The unlost years

Looking back I see my lost years, where I lived but was unalive – is that a word?. Where I was present but absent. I wonder to myself - where was I, who was I and am I the same person now I was then.

I think to myself, that I did not know who I was. I think that I did not know who I had been, before I did not know who I was.

I think that I did not know where I was. I think that I did not know where I had been, before I did not know where I was.

I think I blocked off who I had been, and where I was coming from. Decided not to remember yesterday and the day before that from my beginning. So that this helped in me not knowing where I was going.

It helped in not knowing when tomorrow would be, and where tomorrow would be. It helped in not knowing if there was even a tomorrow.

Lost in a fog, and unknowing that I was in a fog, let alone knowing what a fog was or what fogged me up.

A fog within myself, around myself, helping me hide from myself, by compartmentising my life, into bits and pieces. So that yesterday did not meet today, and today would never meet tomorrow. So that the past was separate from the present, which never saw the future. So that time was just an instance, and with no precedent or future, just the present and thus never a timeline. Each instant alone, disjointed, not connected; lost when it passed, finished for now because I have lived it.

Living instant by instant. Day by day. Deciding by not deciding, since the instant required no decision.

Being stubborn where it made no sense and making nonsense of sense. Flowing with the crowd, so as never having to pause, reflect or decide. Flowing with the crowd, even when it made no sense.

Recently at the end of a conversation someone asked me, what I wish I could have done differently in my life. I answered that “I should have stood up for me. At such and such a time, I should have stood up for myself.”

Later I wonder, if at that time, just that one time, if I had known that I could stand up for myself would I have stood up for myself.

I wonder why I did not know that I could stand up for myself. I wonder why even without knowing that I could have stood up for myself, why I did not just instinctively stand up for me. I wonder how many “stands” I could have taken, but never took.

I wonder if I stand up for me now, will all the times I never stood up for me come back. Be made up by just one stand now. One major stand. Or even a small stand.

What if the stand is not today, but sometime in the future? Will all the ones I never take between now and that future stand, be brought back by that future stand?

Will one stand make up for all the times, I never stood up for me?

Were there people who knew that a stand for me was needed? Just one stand for me, and never took it for me. Or maybe they too did not know that a stand on my behalf would have worked just as well.

Much much later, I ask a person who could have taken a stand for me, why they never did. And they say that they did for me what they knew best, that they did not know any other way of doing things. That they did not know they could take any stand.

I understand two things – one you cannot do what you do not know, and two, that you cannot take a stand for another, if you have never taken one for yourself.

Anyway – I now take stands (grinning). All the time. I stand for this. And I stand for that. And I hope that all the lost years, the fogged up years will be made up and be like they were never lost. Will be repaid, and not be lost anymore. Will become my unlost years.

A wall of fog
Inside my head
Shutting out
The words I said
Closing off my
Fragile voice
So I have no
Other choice
A wall of fog
Upon my tounge
Ringing like
A bell been rung
Covering up my
Every word
So my screams
Can not be heard
A wall of fog
A circling band
But there's a crack
Upon my hand
So I can write
Where I'm at
Against the fog
I can fight back

Anonymous Ghurl, http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-wall-of-fog/
image from www.nevermindthemanager.com

Comments

What Madam requires

https://www.vectorstock.com I work as a domestic for my Madam. I look after Madam’s big family and her big house. I tend to Madams big garden and her big cars. For Madam – everything must be big. She herself is big. She is also big on ambition – both professionally and domestically. Which is where I come in. Today I had a review with my Madam. And she reminded me of her expectations and requirements regarding my performance. Some requirements were new, some she was just recapping. In my own words and in no particular order let me tell you what my Madam expects. My Madam requires; I am all-knowing. I must know everything that happened during my watch - where the bumps on the children came from and where her yellow, blue and green scarf is. She wore it yesterday and left it in the laundry basket. I am omnipotent - all powerful, invincible and able to do what is inhuman...

Of panty lines and such other

Truth be told, as one woman to another, your panty line cutting across your baytock is not a pleasant sight. True story. And no, I am not jealous. Truly, I really do not care that you have a big bum. And yes, my backside is minuscule, a peanut of a derriere. I am not well endowed in my nether regions. And still I am not jealous. Lets talk about us, the small haunched women. As the world goes gaga over the well endowed grogan ciandas, we too have drooled [in an appreciation of God’s creation kind of way and not on a sexual orientation manner], coveted those mahagas. We have each come to the realisations that, “my fundamentals is small ya?” We have told ourselves that “not all good things come in big packages” and “small is good too”. And with that admission has come acceptance and soon an appreciation for our pint sized rear My bottom is small. And to add injury to insult, it has a b...

Gal, before you get hitched....

Yeee!! You are getting married. Marriage is beautiful. You are in for a great ride!! Exhilarating and thrilling. Here is what I think you should know...... Marriage is an official arrangement. That demands some bureaucratic process and hunting for certificates and signatures from various authorities. Parking your backside on a man’s 4x6 bed and squeezing your underwear next to his in the bag hanging off the mobile wardrobe door is not a marriage. Even if you have four children. And it does not matter what the constitution says. Marriage happens when a man publicly stands up and says it has happened. Until that day, you are just a woman he sexes, a woman who bears his children, but is not good enough to marry. Before you marry, you know nothing about marriage. You have watched marriages. You have read about it. You have gone for pre-mar...

I will write on my table

I am a creature of habits and routines. Some good, some nasty, some neither here nor there – Rouge Deck thing with a crimson pool, that I nearly took a tumble into. Future wise words to self – wear flats on deck. lukewarm, which I hear is reviled in some quarters. One thing is, I do not often go into some spaces. Like the food, fashion and furniture affair at the DusitD2 space – nice, with its with its Rouge Deck thing with a crimson pool, that I nearly took a tumble into. Future wise words to self – wear flats on deck. Food was good. The mushroom fritter like bites dipped in a ricotta and something and dip were divine. I shamelessly munched on them in bunches of three. I told the bites distributer to via me every 5 minutes. Very obedient. I stopped counting at their fourth stop. Meanwhile, I was informed that the word divine is bougie bougie and to stop using it tout de suite. I did. Will never speak i...

Once upon a time you had a friend

Once upon a time you had a friend. And you were good friends. Then, like some good things, the friendship came to an end. There was no dramatic fallout between you. No hurled insults and abuses. No nothing like that. Just a longer time to respond to a greeting, and an increasing number of missed calls. And time. Time happened in between you. Sometimes you think about things from the other side of the friendship. And wonder if it was a deliberate decision to move on. But then you reason, it doesn’t really matter why the friendship ended, what is important is the fact that, once it was there, and then it was not. Then months later, or maybe years later, your former good friend turns up, and attempts to slide back into your life with a ‘Hello Stranger! How have you been?” smiley kind of electronic message. And you are thinking, “Stranger? Me? You stopped engaging in calls, sms or emails. You c...

not yet punditik

Search This Blog