like a caged dove
beating feathered wings
a shining light beneath
a calm, silky ocean
It strains my lips
they pout, and move
silently, then they smile
it will escape, to fly and soar
amidst gasps and incredulous joy
But not just yet
for now, it is mine
and his. Alone.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that it is much harder for a woman to reach orgasm than it is for a man.
It’s a fact – nearly all men climax without difficulty, and yet women seem to need more attention and more effort on the part of their partner to reach the pleasure peak of the so-called Big-O. So much so in fact, that until a few decades ago, doctors even believed that it was scientifically impossible for most women to reach this sexual climax at all. In certain cultures, those who actually did were sometimes even considered to be unnatural by their husbands or partners.
On the other hand, nowadays we get a totally opposite yet still wrong picture through porn and the media, which portray women orgasming vociferously and vigorously multiple times as a matter of course. Unfortunately, reality is quite different!
Not all of us are automatically turned on every time we’re confronted by an excited male, nor is it so easy to reach sexual gratification just because someone squeezes our booty or jumps up and down on us a couple of times. Yes, women can reach orgasm too, but no, they do not reach this sexual target as automatically and easily as men do.
Why? Because apparently while men only seem to need a visual and physical stimulus for them to reach a certain state of excitement, women also need a mental and/or emotional stimulus.
There are two types of orgasms. These are vaginal orgasms and clitoral orgasms. Sigmund Freud, the father of psycho-analysis, used to believe that older women had vaginal orgasms, while younger and more immature women had clitoral orgasms. Experts no longer believe this. However, Freud was right in thinking that there were two kinds of orgasm. This was also maintained in a study published in the Journal of Sexual Medicine in 2013, which showed how ultrasound tests revealed that the two kinds of orgasms – clitoral and vaginal – differ in blood flow and sensations produced.
French gynaecologists Odile Buisson and Emmanuele A. Jannini tracked blood pressure and patterns as it flowed through the female body and organs, and they saw changes in blood flow during different types of stimulating contacts…
This article of mine was published on EVE.COM.MT – Please click here to read the rest! http://www.eve.com.mt/2016/11/29/the-female-orgasm-fact-vs-fiction/
Have you ever been curious about your partner’s ex? Have you ever felt even just a little bit envious of the times they shared with your beloved, the way they knew him when he was younger, or perhaps different from how he is today? Or worse, have you ever suspected your partner might still have feelings for them, or that what they feel for you may not be as strong as their past relationship?
Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca (1938) is a novel which explores such feelings. It is a book about obsession – not the obsessive all-pervading feeling of love, but the obsessiveness of envy, hate, and the morbid fascination of a wife for her husband’s ex. Rebecca, in fact, is not as one might suppose,the name of the narrator, but the name of Mr de Winter’s first wife. The deceased, elusive, sophisticated, beautiful Rebecca, whom the reader, and in fact the narrator, never meets, but who nonetheless haunts every page, every moment, every thought.
This novel was groundbreaking in its time, and still continues to be so for a number of reasons. First of all, for example, the actual name of the narrator and main character is never mentioned. We always hear her being referred to as “the second Mrs de Winter”, but we never get to know her real name. This is very important, as it denotes that the narrator herself suffered from such low self-esteem, and gave herself so little importance, that her own individuality is barely glossed over in the overall scheme of things. Another factor is that the narrator, we realize, is not actually the real main character.
The main character is in fact Rebecca.
When the young naive narrator meets and marries Maximilian de Winter, the wealthy landowner of the notorious mansion of Manderley, she knows that he’d been previously married, and that his first wife had died in a boating accident some time before. This however leaves her unprepared for the fact that back home at Manderley, all the servants, neighbors, and acquaintances still miss and look up to her husband’s first wife – a peerless socialite, beautiful, intelligent, brave and helpful. The perfect woman, wife and partner. Her husband won’t speak of her, and flies into a rage every time she’s mentioned. The housekeeper emphatizes the fact that Mrs de Winter had always wanted things managed just so, as though she’s still there, and Rebecca’s clothes, her monogrammed stationary, even her room, is left untouched. The house is still hers, as is the neighborhood, and the narrator comes to believe that even the man she married cannot possibly have gotten over his previous marriage. She feels like everyone is comparing her to her predecessor, and finding her wanting. The novel is beautifully written, rendering the reader to empathize with the narrator, and slowly becomes convinced – as she does – that something is not right and not quite as it seems.
The rest of this article was published on EVE.COM.MT and can be read here – http://www.eve.com.mt/2016/11/12/rebecca-by-daphne-du-maurier-a-review/
Halloween also called All Hallow’s Eve and Samhain, this Autumn festival historically marks the end of harvest season and the beginning of Wintertime. Celtic and Gaelic traditions saw huge bonfires lit, as well as celebrations to mark the occasion. This is where the practice of dressing up comes from, since costumes were supposed to keep the cold, dark, evil spirits at bay by confusing them. It was the last festivity before the onset of the coldest months.
