Love Letter – HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!!

Can the worst four years of your life also be the best four years of your life?

I would have said NO… if I hadn’t lived MY life. If I hadn’t been me. And if you hadn’t been you.

These past four years have been a dream and a nightmare. They have been both heaven and hell, a hell-ride and a joy-ride.

So many things have happened, to both of us. I moved three times in three years, which was very stressful to say the least. I cut all ties with people who had abused me, injured me, manipulated me and betrayed me all my life. I left my old life behind, and became someone I didn’t know I could be – someone free, someone happy, someone healthy. That was very difficult. I had to leave behind all my comfort zones and become an adult.

And you were there.

Through it all, through the fear, and the tears, and the uncertainty, you were there. My one ray of light. My hope. My love. My strength.

You were there for me every step of the way. Just as I was there for you when your dad died, and then again when your mum died, just six months later. Just as I will always be there, no matter what.

4 difficult years, but also 4 years of discovering what being in love really meant. 4 years of enjoying your company, 4 years of loving you and having fun with you. 4 years of experiencing new things with you. 4 years of living daily with you and knowing you as no one else does. 4 years of you knowing me, the new me, the real me.

Oh and there were also 2 work-related promotions, and a myriad of writing commissions  – PAID commissions ofc (started earning money as a freelance 3 yrs ago). Not to mention the orgasmic joy when we purchased our house, decorated it, and settled in it, to name but a few. And what about all the fabulous holidays, experiences and adventures together? So much to mention… too much for it to fit in here. Hehe…

4 years – it seems like so much time has passed, and yet, the feeling of looking forward to seeing you, the fluttery excited charge in my heart each time you smile that sweet naughty smile at me, the way my heart bursts whenever I look into your eyes… are still the same as the feelings I felt 4 years ago.

And they will never change.

Get a Life!

It’s always a mystery to me how people can get so bored that they latch on to some imagined slight, mistake or complaint and continue going on and on about it for days and weeks (if not months) on end.

Perhaps it has to do with the Maltese mentality? Or is it something prevalent within all human beings? Facebook and social media has, in this sense, totally served to compound and focus this type of behavior. We have nothing to do at home, nothing constructive to think about, so what do we do? We log into social media and write a FB status moaning about how unfair life is. We paste a meme stating that we are lonely because we are dark and mysterious, and no one understands us. We post a photograph with a lyrical quote from some song, because we are so moody and charmingly oppressed that we do not even understand ourselves. We write in our blog and groan about how alone we feel, when in reality we are doing nothing at all to assuage this condition.

For Pete’s sake, what’s all this put-down attitude going to serve? Are these people emotional masochists? Do they ENJOY feeling like victims? Do they FISH for empty compliments and pats on the back from strangers? Well, probably they do. Low self-esteem is all well and good, but do passive aggressive posts on FB really help?

Why not just snap out of it, put your big-girl/big-boy pants on, and just learn to face life without all this moaning and groaning about every little thing? Why not just learn to live, prioritize what is important for you, and stop blaming others for your own idiosyncrasies?

Life is so beautiful, exciting and full of things to discover – what on earth is there to be bored about?

I guess this is exactly what people mean when they exclaim – GET A LIFE!

Am I being Sexually Harassed?

Where is the line between ‘just a bit of a joke’ and sexual harassment? When are we allowed to finally admit that something is making us feel uncomfortable, or that we feel threatened, without appearing ‘party-poopers’ or ‘milksops’ who do not know ‘how to take a joke’?

Seriously, can someone explain it to me please?

Yesterday, something happened at the office, which made me feel quite uncomfortable and which I did not like one bit. Someone behaved quite inappropriately towards me and the way he talked was also vulgar and out of place. This person works in my same department, however I rarely see him (thankfully), as he is in another building. He is also married and knows I have a partner whom I have a home with. Moreover, his wife herself also works in our same department too! (In a third building). Could this make his flirting and overt sexual advances any more inappropriate!??

Anyways, after this episode, I talked to my director and she kind of said it was quite out of place, but to take no notice of it. Fine. This morning, at 7.30am (I was still half asleep), the same guy came over to my office, he closed the door after him, came right up in my face, and tried to kiss me. Now, how’s that for ‘a joke’?

I was quite firm at that point and even raised my voice a bit, yet he went out slowly after I had signed for something, and continued to talk to me with a weird smile on his face, as though nothing untoward had happened… wow wtf. Is it just me? Am I a stick in the mud? Was it just a joke or does this guy seriously think I would have kissed him??

And before someone points any fingers, no I was not wearing anything skimpy or revealing – NOT THAT THAT GIVES ANYONE THE RIGHT TO TRY TO FEEL ME UP!

Now I’m feeling really uncomfortable. Somewhere where I generally spend 6-9 hours of my time every day no longer feels safe, and this is totally unfair. I don’t want to escalate it because first of all, this guy knows ‘people’ and wont get fired or moved for sure, and secondly because if I said anything, I would be the one appearing in a bad light, because I would be a ‘bitch’ who didn’t know how to ‘take a joke’…

Heh… I just hope this guy does’nt come over to our building again and that I won’t see him again any time soon…

Reality vs Fake Airs- Why Write?

I’m not the kind of girl who likes to boast. I don’t play the passive-aggressive card. I don’t like playing the victim in order to get pats on the back. I don’t like putting myself down in public, in order to receive commiserating compliments. I got past all that immature stuff at approximately the age of 15.

It does not mean that I am emotionless or that I don’t have feelings. On the contrary, it means that I only share what I find worth sharing. Moreover, I only share it with a limited number of people I am close to, and definitely not with social media at large. I’m not that desperate yet.

Perhaps it could be that I don’t have the unmitigated urge to display all my insecurities and naggy rages because I have, I admit, always been kind of an introvert. Yes, I communicate and share my experiences through writing, but still I  pay attention to get only as personal as I’m comfortable with. Especially if I’m writing something which, I know, many people are going to read. How many intimate sentimental poems have I written? How many embittered and angry short stories, reflecting my moods and my past, have I penned? How many irritated rants about my disgust and dissatisfaction with the human condition at large have I scribbled? No one knows the answer to this question except myself. Mainly because no one has read them – or if they did, it was only one or two people at the most. This is because, when my heart bleeds and my fingernails gauge half-moons of frustration on my palms, I write – I cannot help it – it is the way I vent what I feel and the way I tick. However, just because I write something, actually showing it to someone is something else entirely. 

I write for myself. I write because I cannot stop. I write because it helps me come to term with reality – ironic as that sounds.

Whether something is floating on a current of social media out there or not, is irrelevant.

I guess it all depends on whether you prioritize yourself as an individual most, or whether you are more focused on how you appear to others. For me, my internal personal life has always been more important than the way others perceive me, how ‘popular’ I am or what a ‘good’ impression others have of me. In the end, I prefer having some friends who care for me for who I really am, than many acquaintances who might hang out with me for any fake ‘persona’ I might project. At least I know that those who love me, love me. In all my silly, eccentric, weird singularity.

Quoting one of (in my opinion) the greatest fantasy writers of all time:

“My immagination makes me human and makes me a fool; it gives me all the world and exiles me from it.”
― Ursula K. Le Guin