Tuesday, January 10, 2012

The thousand of you

For most people, the new year is a chance to start over again and forget all past mistakes and grievances. For mother it's just another reminder that she's not young anymore. For a week now she's been walking around the house like a zombie, dead quiet, systematically emptying her Madeira bottles one by one.

I'm afraid to say anything so I keep quiet too, pretending I'm fine when in reality it wears me down seeing her so sad. I'm afraid of what will happen when she can't hold it all inside anymore and her history blows up in both our faces. I know of so much that she's never told me, never wanted to talk about and nervously denied that one time I dared ask.

But then I wake up and I see that there are 1000 of you now. The love I keep getting from all of you means the world, it's that chance to start all over again and a reminder that there is a light that never goes out. Tell me something I didn't know about yourselves and make me smile once more.


  1. to think that even more beyond a 1000 are reading without admitting to following! it should say something about the depth of your writing. i can write & draw with both hands, & read upside down.

  2. I'm sure that one day I will become a Disney Princess :) Big dreams.
    I hope you are okay, you deserve this 1000 xx

  3. I have juggled in Ukraine. A thousand "thank you"s for your writing!

  4. the one thing, the most important, among the million other things you din't know about me is that i love you from zillion miles away, and you come across my gazillion random thoughts, uninvited and refuse to leave, even when i'm running short of time to wish my dear ones on their birthdays. And those are the times i wonder who or what you are to me.

  5. Hey. I just happened to have come across your blog, and I got hooked. I just love they way you write, and describe things. You're a really talent writer. :)

    Hmmm, one thing you didn't know about me is that I have an obsession with ferrets and scented candles :) As weird as that sounds

  6. Hearty congratulations, you have a thousand of us now! <3 We love you!

    To tell about myself, I like the idea of being a word. In the novel of life.

  7. I really hope 2012 will be a better year for you. Congrats on having 1000 of us! One thing you didn't know about me: I used to play the piano and i wish i could still play it now.

  8. We love this post!

    Much love from the SABO SKIRT girls!
    SHOP: www.saboskirt.com
    BLOG: www.saboskirt.blogspot.com

  9. avy. nothing new, just that i have learned one thing last year - that we loose our beauty and die if we do not change and cling to the past. but maybe we are too young to know better.

    love you, have been doing so ever since i first came here.

    thanks. so much.

    stay beautiful


  10. Ah, I very much love this post.
    Stay positive and strong for both of you!
    And remember you have so many followers who are reading and thinking about you!
    Keep posting and keep happy :)

    I want a pet skunk when I have a family!

  11. lovely image and words. I am proud to be one of the thousand. the one thing you don't know about me, and I didn't know about myself for a long time was that eventually things pass even when they seem frozen in time. even the worst of moments will pass.

  12. I don't know what to feel while reading the description you wrote about your mother.. I mostly walk around like a zombie,dead quiet, systematically emptying red wine bottles one by one... maybe the wine is not daily but it definitely happens 4 to 5 times a week.. with a cigarette in hand.. guess it's my heart broken moment to the max.. 'cause I've felt like a zombie for years...
    anyway.. hope you feel better.. you've got tons of readers... and I just shared my one thing you didn't know about me.. on another note, I sent you the illustration, as I promised!.. let me know what you think.. take care

  13. your blog is so refreshing. lovely. x

  14. I was ten when they said we should talk. "We need to speak to you" they say looking tense and a little guilty. "Father Christmas.." they begin. Right there my mouth spreads itself into an amused smirk. "Isn't real" I complete the sentence. Silence. Then:"The Easter bunny.." Mom leaves the sentence unfinished, just hanging there. "How long have you known?" they ask.

    When I was three my best friend took me aside and told me. Every year after that, somebody else told me again. Righteous anger and superior indignation. I called them liars. Their parents had to buy the presents I theorized, because they weren't being good enough for the real Father Christmas to stop by their tree. Occam's lost his razor again.

    "We can still pretend though?" I ask my parents and they nod but we all know the game is over.

    The whole religious thing, I toyed with that all the way through childhood. It was like any other passing fancy. Horse riding, playing the recorder, my brief encounter with the torturous boredom of ballet, baptism, communion, Sunday school, even the christian youth. God and Jesus, Father Christmas and the Easter bunny, they were all the same to me. I prayed just in case and pretended at faith. All those saints. These Christian martyrs having their bodies torn apart by iron hooks, being burned, quartered, skinned alive and gutted. Their conviction fascinated me. Faith to die for. Unwavering.

    On the school bus row after row of my peers cross themselves day after day every wayside shrine we pass. We pass lots of them. These shrines, they are inhabited by Mother Mary. In some she weeps, in some she smiles benevolently, in some her head is chipped. Mary, in each one, her legs are knee-deep in rubbish. Flaky. Musty. Mouldy. Empty coke cans, candy wrappers, condoms. Offerings. Sacrifice. Archaic rituals. In the name of the Father, the Son, the Holy Spirit. Automatic. Cross my heart, swear to die. Reflex. Just like your leg kicking out when the doctor hits that spot on your knee. God 's watching. He's keeping tabs on all of us. Gestapo.

    "Are you certain there is nothing further you need to confess?" That school priest, he's looking down at me waiting. Waiting for something juicy, more interesting than my stoic "I quarreled". I shake my head. I want to get out of here as quickly as possible. Penance: Ten Ave Maria. I don't know the words, so I substitute it with the Lord's Prayer. I rattle it off at lightning speed just in case. I recite it so fast you can't tell what language I am speaking. Whole sentences get smashed to pulp by my tongue. Meaningless.

    My parents don't know I am an atheist.