On blogging and friends
I've received an interesting email from the friend whose comment made me angry the other day. He said exactly what I expected him to say, and this set me think about so many things at once; I will try and put them all down here, and I hope I can do it clearly.
I started this blog for one simple reason: I have always kept a diary, since I started to write, which means a real hell of a lot of time ago. It used to be on paper, but having had quite a lot of free time at work I had decided to continue writing in my working hours, occasionally, and not in my own language, for the sake of a continuous revision and use of the languages I have studied in my life; in fact, I used to alternate English, Spanish and French, so it was also a useful job. Then I discovered this blog world, and I thought it would be nice to have my own blog, mostly because this way I didn’t need a pendrive, floppy disk or whatever, internet would be enough to record my crazy thoughts. There is no need to say that I write so much that I usually write a draft, first, on Word, so that I don’t have to be on internet for too long, so basically I have two records of the post I publish. You never know. I have informed my friends of this blog because I like them to know what is going on with me, since I am such a lazy person that I never write enough letters, no matter how much I want to.
This blog is useful for me because I can say exactly what I mean: when I talk, thoughts confuse me, they really clog my brain, and I can never say everything, or the way I want, I can never give a proper form to my thoughts; I have always been a lot better at writing, also because deep down I am very shy and oversensitive, and if something strikes me I can simply start crying like a child (it happens when I am really upset, but I get upset very easily, unfortunately, especially over things that concern me). So, when I couldn’t explain my real feelings to shop-a-holic friend, I texted her angrily about it, but then I posted the whole story, and the reason (or lack of) of my behaviour, and she could understand more. Things are never very easy for me when I speak.
Also, I write to remember: my mind is very elastic, I have a fantastic memory; unfortunately, time seems to change my memories (it does so with everyone, I expect), and if I write something down I will have a “real” account of any event, and a permanent record of my feelings. Sometimes, I said it before, I happened to forget completely what it feels like to be in love, or to be really angry, or to be joyful. During my depressive months I was (un)comfortably numb, and this is no joke: it was only work, gym, tv. The band meant nothing, it was my weekly duty, the gym too, the weekends were useless days off that I used for running, out of my strong sense of duty, watching tv, waste time. Nothing had any importance to me. I am glad I wrote about that time, because now that I feel better, although it still stings to think of it, and I feel that I will bury that whole set of (lack of) feeling, because joy, excitement, energy will overwhelm me and I will not be able to remember that I had such an awful time.
Ok. With this in mind, I have thought about that comment. I knew my post would call for such a comment, so it is my fault, I am conscious of it: so I was angry for that comment and I was angry because I had caused it. Then more things hit me, and here they are:
The culture gap, or age gap, or whatever gap – as my shrink said, this is a typical time for a depressive crises because of my age, some sort of turning point; most of my friends are married, some have just had children, some others are moving in with their partners. I have always felt the strong need of a family of my own, ever since I was 15, so it is no wonder that now I feel terribly bad about it, because I am still alone. Also, in my culture this is the common age to get married and start the real adult life, the one that includes a job, a family, you know, the happy set, all inclusive.
Leaving my job awakened me; I am grateful to myself for having the courage to leave it all behind, the certainty of a payslip for the rest of my life, the comfort of a job two minutes away from home, the plan of a single-sized apartment for me. I am grateful I quit, because I was born again. All these years of inexplicable pain were somehow erased, thrown away to start again; and with the new feelings of freedom, of simple joy, a well-known feeling came back. Love is so strong in me. I love my neighbour children, I love my friends, I love my parents even when they make me so angry, and now I probably love Guy. Or am falling for him, I don’t know. I don’t care. Just feeling this hot stream of love in me makes me smile, because this was one of the things I had forgotten, and doubted I had ever felt. So when I said that I really feel the need of a boyfriend, I am not talking of ANY boyfriend: I have been lucky enough as to have some wanna-be boyfriends, but just as we were saying with Chorus friend, you don’t begin a story only because the other one wants you, it must be a two-way decision. When I say that I need a boyfriend, it’s because in my mind I already have a candidate: it used to be The One who must not be named, aka playing partner, and after him there were only passing crushes. Things are a bit different with Guy, because I am different, and the world we are living is different, and we are both grown-up. Adult. About time too. When I was in Swansea, and my mood was really high, I never felt the need for a boyfriend, because there was nobody I was interested in, nobody I could imagine myself with in the future. I guess this is one of my problems: I always look ahead.
