So here how it goes. Following the menopausal change, my mum developed a major behavioural problem – she believes my father is cheating on her. She suspects almost every woman they know of trying to seduce him (this includes our neighbours, my mum’s widowed sister, and my dad’s niece). At some point she also had a theory that my dad had a girlfriend – a Bulgarian prostitute. I have no idea how he would have managed to conduct an illicit affair since my mum doesn’t let him out of her sight and follows him everywhere. I’m also not sure where the Bulgarian angle comes from, and what language she’d communicate with my dad. My dad is seventy, bold and suffers from heart problems.
A couple of years ago, on Xmas day, my mum read a very silly horoscope “who you were in your past life”. According to that horoscope my dad was a Renaissance nobleman who loved women and parties. To my mum this was a proof that she was right all along. (My sister and I checked who our mum had been in the previous life. Turned out she was…. a Genghis khan’s soldier). So here we were, having a family dinner on this most important night in Christian tradition. My mum sat in silence refusing to talk to my dad. The rest of us actually had a blast. We got happily drunk and ignored mum’s poignant silence. My dad was sticking his tongue at my mum and saying “blah…. you Genghis khan!!” This was the last Xmas I spent at home – following year I went to Mexico!”
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This past week, I cracked open my old photographs, contained in five, bulging 3-ring binders. Each roll of film’s negatives were meticulously labeled within plastic, and its corresponding proof sheet following it. It is the sum of most of my photography, at least in terms of black and white, slide, and medium format film. There’s a scattering of land polaroids. And prints made in the darkroom. Plus some old newspaper reviews and programmes. It was a part of me that I’d not bothered looking at for many, many years. And now, being older, I expected more out of myself. But here was a collection of fledgling experimentation. No idea fully developed.
I started my photography when Mrs. Mealiffe, my high school art teacher, placed her Rollei 35 in the palm of my upturned right hand, and I felt it’s comforting weight. I’ll never really know what Mrs. Mealiffe thought of me, for her chin was uplifted slightly, all a mixture of part slyness, part pride, part dare. Or perhaps that was my reading of her expression. Mrs. Mealiffe planted the seed.
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This weekend I turn 31. This will be a huge day for me on a personal level. To tell you why is to give voice to a secret – something I’ve not confessed out loud until just this week, something so unlike me that I never brought it to being by saying the words.
To know my secret is to acknowledge the generally positive attitude with which I live my life – when you ask me how I’m doing today, even if it’s poorly, I’ll probably respond with, “Not so good today – but tomorrow will be better.” I say these words and I believe them. I believe them because I have to…if I didn’t I’d drop under the weight of my illness. My mind would be open to the concepts of failure in regards to my health. Cancer is a strong thing and it can catch you when you’re down, so it’s best to be positive and constantly move forward.
This is not to say that I’m not a realist. When I first became ill I did what I should have done – I put my house in order, took a two week trip to the Andes, made out a will, told everyone I loved them (without letting anyone know the diagnosis just yet,) and only then did I move forward. I’m a positive person – but I’m a realist…and it’s being a realist that has caused this big secret.
My secret is that this is the birthday I wasn’t sure I’d see.
So today I’ll throw back my shoulders and say that in a small part of my soul I bought into the statistics. I was pretty sure I could make it two years – but probably not much longer. I figured I’d just be too tired to fight any longer and I wasn’t too unhappy about that as it was longer than they said I’d be around…
I’m going to be 31. 31. What an insignificant number to represent such a huge secret.
Sage, 30 Iowa, USA
I’m helping a friend move this week.
This is a 26-year-old friend I met last summer when I moved to Seattle and immediately signed up for kickball. (I’ve met some great friends through co-ed kickball). He’s never helped me move, and I hope he won’t have to. When he thanks me – as he has repeatedly – for helping pack up kitchen supplies and carry liquor bottles to the car, I think, “don’t thank me.”
It’s “thanks” to all those friends who helped me move five times in the past couple of years. Those friends I’ll never have a chance to repay because, well, they’re in their 30s and are far more responsible than I am. They are “settled down.” They own homes. They’re starting families. They have enough money to hire movers. They are responsible.
Not me. Not anymore. My ex-husband and I owned a few homes. We had professional movers once. But I’ve regressed. Now I’m a uHaul-and-friends kind of mover, with the promise of pizza and beer at the end of the day.
About 1 1/2 years ago, I relied on family and friends to move me out of my house – fast – once I found out my husband had an affair. And then six months later, they moved me out of my apartment. In the blazing July Midwestern heat, they helped me store furniture, sell off many items and take numerous loads to Goodwill. And then they helped pack my little car, which took me to Seattle with the fewest positions I’ve had in a decade.
Someday I’ll get to the point where I’m paying it forward again. But until then, I have some karma-catching-up to do.
Can I count moving as my exercise for the day? Sadly, my arms are kinda sore ….
Lola, 32, Seattle
This boat is sitting outside of my house. Okay, not really like in my yard or anything, but it is right off-shore from my village on Lamma Island.
It is Paul Allen’s super yacht, the Octopus. While I did not take this photo (thank you Wikipedia) I have one of equally close range. This thing is amazing. Apparently it cost around US$200,000,000 and the running costs are approximatley ten percent of that annually. It is gigantic and huge and has three helicopter pads on it. It also has a remote controlled submarine.
