Goodbye

I have been shocked today. I have been told that my father’s business partner and family friend of twenty years, passed away last night. He had been suffering cancer since 2003 and told no one other than his family. It saddens me to know of the many lives he touched over the years, the lives and people whom he affected, and they have no had the opportunity to tell him how grateful they were for his presence in their life. If I know anything about him at all, it is that he would have wanted to die with as little fuss as possible. Without being a burden on anyone and without being remembered as a frail shell of a man he once was. How can you be disappointed with that?

 

He was a constant figure in my life for as long as I can remember. Ron was Ron. He was dad’s friend and business partner. He was a customer of mine and he was always very proud of the successes I had and the way I had conducted my business life. I grew up knowing this man not only to be a man of very dry humour, but a man who was incredibly successful, smart and kind and someone with whom I could joke with when we spoke on the phone.

 

I write this post in his memory and can only hope that he is now free from the pain of the cancer which had been attacking his body for the past seven years. I am grateful that the last memories I have of him are as a virile man, proud and poised and not that of someone suffering the life sucking disease which is cancer.

 

In memory of Ron Hoolihan.

Who am I?

I have often pondered the reason for my existence. Last night, was yet another sleepless night where I suddenly realised I can no longer remember what it felt like to kiss the last person I thought I may have been in love with. It was an odd experience. I couldn’t remember the way he smelt, the exact blue of his eyes or the way his lips felt when the touched mine. It was the most freeing and yet saddening feeling. I should not feel sad, I should be happy. I should be thankful that now, finally, nothing reminds me of him, and yet, I felt saddened by the realisation that I can no longer remember. So I sat, on my balcony, smoking a cigarette (which has become a very naughty past time of mine which I am I am stopping again now) thinking who am I? Who is this person who can no longer remember what it felt like to be kissed, really kissed? And I came to the following conclusions:

 

1. I am 5’4” and curvaceous
2. I have light brown hair and hazel eyes that sometimes turn a shade of green when I cry.
3. I am cute. I am not beautiful, pretty or stunning. I am simply cute.
4. I love to write and it has become the only place where I am truly honest.
5. I have terrible self esteem and I panic.
6. I like to think I am able to control everything, but am slowly realising this is not the case.
7. I used to believe I could change people….you know, those shitty boyfriends, but the truth is, you can’t. The world has room for diversity; even the shitty boyfriends have their place.
8. I have only been in love once in my life, and it’s not enough.
9. I will tend to find a reason why a relationship can not work, as a way of subconsciously running away from it.  
10. I will also tend to be awful to men who like me so that when they leave, I can blame myself for not being good enough. If I were good enough they would have stayed.
11. I am a terrible sister, aunty, sister-in-law and daughter and wish I were better at it.
12. I love first kisses, the excitement, the unknown, the electricity…. I don’t like familiar kisses.
13. I can turn away from people very easily.
14. I am a fabulous cook, and find solace in being able to create something that brings pleasure to others.
15. I have idiosyncrasies which borderline on OCD, and I secretly hope someone will find them sweet and endearing one day.
16. One week ago, I turned into that girl… I found myself thinking about a wedding I will probably never have.
17. I have the ability to be unnervingly kind and generous, but can also be very cruel.
18. If you hurt me, I do not forgive easily.
19. My heart is fragile and is able to be taken far too easily.
20. I want the dream.

The dream

Wet met in the spring. The sky the kind of soft blue your eyes never forget. It was picturesque, like a movie, showing our first glimpse of one another in slow motion. The soft breeze moving my hair and my lips seemed redder than normal that day. You look at me over the top of your newspaper, and I tilt my head downwards, to avoid the knowing look in your eyes.

 

Café in the Piazza San Marco. We never spoke, we didn’t need to, your eyes said everything, and I knew I had to turn away or my soul would be yours, forever. I wonder if you read the same line of your newspaper over and over unable to concentrate on anything other than the ruby stain upon my lips. I know I was unable to get out of the deep blue wells of your eyes, they sucked me in and I dove under wanting to be covered by you; within you.

 

I while away the morning sipping espresso and taking small dainty bites of my Florentine. I am trying to be a lady, alluring, and mysterious, but I fear your eyes may have already seen through the façade. Your eyes have pierced my skin and the clumsy girl/woman has already been revealed to you.

Does love exist?

Does love exist in the coolness

Of night?

The damp, wet corners of a soul

That has been lost and sold?

Does love exist?

 

Does love come in different shapes,

And sizes?

Like clothes that have been worn once

And then discarded?

Does love exist?

 

Does love take on a particular hue

Like the fresh green of morning?

A happy day in memory is yellow,

Sometimes it is red,

Is love like that?

Does love exist?

 

Does love exist in the whiskey

Fuelled haze of a bar?

A club?

A social gathering?

Does love taste soft like pinot or full bodied

Like shiraz?

Does love exist?

 

Will love exist for me in the form other than my family,

My friends?

