Sunday, 21 August 2011

The art of?

I've had a writing bug since I can remember. It first manifest itself when I was in primary school - students were given the chance to enter a poetry contest and the winners would have their pieces published in a student book. My poem was chosen - naturally. It was melodramatic and far too complicated, but from then on, I was hooked.

I have a very deep desire to be able to artistically express myself. Being mostly tone deaf and unable to play an instrument or draw anything more complicated than stick figures, I feel that writing is probably the most successful outlet. I feel music deep within me and I have emotional responses to the world, its people, the mundane and trivial as well as life altering events. I know I am not unique in this, but I am desperate to find a way to express it.

I started journalling but found myself lamenting over family and boys and stereotypical teenage nonsense and therefore, gave it up after a short time. I was terrified that someone would one day stumble upon it and ruin my fame (I do intend to be famous in my chosen field at some stage in my life) by exposing me for a "regular person".

More recently I've dabbled in children's stories, but without direction or education I am fairly certain that the stories are entertained by family members purely because they are my flesh and blood. Have I found my calling? Can a life be made out of writing? And more importantly, how do I know if I have what it takes?

Am I as "regular" as I once imagined in this desire itself?

Saturday, 20 August 2011

Bittersweet Things

This evening, my husband and I successfully had our first SKYPE conversation. I wonder if Skype is in the dictionary yet? I read in the newspaper that "tweet" and "sexting" have now been added to the dictionary as they are so commonly used. How odd that our vocabulary has become so tech jargon specific. Anywho...

We had our first skype conversation, after a week of continual texts and phone calls. It was a very bittersweet moment. I was so excited to see his face, to hear his voice at the same time. I didnt expect my reaction to be so full. After chatting and feeling very much as if we were in the same room, it was time to log off the call. I said goodbye. I welled up. It felt like we were saying "airport farewells" again. In my innermost, a discussion was taking place over whether it is better to allow the growth of an emotional distance to ease our time apart or whether to revel in the short minutes of joy.

Of course it is better to suffer at the farewell in order to be connected as wholly as possible to this man - albeit for only short periods at a time.

It does make me realise that life is full of these bittersweet things. And that throughout my adult years I will have choices. Life would be so much easier if we remained removed, guarded or even aloof. But to have the blessing of a life thus enriched? Surely it is worth the bitter pill that sometimes will accompany it? For how can I experience this sorrow unless having first experienced the joy this love brings? So we continue to skype and I am certain I shall continue to cry at the farewells.

Please God give me strength to endure moments this sad, so that I may grow into a wise and courageous woman later on in life, able to face the other bittersweet things that undoubdtedly will come.

Wednesday, 17 August 2011

New Beginnings

I'm starting afresh in so many areas, that I've committed to blogging in order to keep track of it all. Its just so much faster than hand written journals isnt it?

I never imagined 3 years ago when I sat in this chair that I would return to said chair after having lived in the UK for 3 years, having met and married my perfect match and having had my most intense maturity growth spurt to date.

I would not have guessed that I would have gained experience in redecorating, selling a home, immigrating with a spouse, learning to drive on the other side of the road and so on. I have learned to plan weddings, create (though the "stick to" bit still eludes me) a budget, train a dog, cook decent meals, effectively peel (many) layers of wallpaper, run through bogs and mud.  I have worked in great places and fairly crappy places, knowing that the most important thing is just to work. I have had my fair share of trips to the airport's departures and arrivals terminal, faced countless painful goodbyes and joyful greetings as I am reunited and then separated from family and friends.

I have, in short, become an adult.

And so, this new beginning, which brings me back to my most recent past at this place, feels utterly surreal. A woman sits here today, having become a grown up on the other side of the world, ready to start building her own life with more maturity but certainly no more wisdom than she had when she left.

My greatest joy is that I am not alone. I am physically joined by my husband, my team mate and I am more certain today of my relationship with God than I was the day I left. I am not alone. But that doesn't make it easy. It simply makes it...bearable. And so we begin...
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