Anyhow, none of this is all that important, but I thought I would share my view with you.
Paul Allen has a kick ass boat.
Amanda, 36, Hong Kong
I’m a funny person. Everyone tells me this. I like it when people around me are laughing, and I like it even more when I’m the one who caused them to laugh. So it concerns me that all of my posts here have been of a serious and introspective nature. You guys probably think I’m the quiet scholastic type. No fun to be around. Not up for serious amounts of debauchery.
And then I wonder if the reason you think that is because that’s who I’ve become.
I am 34, not 84, and I’m reclaiming my right to drink all night and laugh all day.
Melissa, 34, Antalya
A little over 8 years ago, i went through the process of choosing the best adoptive parents for my baby (who i already *knew* was a boy).
it was not a decision i came to lightly or easily, and despite everyone in my family’s thoughts, it was not the selfish decision. it was the hardest and best thing that i have ever done. i was young. i had not accumulated much in this world. i was not with the man who had impregnated me & he had preferred abortion. alone, i chose an adoption lawyer. alone, i quit smoking and changed my diet. and alone, i sat in the floor every week and looked at the profiles that were sent to me, created by the couples who wanted to adopt my baby.
i met them for lunch and they were as perfect as i had thought. i talked to them more. brunch again. and then i decided. yes, them. they were older…which to me was perfect, their marriage had lasted. they had survived things. he was finishing up his residency in medical school after having been in the Navy for years. they had lived abroad. they had large families, tons of nieces and nephews. they had pets. they had savings and investments. they had a nice home. they had everything that would give him what i could not…an advantage in this world.
we had brunch every Sunday. i met their families, their friends. they were worried…this had happened before, more than once, and then the girl had changed her mind. he warned her not to get too close. she didn’t listen. i told them that whatever else i am, i am a girl of my decisions. not to worry, that i would be okay. i asked her to be my lamaze coach and we blew that class after the first one (that lady teaching was taken aback at who we were to each other). they came with me to doctor’s appointments and couldn’t believe that they had found a birth mother who was healthy, working, had insurance, wasn’t doing drugs or smoking, was intelligent and articulate. they were happy. i was a mix of happy & sad. ready to get it over with and wanting it to go on for forever.
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If you do I would love to know.
I live in Hong Kong.
I live here because I honestly did (do) not know how to end relationships.
Now I am here and trying to deal with life in a basically optimistic way.
And it is okay. Life seems alright. I seem alright.
I received a reply from an email I sent to my ex– I had been trying to make contact for a while as we (I?) messed up our break-up a lot over the course of it… And he said this:
You are without a doubt in my opinion the worst human being I have ever come across; a calculating, lying, thief.
And suddenly it made me wonder. Is it true? Does someone else know me better than I thought I did?
There are a million sides to every story. That being said… I wonder if I can just bounce back?
As we try to make our way through the world if our intentions are benevolent does it matter? Does it count for anything? I guess I can only hope so… Because I really want to bounce back from this one…
Amanda, 36, Hong Kong
Is there really such a thing as the “glass ceiling” or the “boys club”?
This is something I’ve struggled with my entire career. I’d always believed that it didn’t matter and that anyone, male or female, that did the right thing always got ahead. I wouldn’t call it naive, but I’ve always been an optimist. I can’t really say I was “anti-feminist” but I didn’t see the benefit in being a “feminist”. But now I’m not so sure…I think I’ve been banging my head on the glass ceiling for the last few years and I don’t think I can pull out a sledgehammer and break it to pieces on my own…
Women are often embarrassed to admit that support networks are helpful in building their careers. I think that maybe if we called it “secret girls’ clubs” instead of “support networks” and did it the way that the men do it, at golf clubs, over a scotch and a cigar, or whatever, it would be different. Would that help to further our careers? Isn’t what men do essentially their version of “support networks”?
But… if we tried to do things like the way men did them, we wouldn’t be celebrating the fact that we are women and we do things our own way…
Melissa, 35, Sydney
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Janna, Seattle, USA [4] Comments
Are you a dirty girl (or guy)? If you aren’t, maybe you should just stop reading here, because this post might gross you out.
Now, I don’t mean do you have your mind in the gutter or your nose in a girly magazine. What I want to know is: Are you one of those people, like me, who simply doesn’t care to shower much?
If you are, you know all the justifications…
A) Why waste water?
B) I’m just going to get dirty doing [insert strenuous activity here: jogging, housecleaning, etc.]. I swear I’ll shower afterwards.
C) If I just put on a bit more deoderant, I’ll pass the sniff test.
D) Too much washing dries out my hair and skin.
E) My hair looks better on day 2 anyway.
F) If I wash my hair, then I have to primp and product to make it look any good.
G) I DON’T HAVE TIME!
I have to admit this last excuse has become increasingly more believable since the Bungle of Joy entered my life–though I can’t say I’ve noticed a decrease in the dreadfully charming Mr. Right’s showering habits. (He’s NOT a dirty boy.)
The reason I bring this issue up is because I recently went a day or two (OK, 3) without taking a shower. I meant to shower, I really did, but it just kept getting sidelined by a combination of reasons B, C, F, and G.
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