My medical healer told me that in one of my past lives, I was fighting in a war and was shot down in an air balloon. One of the psychics I went to also told me that in one of my past lives, I was a soldier.
If this is true, it explains my obsession with wearing army green when it clearly does not look good on me, and my love of red poppy flowers.
I'm currently looking for an original painting (oil, preferrably) of a red poppy field. I saw one at an art gallery near my work but was too scared of the price to go in and look at it more closely. I didn't need to go in, really. I saw how beautiful it was from the window.
Fast forward to my browsing on my favorite waste of time and money, etsy.com, and I found a painting. It's only $245 and it's an original. I found a similar one, larger, for $345 by another artist. Ever since Mon told me about her original oil, I've been thinking that I should invest in an original painting, but I wasn't sure what to buy. I like to buy art that reflects me as a person, but I feel like a fraud when I think of putting paintings of a Parisienne patisserie or ballet dancers on my wall. They're beautiful, but they represent more of what I want to be rather than what I am. There is something to be said about the projection of an idea yielding its reality, but if it doesn't feel like who you are at your core, there's no point.
Red poppies are at my core. I can feel them.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Absent but not gone
I can't believe that February was my last post. And it was about boredom. It actually wasn't half bad.
I'm not writing today because I'm bored, nor am I writing to report anything. I just thought I'd write.
I turned 35 three weeks ago. I can't remember what last year's lesson was. Maybe if I went back into previous posts, I could glean exactly what I learned as at my 34th birthday. But this year, I think I've finally come to realize that everyone's life is different and that just because you're not on the same path, it doesn't mean you're lost (thank you to his Holiness, the Dalai Lama, for that thought!).
I spent yesterday at my cousin's house for what would've been my Lola's 91st birthday (or 90th - no one really knows for sure). There were some relatives that hadn't been over in awhile and so we all got to catch up with them. Then came the uncomfortable part of the evening when those relatives who haven't seen us in awhile start to catch up on all the cousins' lives. Oh, where are you working now? Oh, that's your new husband? Oh, you're living on your own? Oh, when are you due? I knew what question was coming up for me and with my mom sitting in the room, and being with relatives who were going to become grandparents for the first time within the next three months (one being my cousin, who is only 47), I felt a pang of guilt. Just a pang. Not a sharp stab when the blow is cast, but definitely a pang that lingers long after attention is focused onto someone else.
My uncle started in on me about who I was dating. When I said no one, he said, "Oh, lots of boyfriends then." And I said, "No, not one and not many." Then the "why not" question. And then the "what about children" question. I guiltily stole a glance over at my mom, who was busy wiping her glasses clean of spots that weren't there to begin with. Pang.
I didn't want to get into a philosophical discussion about boyfriends and marriage and children, at least not with my drunk uncle. But no one came to my rescue either. Usually one person says, "Oh, it'll happen - don't worry about that." I guess at 35, no one really hopes for you anymore, at least not out loud.
Don't get me wrong - I'm not feeling sorry for myself. That's not a life I feel I need to have right now. But I do feel sorry for my parents, who I know desperately want grandchildren, but who continue to wait with forced patience. I feel sorry for my mom whose own sister tells her she knows nothing about raising children because she doesn't have grandchildren. I feel sorry for my dad, who dutifully comes to my place everyday to walk my dog, when he really wants to be changing his grandchild's diaper. But when it is instilled in you, through words, through actions, or through observation of someone else's trial and error, that you should not settle and that you should not do things because other people expect you to do them, then conforming with society's standard becomes very hard to do.
I have thought about having a kid on my own - Lord knows my parents would be there to help with childcare. But to have a child for someone else's satisfaction is not the answer. I know enough people who have had a child, planned or otherwise, who rely on other people to raise it while they continue on with their pre-baby lives. Not fair to the parents, both new and old, and most certainly not fair to the baby, who didn't ask to be born in the first place.
I have no way of ending this entry, because it's the middle of an on-going story.
I'm not writing today because I'm bored, nor am I writing to report anything. I just thought I'd write.
I turned 35 three weeks ago. I can't remember what last year's lesson was. Maybe if I went back into previous posts, I could glean exactly what I learned as at my 34th birthday. But this year, I think I've finally come to realize that everyone's life is different and that just because you're not on the same path, it doesn't mean you're lost (thank you to his Holiness, the Dalai Lama, for that thought!).
I spent yesterday at my cousin's house for what would've been my Lola's 91st birthday (or 90th - no one really knows for sure). There were some relatives that hadn't been over in awhile and so we all got to catch up with them. Then came the uncomfortable part of the evening when those relatives who haven't seen us in awhile start to catch up on all the cousins' lives. Oh, where are you working now? Oh, that's your new husband? Oh, you're living on your own? Oh, when are you due? I knew what question was coming up for me and with my mom sitting in the room, and being with relatives who were going to become grandparents for the first time within the next three months (one being my cousin, who is only 47), I felt a pang of guilt. Just a pang. Not a sharp stab when the blow is cast, but definitely a pang that lingers long after attention is focused onto someone else.
My uncle started in on me about who I was dating. When I said no one, he said, "Oh, lots of boyfriends then." And I said, "No, not one and not many." Then the "why not" question. And then the "what about children" question. I guiltily stole a glance over at my mom, who was busy wiping her glasses clean of spots that weren't there to begin with. Pang.
I didn't want to get into a philosophical discussion about boyfriends and marriage and children, at least not with my drunk uncle. But no one came to my rescue either. Usually one person says, "Oh, it'll happen - don't worry about that." I guess at 35, no one really hopes for you anymore, at least not out loud.
Don't get me wrong - I'm not feeling sorry for myself. That's not a life I feel I need to have right now. But I do feel sorry for my parents, who I know desperately want grandchildren, but who continue to wait with forced patience. I feel sorry for my mom whose own sister tells her she knows nothing about raising children because she doesn't have grandchildren. I feel sorry for my dad, who dutifully comes to my place everyday to walk my dog, when he really wants to be changing his grandchild's diaper. But when it is instilled in you, through words, through actions, or through observation of someone else's trial and error, that you should not settle and that you should not do things because other people expect you to do them, then conforming with society's standard becomes very hard to do.
I have thought about having a kid on my own - Lord knows my parents would be there to help with childcare. But to have a child for someone else's satisfaction is not the answer. I know enough people who have had a child, planned or otherwise, who rely on other people to raise it while they continue on with their pre-baby lives. Not fair to the parents, both new and old, and most certainly not fair to the baby, who didn't ask to be born in the first place.
I have no way of ending this entry, because it's the middle of an on-going story.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