Will love find me in the night

And stare into the iris of my eyes

Scaring and yet yielding me all at once?

Will love exist for me?

 

Random little wonders

As Italy draws nearer and nearer, I find my life falling somewhat short of fabulous. I feel stuck, suspended in time, and I wonder if it is not this place, here in Australia that does not suit my life anymore or my life which does not suit Australia. I have a wonderful, yet somewhat unfulfilled job. It’s easy. I don’t have any stress at work, it does not challenge me, and yet, it suits me. I like that I am able to come to work and not worry about everything that needs doing today. It’s simple, and simple is what I need. But I still feel suspended. I am neither moving forwards or backwards and I need something more.

I never believed in a woman’s biological clock before… until it happened to me that is. I never thought it would. I never thought I would one day wake up and decide that now would be the perfect time to get married and to start a family but it has. I woke up one morning to the realisation that my life is incomplete and that I want all those ordinary things that make your life extraordinary… The problem is, I don’t even have a boyfriend, how can one get married and commence the life of couplesome when you have not the other part of the couple?

I wonder if I am disapointed to have become a woman, and I think not. I thought perhaps I might remain a little girl for the rest of my life, but it appears I have grown up. I’ve built myself a wonderful life, and I am filling it with the love of ones self and family, and it seems that it is now ready to be shared with another. And whilst the thought of actually sharing all of this, all of me, with another human being was the scariest thought that had ever entered my mind… now it seems to be the one thing I want most of all. I want something stable and familiar and wonderful.

I thought this would never happen, not whilst my life was such a mess anyway. I never thought that softly, slowly I would change. I would shed all those layers and be somewhat naked and raw and ready to begin again. And yet being able to begin at 30 seems exactly what I need. I am no longer a small fragile little girl caught up in women’s clothing, instead they now seem to fit, and I am a woman who is no longer wanting to remain small and fragile. So it finally happened, and all I can feel is wonderful.

Clueless

I have a theory about men who like to talk about sex on the internet…. It’s not really a good theory and is probably a massive stereotype, but I will press forth. You see, I am beginning to come to the assumption that most men who contact you via online dating sites and Facebook, generally only have one thing on their mind, and it’s certainly not getting to know you.

 

Facebook is possibly worse than online dating sites… and I am beginning to think that perhaps I have a beacon that attracts these sorts of losers. You know, the ones who want to divulge their explicit sexual fantasies and desires to you the first time they chat to you. The thing is; is that the internet tends to remove those boundaries of personalisation. You can become whoever or whatever it is you want to become without fear or embarrassment, but I wonder, how can these people not have any regard for consequence? I mean, for me, the first thing I think about when someone says these things to me is “is this really appropriate?” I mean if we were in a pub or a club, would he bounce up to me and tell me “he would like to go down on me?” as opposed to “Hi my name is Dave?” There appears to be no boundaries when it comes to the internet and I, in my rapid approach to becoming the “ordinary woman” (the woman who wants to get married and have babies) thinks that this sort of business is extremely inappropriate.

 

Perhaps it was because I was brought up differently. I don’t kiss and tell and I certainly don’t divulge my desires and fantasies to complete and utter strangers. Perhaps I am a prude or naïve to even contemplate that these “men” actually want to get to know me… because it appears they might only want to “know” me in the intimate sense. So what do I do? The old me would put up with it, thinking they’re just men and this is the way men behave… and yet for some reason this does not sit well with me now. Now, now I delete them as quick as I can. I want nothing to do with men who treat me as an object in which they’d like to stick their dick into. It’s not enough any more. I want the whole deal now. I want it all.

 

So my theory is this… men who talk about explicit sex within ten minutes of having added you to their friends list are idiots. Complete and utter tools that lack the intelligence to know what a woman really wants. These men are the rodent faeces at the bottom of the barrel and the fact that they actually think that speaking to a woman in this demeaning manner is somewhat a turn on to us… are completely and utterly CLUELESS!

The reason why

I don’t want to be your excuse to leave;

or your inspiration for a brighter day

and it’s not that I don’t think that this could

really be something;

but you only want me the way you want me;

and it’s not enough.

 

So can we skip the goodbyes?

Forget about the regrets that will linger

Long after all the little white lies,

And I know I reason the why

You are still there

You are still there.

 

You say the happiest I will ever be is with you;

But as close as I get to you

It will not be the same because

You’re still there;

Still safe in your current mess

And it’s not enough.

 

So can we skip the goodbyes?

Forget about the regrets that will linger

Long after all the little white lies,

And I know I reason the why

You are still there

You are still there.

 

So I steal our show;

And you do your best to cover the tracks you’ve left

and you wonder why;

Why this time I lived with my head and not my heart;

You and I,

We know the reason why.

 

So can we skip the goodbyes?

Forget about the regrets that will linger

Long after all the little white lies,

And I know I reason the why

You are still there

You are still there.