Today, we’re fortunate enough to live in a time where electricity, air-conditioners, heaters, and a marked jump in health institutions are enough to keep most of the cold chilly darkness under control. Nonetheless, we still celebrate Halloween. Apart from the usual parties, costume competitions, pumpkin fairs and trick-or-treating, many also take the opportunity to watch some good old horror movies to get into the mood.
Here are a number of some old favourite movies which I always make a point to watch during this time. These are not films of the slasher-horror type, but rather those which I associate with childhood, and which always leave me feeling of good cheer. Definitely ‘must-sees’ for all those with children and for those who can’t handle scary flicks!
The Tim Burton Quartet – The Nightmare before Christmas(1993), Corpse Bride (2005), Beetlejuice (1988) and Edward Scissorhands (1990). Tim Burton’s work is just perfect to watch cuddled on the sofa while a heavy rain lashes against the windowpanes. These dark fantasy movies are all, somehow or other, centred around Halloween. The first two mentioned are animated, full of catchy tunes and delightful characters. In fact, the ghouls, ghosts, skeletons and monsters aren’t scary at all. Although all of these movies are targeted at children, they also have dark sinister meanings which only adults will be able to appreciate, and which have nothing to do with Halloween and everything to do with the society we live in; a society which can be cruel and intolerant, and end up pressuring people into doing what is acceptable instead of being happy with their own individuality.
Hocus Pocus (1993) – I must admit, the Sanderson sisters have always been my favorite media witches. Especially Bettie Middler, who’s somehow perfect in her rendition of an angry yet funny medieval witch, who after being burnt at the stake, comes back to the present to take her revenge. Unfortunately, she and her sisters are totally unprepared for today’s world, not to mention today’s children, who are much pluckier and smarter than the ones she was used to.
The Addams Family (1991) – The stories of this eccentric, affectionate clan who don’t care what others might think about them have always been close to my heart, and the 1991 rendition with Angelica Houston as Morticia, Christopher Lloyd as Uncle Fester and Christina Ricci as Wednesday is just perfect in complementing Halloween. The Addams seem to live in a perennial Halloween all year round. Their neighbors think them strange, and society tries to shun them. And yet, they love and care for each other, especially when it matters the most.
To read the rest of the article, which was published on EVE magazine follow the direct link:- http://www.eve.com.mt/2016/10/26/halloween-movies-for-the-faint-hearted/
Are you afraid of old age?
Ever since I can remember, it was not the thought of death which really terrified me, but of actually growing old. The thought of not having complete control of my body, and not being able to function in a self-sufficient manner, has always been a nightmare. I hate depending on others and being a burden, and the knowledge and certainty that someday, this time will arrive (if I do not die young that is), has always terrified me.
When I was nineteen, my grandfather, who was a writer, a poet, and a very intelligent man and whom I loved very much – had a stroke. He ended up in a wheel-chair, was not able to move the left side of his body at all, suffered from incontinence, and had to be lugged about, washed, cleaned, and taken care of by his two middle aged children and their spouses in order to survive. Day and night. Every day. For years. He begged us to let him end it. Twice, my mother found he had dragged his wheelchair to the window and was trying, ineffectually, to jump. Since assisted suicide is illegal in Malta, and since we didn’t want to let him go, we aborted his attempts. He suffered immensely for two years. And then, he had another stroke. A worse one, which caused him to actually forget who we were. I don’t even want to go into the agony I felt when my grandpa, who had been so independent, witty, and wise, who had survived the war and taught me to love books, reading and knowledge – didn’t even know who I was.
Anyways, after four and a half years of terrible pain, my grandpa died. I know that for him, this was a relief.
My grandma, his wife, is currently over 80 years old. She suffers from severe arthritis, can hardly walk, is almost deaf, and blind from one eye due to a botched cataract operation. She is lonely and misses my grandpa a lot. All she does is cry, swallow her pills (she has many of those), and pray. I love my grandma, but I know she is waiting for death. And that terrifies me.
It terrifies me because when I look at her, I see myself, as I will be, in some fifty or so years. It seems far away now… but time is short and flies quickly… and someday, that part of my life will arrive…
It does not bear thinking about…
FINALLY a moment of peace! Been so busy these past few weeks! In a good way though! Lol actually in a VERY good way.
And here I must admit to something. Something which actually I am not ashamed of, since it makes me reflect about how amazing my life really is. The confession is this – unfortunately this blog is not a priority in my life. Shocked? Well it’s the pure truth. Yes I adore venting and communicating random feelings and thoughts here. I love making friends and i’m flattered by the numbers in the stats section which show the popularity of my little random tit-bits of writing. Yet these past few weeks have made me realize how much is actually going on in my life and cherish the fact that I have so many vibrant priorities to continue fostering.
