Why I wanted a boy

I was always able to have girlfriends if I wanted them.
I just remember them being meaner. Pickier. Gossiped a lot.
I was shy and didn’t care for that.
I kind of was a tom boy. Up until 8 years ago.
I disliked the colour pink and cried when my Mom made me wear frilly dresses to church.

Over the years I could tell I related better to the boys.
Yeah, it had the extra bonus of attention of the opposite sex, but I didn’t even think like that at the time.  It really did make more sense for me to be around the ones that were more like me.

I’m not like the woman on the tv show ‘ The Bachelor’ who all the other ladies hate. No, no, no. By far not the case. I’m likable. I will say that girls have felt jealousy towards me-  even my own two best friends ( who are still my best friends ( not jealous anymore though   ) ) and that most of the time, I didn’t realize this was so until after the fact.

I feel more comfortable and at ease with a male.
But Not so much today. In fact, I am trying to branch out and get my feet better suited for female grounds. For I know in my next relationship I will only have female companions. That’s what I want.

So this swings back around to my desire to birth and raise a boy.
I feel like I understand them better. I’m more familiar and attuned to them.
They make more sense to me.

Having a girl actually scared me. I feel that I wouldn’t have been as good of a Mother, had I had a girl. Truly. I feel like I would have had less patience and been more mean.

Now I’ll be okay with having a girl.
I feel very very fortunate to have had the boy I so very much desired.

Thank you egg and sperm and timing and whatever else the heck makes up the sex of a child.

 

 

One Man

He was a hard worker.
He drew the blueprints and built his own 5 bedroom house when he was 23.
He married a very pretty woman.
They had children.
She was the lenient. And he was the strict.

He worried about money a lot
and she spent it
or rather,
she spent it
and he worried about not having enough.
He moved up the ladder in his career.
He was the leader at work.
But he wasn’t at home.
They fought about the children and about money.
He put all his time and effort into doing better where it felt it did less damage
where negative affects weren’t seen.
He became a workaholic.

He spent less time at home
the relationships with his children suffered.

But
when asked to take on a job away from the house he had built
he said no
because his children were young and he still wanted to influence
as best he could.
For years until it was all his life,
he was boss over hundreds of people
but barely had leverage on his own family.

They fought all the time.

He gained more respect at work
but had none under the roof he lived
the one he had made with his bare hands.

Until the children were all grown up
and he went overseas to work
once, twice
and the picture became a little clearer to the grown-ups.

A few years before he retired
when the effect of his wife was wearing off
his children slowly found the seeds and admiration grew.

After 36 years of working and being the unfavourable parent at home,
he retired
with the relationships between his children intact.

Six months after he retired,
his wife left him.

She demanded more than half
of what he had worked for his whole life.

Instead of retiring with the hundreds of thousands he has accumulated over the years,
that money now goes to lawyers
Instead of that money going towards his childrens inheritance,
half of all that he has worked for and sacrificed for his entire life
now goes to her.

 

 

That one man is my father.
And all he has worked for in his life,
is now being taken away from him
by my mother.

 

 

 

 

 

They Are Back There

My parents are back in the place I lived in for five years.

Just for a vacation.
Five years of my teaching and drinking and having child and marriage and being and learning the living.
They are in the midst, my mothers skirts brushing at the strokes of my history. My fathers golf swing smothering the memories and moments of mine.

It is strange. They to be meeting with my ex husband. For him to give them a box and for him to give them papers.

It all feels strange. And unreal.
Is this my life or anothers.

What I Created

For the first time I am afraid of the city I left.
The black concoction I swirled and mixed and added things to for years,
the drink I was never around long enough to take a sip of,
is now the very drink I must drink.
I am forcing myself to.
Because I am not going to find happines anywhere in life, if I am not happy with self.

The time period, the age I thrived in,left years ago.
And I am only now, figuring that out.
I’ve lifted my head up and realized that the only way I found ‘happy’ was by attention and distraction.
You can’t get that stuff when you’re holding a drink of black.

I am 25.

I am now 25.
25 is one of those numbers that feel.. like it’s a lot more than the previous one.
22 and 23 doesn’t seem like much of a stretch.. But with 25, I am no longer in my early twenties.
This is me and my brothers.IMG_0850
And me with my son,sister and Mom.IMG_0844
Dad is working in Brazil or else he would be present.

Family is always my best present.

Connections Big and Small

Shadow of large long branch on beige wall.
Moving because that’s the moves of the century.
Moving because that’s the way to feel the world.

And conversation with parents voices. In my headphone ears.
One was in Canada. And the other in Brazil.
And there I sat in Thailand, on a wooden bench with bats winging around my head.

Special feelings are ones where only certain people or things can make happen.
They can be small.
Like shadows on walls.
Or big. Like family.

They can be big like culture.
Culture doesnt fit in my head. It comes bustin out of my ears and I write about it like I’m reliving it and all those feelings comes swimming over. Easily.

Small things that poke your mind and feels good. A connection. Within yourself. Like you’re the one laughing at your own joke. The joke you told inside your head.
Because her hands massaging my face, smelled like a bubble bath I had years ago. Because that smell rolled up a memory and a frame of time I hadn’t thought of in years.
And love gets to be both big and small.
Because small things can happen and you connect it with love. And big things happen that we attach love to, too.
Like proposing.
I’ve never been proposed marriage before.
But I’m married.
And have been proposed hundreds of things.

And it is later than what it was earlier
So that’s usually a good a sign as any
To get into the clouds of Sleepville.

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.