Finally, the need of a child: again, it is a matter of age. I have wanted a baby since I was at high school, and I envy like mad my friends who are living this joy now. I remember being angry at one of my friends because she was saying that she did not intend to marry, and children? No way!, and she had been with her boyfriend more than 5 years at that time. Me, single and with little hope to find a partner, I was so angry, for a saying in my language says that “he who has bread does not have teeth, he who has teeth does not have bread”: I wanted a child and had not even the chance of a long-term relationship; she had a boyfriend and children were the last thing on her mind.
Now I think that the baby and the boyfriend are two separated matters: I wish I could have both, but I wouldn’t mind having only one of the two. Of course, if I find a boyfriend I hope he will want a family too (otherwise there is no way our relationship could last more than a couple of years); but if I don’t, there are many ways I can have a child, in the future: adoption, for example, and all that jazz.
And last but not least, and this I found…uhm, I cannot find the word now. I am talking about something else he said, some sort of advice, which made me smile, it was so…really, I cannot find the word, not even in my own language. But my reply is: of course I wouldn’t go around like in medieval times, spreading the voice that I am looking for a boyfriend in order to have a baby. I am not 1) stupid; 2) crazy; 3) in a rush. We often joke about it, but obviously you don’t begin a relationship telling me that you want children from me, come on! And this is probably another culture gap, as in, there must be somebody who actually starts talking about children on the second appointment…but not here.
I wish this friend and I could be better connected: our minds used to be on the same frequency in the past. But now, he finds funny things that are serious to me, and he takes seriously jokes or words I say for fun. Communication is complicated, and made more difficult by experiences that have not been shared, by the difference of culture again, by words not said, by lack of verbal exchange, by meanings implied but not understood, by lack of real knowledge of the other. I don’t know much about him, I’ve never known much, even when we were under the same sky; still, I always think of him as one of the best friends of my life. I tend to be an open person because I want people to understand me and know me as I am, although I keep my secrets, of course.
It’s been difficult to write all this: I have thought about it most of this morning while I was running, and words were clearer then. I feel I have forgotten some important point, or not expressed it properly. Then again, this is a complicated subject, and half an hour of writing cannot really do much.
It was good for me, though.
And now, let’s get down to business.
I started this blog for one simple reason: I have always kept a diary, since I started to write, which means a real hell of a lot of time ago. It used to be on paper, but having had quite a lot of free time at work I had decided to continue writing in my working hours, occasionally, and not in my own language, for the sake of a continuous revision and use of the languages I have studied in my life; in fact, I used to alternate English, Spanish and French, so it was also a useful job. Then I discovered this blog world, and I thought it would be nice to have my own blog, mostly because this way I didn’t need a pendrive, floppy disk or whatever, internet would be enough to record my crazy thoughts. There is no need to say that I write so much that I usually write a draft, first, on Word, so that I don’t have to be on internet for too long, so basically I have two records of the post I publish. You never know. I have informed my friends of this blog because I like them to know what is going on with me, since I am such a lazy person that I never write enough letters, no matter how much I want to.
This blog is useful for me because I can say exactly what I mean: when I talk, thoughts confuse me, they really clog my brain, and I can never say everything, or the way I want, I can never give a proper form to my thoughts; I have always been a lot better at writing, also because deep down I am very shy and oversensitive, and if something strikes me I can simply start crying like a child (it happens when I am really upset, but I get upset very easily, unfortunately, especially over things that concern me). So, when I couldn’t explain my real feelings to shop-a-holic friend, I texted her angrily about it, but then I posted the whole story, and the reason (or lack of) of my behaviour, and she could understand more. Things are never very easy for me when I speak.
Also, I write to remember: my mind is very elastic, I have a fantastic memory; unfortunately, time seems to change my memories (it does so with everyone, I expect), and if I write something down I will have a “real” account of any event, and a permanent record of my feelings. Sometimes, I said it before, I happened to forget completely what it feels like to be in love, or to be really angry, or to be joyful. During my depressive months I was (un)comfortably numb, and this is no joke: it was only work, gym, tv. The band meant nothing, it was my weekly duty, the gym too, the weekends were useless days off that I used for running, out of my strong sense of duty, watching tv, waste time. Nothing had any importance to me. I am glad I wrote about that time, because now that I feel better, although it still stings to think of it, and I feel that I will bury that whole set of (lack of) feeling, because joy, excitement, energy will overwhelm me and I will not be able to remember that I had such an awful time.