What have I been doing? Well apart from finally travelling extensively within the Scottish Highlands, the Hebrides and Scotland itself and enriching myself in the process, I have been writing like mad, taking amazing photos in order to hold such memories forever, updating my home and abode and also getting more and more writing commissions… which apart from being fun to research and write, are also starting to bring in some concrete cash (more than the usual tiny sums I mean).
You may notice that I referred to writing twice. This is because mentally, i tend to divide my writing into 2 different categories. Creative writing and commissioned writings. I enjoy them both but in truth it is creative writing which lets me give vent to my imagination and inspiration. After all, this is what writing is all about! And as another writer once said ‘A writer HAS to write’ (referring to Lucy Maud Montgomery) – it is not something one does to follow some agenda, have followers, or appear in the lime light. A writer cannot NOT write if you get my drift. About everything. Every day. Which is why i feel that this blog is not a priority. I never publish any of my pieces here – not the original real writings which reflect my heart and soul. That’s because there is no real copyright on publicly hosted blogs. I also actually rarely put on articles which i have written under commission, and when i do i always paste the original newspaper or magazine link too. So, after all my creative writing + commissioned writing (more and more such jobs are cropping up lately), I admit that I hardly have time to dedicate to this blog. Though sometimes, like today, i actually glance in here a bit 😜
Going back to my latest travelling adventure – each thing learned, historical place visited and experience made, only served to further inflame me, birth new ideas and inspire more writing. All is stored up in my head and heart for now, but will come out soon enough! P.S all the photos interspersed throughout this post are ones I took in Scotland.
And of course, all this emotion, passion, curiosity and fascination with life, is all wrapped up together with my love for my soulmate. That all pervading, mysterious, funny, ever-growing love, which makes all the days and nights so much richer. In the end, what can be better than seeing and travelling the world? Doing that with the one you love of course! And what can be better than writing? Writing while knowing that the one you love is there, in the next room, waiting to cradle you in his arms and kiss your lips when you are done.
So, confessions apart, if you are reading my blog – this is what you will get. The wild meandering crazy thoughts of a girl who’s too busy and mashed up for comfort, but who nonetheless is prepared to offer an honest and clear-cut opinion and perspective. Not in an effort to attract attention or appear as something she’s not, but in the pure desire of being herself and reaching out to like-minded creatures.
P.S For those who were wondering, though I did sail on Loch Ness, unfortunately, Nessie was not to be seen 😛
So, last January (on the 19th to be precise) I wrote a blog post on this page reiterating again and again that I would never, ever publish my own FB page on online media. Obviously, I ate my own words this week, since my professional freelance writing FB page went up yesterday. lol
You can find it here btw, if you want to like and follow – https://www.facebook.com/MelisandeMoonsong1/
Be my guest haha.
Whatever. No one’s infallible.
Thing is, I was browsing along a couple of Freelance-promoting websites, and they all said the same thing – if you want to promote yourself and your writing acumen, you’ve got to have an online portfolio.
This spate of interest on my part came after the CEO of a particular new local Maltese publishing company contacted me through (surprise, surprise) Facebook, and asked to see my blog. Yes THIS blog. Which, to say the least, is hardly professional, since I mainly use it to vent my own personal idiosyncratic irritations. And then it hit me – apart from my actual work, these poor people looking for a language-wise writer have no means of actually finding said gem. Unless of course, s/he is pointed out to them by ‘common friends’, or the like.
Thing is, I had never actually thought of freelance writing as a ‘career’. Not consciously at least. It just… well, happened. I like to write. Some people knew that and contacted me asking for a sample. They liked it, and were willing to pay for more. Time passed, and more people read my stuff and liked it. They contacted me, wanted a sample… and bla bla, there you have it! I never really set out to actually earn MONEY from it, if you know what I mean, but now that I’m on this cruise, which I actually like and enjoy, I may as well learn how to steer the boat, right?
My primary job, as well as mode of income, is still my day-time qualified job. However earning that something extra by doing something which I enjoy doing, is of course, awesome.
As a side-note, I’ve learnt that this type of freelance writer is called a ‘Moonlighter’. A ‘Moonlighter’ is ‘ a professional with a primary, traditional job who also moonlights doing freelance work. For example, a corporate- employed web developer who also does projects for non-profits in the evening.’ Neat right?
Got that from THIS website btw – https://benrmatthews.com/definition-freelancing-changed-meet-new-5-types-freelancers/
Anyways, I’m going to paste this again JUST IN CASE you did not bother to click and visit the page the first time round. THIS IS MY OWN PAGE – PLEASE FOLLOW! https://www.facebook.com/MelisandeMoonsong1/
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.
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