 

 

 

I finally get it

Could I actually have been so stupid to believe that perhaps, perhaps this one was not a liar? I stood my ground, remained aloof and strong, knowing that this was simply not going to ever happen to me again, and it appears, for the first time, my instincts have done me right. I took the higher ground and stuck by what I believe to be true and then it vanished. It realised I was not that girl; I would not take part in ruining what was claimed to already be over. And when I was told that perhaps I would be the last push they needed in order to finally leave, I knew, I knew I was just an excuse, a reason and that my instincts had been right all along. I am no longer the girl I used to be and it amazes me every day the strength of character I see emerging and I am amazed to find that I actually like the person I am becoming. I am starting to realise that the things I always thought not possible actually are possible, and all that was required was to believe. To believe that I deserved better and that what I was being offered, simply wasn’t enough for me and if it isn’t going to be enough now, it will never be enough, they will never change. I would now, much prefer to be single and alone (yet strangely not lonely) rather than lowering my standards and accepting what is not enough or what I do not want.

Dating

Dating; I can’t do it anymore. I can not take another casual meeting filled with awkward silences. The dodging calls, the idea that perhaps this one could be the one and the hope you inadvertently fill yourself with. I’m done. I can’t date anymore losers or I fear I may become so completely disillusioned with the male race that I will start viewing the possibility of a relationship with a woman as highly appealing. Secretly, I can’t take the pompous attitudes with all their constrictions, rules and conditions. Like the one who wouldn’t date anyone over a size 14, as life is simply much easier when you’re under a size 14. Seriously, the whole dating thing makes me question who it is I am and whether or not I am actually good enough to be going out with these men. Then there is the whole rejection thing. Rejecting is so much easier than being rejected. I had some write to me only to say ‘I’m sorry, but you are too big for me.” Another told me I was “a bit on the hippo side”. When did a size 14 classify you as a hippo? I wonder what the common man’s expectations are of women. What counts, what doesn’t? Are the only single men left in Sydney, single because they are looking for an exact replica to Angelina Jolie or Scarlett Johansson. I wonder when we all became so cruel. Do we secretly find pleasure in belittling others in our conquest for the “perfect” partner? Is there even such a thing as a “perfect” partner?

 

I have become so jaded by the whole experience that I fear it may have turned me off dating for life. I mean seriously, the whole experience is God awful. You spend an hour preening, plucking ensuring you are completely hair free where you’re supposed to be and your eyebrows are immaculate. You wash and blow dry your hair, and spend at least 20 minutes staring aimlessly into your wardrobe wondering what dress to wear. You paint your toenails and you expertly apply just the right amount of make up to be sure that the look is minimal, chic, Hollywood star as opposed to Goth/Emo, I have four days worth of eyeliner caked onto my lids! Dating is like the modern form of torture. How much is too much and what is not enough? Do you try to fill in those awkward silences or do you simply sit there and wait for it to pass?

 

I have never had the idea of a “perfect” partner. Hey, I was the little girl who never dreamed of her wedding and her house with the white picket fence and children running around. I never wanted any of that stuff as a child or even as a young adult, but now that I am fast approaching 30 these “ideals” have actually started to become things I would one day hope to posses. I’m not saying I am desperate to get married aka Muriel’s wedding style, but it would be nice. And if I look at this “ideal” and it doesn’t happen, I’m not going to be devastated which makes me wonder why I am forcing the need to find a partner? Perhaps I don’t need a partner. I certainly know that I do not need a partner who will make me feel inferior or less of a person right from the start. How can you build a relationship based upon fear and insecurity? You can’t, so I have decided I am better off alone, well OK perhaps not alone, but better off not looking for a relationship.  

Prologue

Life, like human beings, is perfectly flawed and it is what makes it unique and beautifully different for each of us. As I have grown older the way I view life and my life in particularly has changed. My views have grown as I too have grown and the things that once used to define the very personification of who I am have been shed, left only to reveal a raw, untamed and sometimes frighteningly beautiful woman.

 

But life has not always been this way for me. I was once a creature of the darkness, haunted by a past which would continually resurface time and time again to re-open old wounds and leave scars upon my skin. Life had a way of leaving me feeling battered and washed-up upon the shore, and the sudden rush of darkness and pain of what I saw within myself was enough to push me further into a hallow abyss of self loathing depression. A suffer of abuse induced depression, life was always dark and at times I would find other ways to welcome pain. It was what I deserved, it was what I wanted. But there comes a time when we are faced with the stark reality; we have a choice to make; we can continue to live in the shadows of a life we can no longer control, or we can chose to take control. We can choose to step aside from the pain and instead, turn it into something other than a victim.

 

This is the story of my life. This is the first time I will write of many things and the first time I will expose myself with such raw animosity, self depreciation and also the imminent rise we must make if we chose that we actually want to make something more of life, of ourselves. This is my story, and perhaps I do not tell it as it actually happened, perhaps this is only my memory of it.