Ok. With this in mind, I have thought about that comment. I knew my post would call for such a comment, so it is my fault, I am conscious of it: so I was angry for that comment and I was angry because I had caused it. Then more things hit me, and here they are:
The culture gap, or age gap, or whatever gap – as my shrink said, this is a typical time for a depressive crises because of my age, some sort of turning point; most of my friends are married, some have just had children, some others are moving in with their partners. I have always felt the strong need of a family of my own, ever since I was 15, so it is no wonder that now I feel terribly bad about it, because I am still alone. Also, in my culture this is the common age to get married and start the real adult life, the one that includes a job, a family, you know, the happy set, all inclusive.
Leaving my job awakened me; I am grateful to myself for having the courage to leave it all behind, the certainty of a payslip for the rest of my life, the comfort of a job two minutes away from home, the plan of a single-sized apartment for me. I am grateful I quit, because I was born again. All these years of inexplicable pain were somehow erased, thrown away to start again; and with the new feelings of freedom, of simple joy, a well-known feeling came back. Love is so strong in me. I love my neighbour children, I love my friends, I love my parents even when they make me so angry, and now I probably love Guy. Or am falling for him, I don’t know. I don’t care. Just feeling this hot stream of love in me makes me smile, because this was one of the things I had forgotten, and doubted I had ever felt. So when I said that I really feel the need of a boyfriend, I am not talking of ANY boyfriend: I have been lucky enough as to have some wanna-be boyfriends, but just as we were saying with Chorus friend, you don’t begin a story only because the other one wants you, it must be a two-way decision. When I say that I need a boyfriend, it’s because in my mind I already have a candidate: it used to be The One who must not be named, aka playing partner, and after him there were only passing crushes. Things are a bit different with Guy, because I am different, and the world we are living is different, and we are both grown-up. Adult. About time too. When I was in Swansea, and my mood was really high, I never felt the need for a boyfriend, because there was nobody I was interested in, nobody I could imagine myself with in the future. I guess this is one of my problems: I always look ahead.
Finally, the need of a child: again, it is a matter of age. I have wanted a baby since I was at high school, and I envy like mad my friends who are living this joy now. I remember being angry at one of my friends because she was saying that she did not intend to marry, and children? No way!, and she had been with her boyfriend more than 5 years at that time. Me, single and with little hope to find a partner, I was so angry, for a saying in my language says that “he who has bread does not have teeth, he who has teeth does not have bread”: I wanted a child and had not even the chance of a long-term relationship; she had a boyfriend and children were the last thing on her mind.
Now I think that the baby and the boyfriend are two separated matters: I wish I could have both, but I wouldn’t mind having only one of the two. Of course, if I find a boyfriend I hope he will want a family too (otherwise there is no way our relationship could last more than a couple of years); but if I don’t, there are many ways I can have a child, in the future: adoption, for example, and all that jazz.
And last but not least, and this I found…uhm, I cannot find the word now. I am talking about something else he said, some sort of advice, which made me smile, it was so…really, I cannot find the word, not even in my own language. But my reply is: of course I wouldn’t go around like in medieval times, spreading the voice that I am looking for a boyfriend in order to have a baby. I am not 1) stupid; 2) crazy; 3) in a rush. We often joke about it, but obviously you don’t begin a relationship telling me that you want children from me, come on! And this is probably another culture gap, as in, there must be somebody who actually starts talking about children on the second appointment…but not here.
I wish this friend and I could be better connected: our minds used to be on the same frequency in the past. But now, he finds funny things that are serious to me, and he takes seriously jokes or words I say for fun. Communication is complicated, and made more difficult by experiences that have not been shared, by the difference of culture again, by words not said, by lack of verbal exchange, by meanings implied but not understood, by lack of real knowledge of the other. I don’t know much about him, I’ve never known much, even when we were under the same sky; still, I always think of him as one of the best friends of my life. I tend to be an open person because I want people to understand me and know me as I am, although I keep my secrets, of course.
It’s been difficult to write all this: I have thought about it most of this morning while I was running, and words were clearer then. I feel I have forgotten some important point, or not expressed it properly. Then again, this is a complicated subject, and half an hour of writing cannot really do much.
It was good for me, though.
And now, let’s get down to business.
Labels: friends, the usual chaos
posted by Peggy @ 12:28 PM
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