Archive for March, 2012

WHYs

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on March 31, 2012 by Linata

“The intellect has little to do on the road to discovery. There comes a leap in consciousness, call it intuition, or what you will, and the solution comes to you and you don’t know how or why…”

A. Einstein

bed

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on March 25, 2012 by Linata
i’m missing home..i’m missing the lost home. weekends are the worst. just like xmas.
i envy everyone that has a weekend/xmas routine, routine cleaning, routine cooking, sunday roast, and all the prep that one might think is necessary for unavoidable monday.
i had sundays once.
clean pjs, clean bed linen, and long baths were my routine.
waking up to the smell of pancakes in the morning…my mom made them just so we would all wake up on time. my brother and i always liked sleeping in. my mom liked getting up early. and then force us into getting up with her by making delicious pancakes. waking up to the smell of pancakes is probably one of the best things in the world.
my brother always liked savoury pancakes. i liked sweet. with fruit. everyone was served according to their preferences. i don’t know what my dad liked. i don’t remember. my only memory of him as a child is fear.
our house was always filled with tension. my dad was always either angry or absent. equally, i tried at all costs to avoid him. i’ve become a master of avoidance. with time. my mom tried hard to hide it. tension and destruction was covered up with pancakes and clean sheets and very strict family routine. my mom loved rules. i didn’t like rules but i found a lot of comfort in routine.
we’d get up, then cycle to our allotment, or walked…through the forest. even if it rained. it was tiring at that age, but i loved it. it’s the only time my mom and i shared love of some sort. nature united us. then worked on the land, picked the fruit, gathered all the harvest in baskets, and cary/cycle those baskets back home. my childhood was filled with routine labour. after working on allotment and walking back for an hour we’d clean the house. i obviously hated this part. but everyone in my family had to do their share. apart from my dad. he’d hide either in a garage or under the newspaper. god forbid if anyone would wake him up when he was napping covering his face with a newspaper. everyone had to walk on tip toes around my father. it was a norm and i didn’t question it for a long time.
after the routine labour part was over the fun part of the day would start! swimming in the bath, pretending it’s a swimming pool. i practiced diving with diving glasses on and always had to wear my swim suit during the first hour of the bathing. my brother thought i was an idiot. i didn’t care for my love for swimming dominated over my love for brother’s approval. after bath: clean pjs, bed, clean sheets.
i remember when i got my first bed. my brother and i used to sleep on the floor as my parents were really poor at that point. at first my brother got a bed and since he was older i though it was a manifestation of some sort of status inequality. i didn’t even see it as a source of comfort. i carried on sleeping on the floor until a few months later i also got a bed. it was a used bed and my father had to mend it. he said that i have to be very careful with it or it will break and i’ll sleep on the floor again. i can’t describe how much happiness i felt when i lied down on that bed for the first time. clean pjs (it was a sunday), smell of clean sheets, and the feeling…of a bed! i was so scared that the bed would break that i was frightened to move. next morning i woke up in exactly the same position as i was when i fell asleep. the happiness of waking up in the bed that also didn’t break was enormous. i also felt a sense of accomplishment. i managed to keep the bed in a good condition. that sense of care for something gave me a lot of satisfaction. i told my brother about the fact that i managed t sleep without turning even once. he laughed at me. i was always that ridiculous.
the feeling of new tears off with time. with experience i realised that my bed won’t break if i turn from one side to another. slowly, i started moving my legs, then turning my whole body. it was a great relief to know that my bed could handle that. eventually, i got used to my bed. it became familiar. the process of getting comfortable created an emotional bond, however. letting go of that bed was diffuclt when another bed was bought for me some years later. it was a new bed. i never loved it as much.
with time i realised that my dad exaggerated significantly when he told me to be careful with that bed. with age i’ve realised that my dad had a vey dry sense of humour. but at the age of six you can’t help but take things literally. i was never angry at him for this joke. the joke created a reality in which i found something that was precious to me. the precious thing was also reliable and stable despite my initial fear of unavoidable failure. if u ever slept on the floor you’d never underestimate the importance of having a bed.
ever since i started living on my own i loved each bed i slept in. i remember each bed. i buy good quality bed linen and i always think about the mood the colour combinations are going to create. how will i feel in my bed? it’s very important. ‘my house is my fortress’ is for some lucky folk. my bed is my home. i look for comfort in a bed, and the bed always comforts me. i let go of both fears and tears in my bed. and the bed holds me when i need it most.
this makes sharing of a bed very difficult. sleeping has become an integral part of my life. it’s my ‘me time’. i dislike sleeping in other people’s beds. i struggle to have other people in my bed. i can’t imagine having one night stands in my bed. my bed belongs to special moments and only special people can share my bed. there haven’t been many. once i shared my bed with various people. it was a very dark period of my life. i hated myself. i feel guilty for letting go of that special bond with my bed. i’d never do it again.
after that self-destructive episode ended, again, i found comfort in my bed. i was ill. the bed was hugging my poor abused body. i cried a lot. my bed hugged me gently. i learnt how to love myself again. in my bed.
i never owned a bed. and that’s a mistake.
i used to own a desk. i don’t know if it was a mistake. i got it because i wanted ‘my space’. i never used it. my wife and i broke up just a couple months later. i was sleeping in the bed. she was sleeping on the couch. my bed is all i knew at that point. i drunk vodka at my desk. and when i couldn’t drink anymore i spent all the time in the bed. soon i moved out. and i never saw my desk again. it moved from one place to another just to be stored somewhere. now it’s at my ex’s house. i don’t know if i’ll ever use it again.
it’s like a symbol of that optimism i once had about me becoming a succesful creative professional . i thought i could ‘make it’. i worked my ass off. i saved money. i bought computer and all the gadgets. i learnt the software…eventually, i even bought a proper desk a designer ‘must’ have. it all went down the hill from there. no wife. no desk. no success.
i still have my bed. and i still have journals. i always write in my bed. i’m typing this while i’m in my bed. it comforts me. it’s one thing that has been stable in my life.
fuck desk.
i miss home. i miss routine.. i’d like to share a home.
but all i have is my bed.
and may be it’s this difficulty i have in sharing a bed that stops me from having a home and sharing it with someone.
i’ve been always alone.
even when i was with someone i was terribly lonely.
and i missed my bed terribly when i had to share it.
nothing has changed with years i acquired. i changed flats, cities, girlfriends. i’m still the same, however.
i lost my home when i was about 20. i moved out when i was 18 and soon after i started realising that i never had a home. i never belonged there. at first i resisted this thought, but as with any denial reality hit me on the face really quite hard. eventually, i had to let go of that home i once had . as a child what u’ve got is all u know. later in life, u realise what it is that was wrong with it…
i’ve been searching ever since for this ‘place’. i never lost hunger for ‘belonging’ somewhere.
i never found it.
for the first time in my life i’m beginning to realise that i probably never will.
it will always be: me and my bed.
i guess i should be thankful.
some people do not even have that.
a bed is a friend.
for that i’m grateful.