talk about the dynamics of my family or my relationships, unless I’m asked.
It’s not to say I never do. I just don’t think I do often.

On the other end, some people go about conversing differently. ‘if a person wants to talk about it or say something about anything, than the person would or will’
Which to me, seems like a healthier way..

I have a feeling that why I’m like this stems from the way I’ve communicated in the past. At some point- I think just after highschool, I discovered a nugget of truth- That showing an interest in an individual -asking them questions about what they had told me, was what people really enjoyed. I did that for so long that it eventually became a part of me and has made it natural for me not to discuss often-the inner workings of my brain.
I do feel I am really open and if asked anything, I feel free to talk about it.
I also am aware that it’s not all a good thing. It shouldn’t be like trying to pry open a vault. People can tire easy.
People can be lazy.
Getting to know someone can take effort and I don’t think I make it easy for people who feel they shouldn’t have to ask any. Or people who don’t want to at all.

There are times I get down about the lack of perseverance in people. It is usually short lived because I believe I am being too demanding. That just because I have built walls over the years, doesn’t mean everyone else has the intent to bust through them.

But in this unconscious wall making I have discovered a very obvious negative. As I have changed over the years, so has whats behind the walls. There used to be ballrooms-tall, airy and bright.
But with less talking, I created cellars. A place where hiding things was easy. Sure I have a conscience, but to me, these cellar doors have always been open.
It gets a bit twisted.
I don’t blame people at all for who I am.
But they are a vital part of who I have become.
The negatives included. People make it easy to hide things. Because of them, I have been able to store things. Things that are cobwebbed in my brain, but are like new and rustfree in my heart.
I wonder if they are even walls I have built.
Or just a division between me and others. I know that I would rather spill without command. That I would rather tell things without being asked.
I know i have went thru stages of working on this in the past.
Telling without being prompted.

Sometimes I think I expect too much from people. That I’m expecting them to know the intricacies of me and whoever else, quicker than is even possible.
sometimes I am caught up in my own sense of self,that people not knowing how to be a certain way with me, makes me sad.
Like they should know or something.
Sometimes I feel as if I am just waiting, begging,for someone to put me in a jar full of questions.
Questions that will be difficult to answer, not because I don’t know what they are, but because i do.

The Importance in Questions

This week I figured out why I value questions.
They are important to me because it is the way that I reveal myself.
I became interested in communication in highschool. I didn’t know it then, but that is what was happening. I realised that people like to talk and that there are a lot more talkers out there then listeners. And I’m a people pleaser.
So I became quiet and listened and didn’t say much.
Until I’ve reached this point in my life where I’m making things more difficult because I am not speaking.
“Why didn’t you just tell me that then?”
“Because you didn’t ask me.”
” I thought you would just tell me whatever you wanted. You know I want to hear anything you have to say.”

I have had these conversations numerous times. With my old best friends.

I know I have tried to be better. To assert myself and to give out information freely.
But it is so easy to not.
It is so easy to sit back and glide with the current of all the others.
It sounds terrible. I know.
But I learn a lot this way.
I learn a lot about myself.

I learn how naive people can be. How much they can not not know about their ‘friend’.

My friends don’t know who I am anymore as a result of my silence.
I’ve been open. I’ve been free and fine to tell people a lot of things.
But they haven’t asked me.

So I find myself in this room of doubt.
Maybe I don’t want them to know these things about me.
It has started to become way too comfortable. It has become something I use.
Guilt becomes less of a threat because noone is asking me things that make me feel it.
To make me turn in on myself.

It is a dangerous place but this is how I came to the understanding of why questions are important to me.
Now what.

I Question My Decision

I awoke at 430am with my head launching repeated questions and thoughts of one of my lifes biggest decisons. The mind spinners that make your tummy ache alittle and your heart race a lot. The thoughts that are so powerful you dont even really have space to be angry with them for keeping you up.

Five years ago I made the decision to come to Thailand. Between now and that first decision, I also made the decision to live here. I don’t remember when it was, I don’t even know that there was a specific moment.

And so here I am laying in bed, wondering if I will regret this ten years from now.
Wondering if I will regret leaving behind all my solid friendships, taking myself out of the equations back in Canada and making one new one here. Will I wish that I would have held off? Will I tell myself that I should have let my early twenties be my drunk, silly and friendship-focused days? I feel a bit saddened and sorry, a bit lonely and worried. I feel outside of Canadian life and maybe that won’t ever really go away..

It scares me.
To think that maybe there will come a time when I will question all that I’ve done and wonder why I chose to do what I did. Maybe I will hate myself for having left people I loved, for moving away from so much laughter and happiness.
I think back to those years leading up to my departure. So much overflowing goodness in them that it forces me to question why. Maybe now that those memories are only just that, they have more of a rosey tinge than actuality. Maybe things had petered out and my friendships were dragging. Maybe it wasn’t as fun as I think it to be now. Maybe it got old.
Maybe in the end I won’t understand why, but I will just accept and believe in whatever reasoning it was back then.
I’ll probably have faith in my own self, to know that I did what was best in that time.

These thoughts continue to circle until I reach this deafening point.
I believe that things happen the way they are supposed to and if I did not meet my husband here and if i met him but did not love him enough to stay, then frankly, I couldn’t say I know a love as strong as this.

I have stayed because of love and that reason is the best conclusion I’ve ever had.