Nostalgia
What a word.. Nostalgia.. It has many meanings for many people, but somwhow it always gives this daydreaming impression of something that is missing, that we would like to have close, something precious to us. I don’t know why, but somehow I consider nostalgia a noble word, a word that makes people honor the past, no matter what past it was.
For half a year I learned slowly to feel this word, to realize how much feelings can be hidden within. After half a year of blaming my past for being what it is and was, I realized that I miss it. Once it was a nuisance to hear my parent’s voice, because I heard them over and over again.. nowadays it is pain.. the pain to know that they are so far away. And while we are approaching the winter and the nights get cold, I realize that the icy breeze around my feet is nothing compared to the ice tormenting my heart.
I never told anyone, but the moment I crossed the border away from home I started to cry, started to shake all over. I knew that the price for my own freedom, for being who I am, was more than just a hit in the stomach. I had the choice to stay and submit to the laws of the place, denying once more who I am, or to leave and never come back. Never.. never ever.. To be a slave or forsaken.. what would have been your decision?
And while my pride and my fear would never allow me to look back, my heart falls slowly apart, missing what it so fiercely tried to fight. I go on smiling and cheering to all, pretending that I am fine, while in my deepest mind I suffer. As long as they don’t know that I am not fine they won’t worry. As long as I am far they will believe I am fine.. Trying to protect them even if it means to live for months in a car and eat barely anything because the cash gets tight. Trying to keep them in a warmly surrounded ignorance, because those who do not know are worried less than those who do know.. Keeping the head high and mocking about silly stuff to hide the sorrow that tears me apart day by day.
And while I stare at the screen, tears flow from my cheek, thinking by myself that they are somehow sweet when they talk about their frustrating struggle between each other, that they are somehow lovely when they cry me a river about my incompetence and the cruelty of life. I would give so much to be at their place right now.. to even know what it means to be angry about such things. I miss them, I really do.
Nostalgia.. a word that someone should experience before using it.
But it’s too late, I can’t go back…
I can’t go back..
Religion- Mental disorder?
Seems ages that I blogged the last time. Well. Let’s get started with.. I was living in a car for a few month and I am at the moment living quite happily in Warsaw, Poland. So much about my biography, I would like to straight come to the point… RELIGION!
Even though I got baptized, had the first communion and even got confirmed (I love that memory.. Mom: „Wanna get confirmed?“ I: „What is that?“ Mom: „You know, your religious confirmation.. (blabla about definition..) ceremony, little feast, presents.. like communion just this time you can say no.“ And I was like.. presents.. feast.. why not?) I am no fan of believe and such stuff.. Was already thinking about leaving, but since our priest suffers quite heavily under Alzheimer and is allergic on the word „leave“, I spare myself hours of religious monologue without result and wait for a successor. To make it up I kinda try to figure out what I actually DO believe in.. and in my search I found this video, about a guy explaining in a psychological scientific manner that Religion can be seen as MENTAL DISORDER.. No matter if believer or not: try to understand his point of view and if you agree or disagree, please explain me why in a comment underneath.
I like the last sentence though: (shortened and interpreted version) Feel free to practice religion, but don’t willfully spread it on others, especially not on children, since that is an infraction of their (human) rights. If they really believe.. they will get themselves baptized on their own.. and you can still celebrate them there… after all: it is not about the feast (officially).. is it?
Priorities
I was wondering a lot about this word lately.
Everyone has his/her priorities, everyone seems to judge the other’s priorities too. It happened not long ago, that my mother decided to live on her own, apart from the rest of us, so we rarely see her more often than a minute.
My family deals with quite different opinions with that situation:
My sister judges my mother, calls her the one that left the family. Yet whenever the car of my mother is needed, she forgets about her grudge and loves her. Her priority turned out to be not really her mother after all…
My father’s priority was for decades the love to lovely Russian hookers. Now he just can’t get how his wife could abandon him… Yet his priority is to be the victim, pretending to be right about all he did. He tries with all his strength to keep together and rule his family, while he still risks far more than his family and his skin for lovely women that spend coin they don’t own…
My mother’s priority was once her beloved daughter, not me by the way. Now she feels free, far from the duty of being a mother… and even if for showing her love to her children, she once in a while meets with us, she still would move every appointment with us to help other, barely known women with nasty husbands.
My granny is protecting her beloved son, the one and only poor soul, whose witch-wife left, while she had to stay.
… So in the end we come to me… what are my priorities in this family… ? I thought about it quite a while, but I could find no answer… So I went further and tried to figure out what family and its priority is… and I came to the heavy conclusion, that this family is no longer a priority of mine.
