Friday, June 14, 2019

When the stars go blue

Dear future hubster,
where do you go when you're lonely?
When you can't find your place,
when you can't find your peace?
Do you look for it everywhere?
Do you wait for it to come to you?
Do you go quiet when you hurt? Is that how I would know?
Does it hurt when you're quiet,
when you feel like you can't talk,
when you feel like you don't know what to say,
you don't know how to say it?
Do you try to fill the silence, so you don't hear your racing mind?
Do you try to listen to the silence, try to hear the answer?
Do you hide out, waiting for the dark grey clouds to go away?
Do you hope to be found?
Do you know I'm trying to find you?



Thursday, May 30, 2019

A girl is a lucky one

Dear future hubster,
By now you should have somehow realised that your future wife is a bit of a traveller. You might have also noticed that although I am one to go with the changes, I might not necessarily be one who enjoys them immensely (to put it mildly). Probably because I ache to belong? But I also ache to be recognised, appreciated, wanted, and if it doesn't happen, I get itchy to look for it elsewhere.
Luckily, I'm not the only one. The upside of being one constantly on the search is that there are many others, and the more I move around, the more of them I know. And the best thing that can happen to anybody arriving to a new place after having left everything behind yet another time is to know that somebody is already there.
Somebody of the same tribe, somebody who knows how it feels, how it's exciting and terrifying and shiny brand new and sad and funny and joyful and overwhelming and bizarre. Somebody who doesn't ask the big whys, just tells you the little hows. Somebody who, by their simple existence, can prove you that yes it is possible and you will be just fine, and at the same time knows without saying that it's bloody hard and it might take a while until you're actually fine.

Eventually, you become that somebody. And when the next one arrives, you're grateful again that you're not alone, that your experiences, although personal to you, are not unique. You're not that special.

You might not see these people very often, or ever again, but the moment when they were there remains an important one. A melodramatically bonding one. We just don't talk about it much, because we are these cool strong brave people (what all of those things mean is a story for another day).

So until you come around, dear future hubster,  and we can do this nonsense together, I will keep relying on and being deeply grateful for these people. And once you're around, know that you and I, we are going to be those people.

Wednesday, May 1, 2019

Star damage injuries at that

Dear future hubster,
although we've established long ago that I only purchase clothing items I can put on and take off without external help (which often means thoroughly examining the zipper and its accessibility, on some occasions, it would still make practical sense if you were around. When I forget what the Caribbean sun can do to me, and as a consequence, I need to attend to my injuries in the weirdest places, for instance. 

Thursday, April 18, 2019

Applicable not only to medieval churches

Dear future hubster,
the term "taken for granted" is so overused that we don't really think about it much anymore. We might know what it means, but we're not stopping to try to revoke how it feels. 
Probably because it is not a good feeling. When we realize we have been taking something for granted is usually the same time we realize it is under threat of being lost, destroyed, or otherwise taken away. We might also realize that we haven't exactly been appreciating it as much as we should have and do now that it's under threat. It's not that we're ungrateful, but when something or somebody is part of our daily reality, it seems pointless to imagine a life without them, and also somewhat unnecessarily painful. Why would we torture ourselves with the thought of living without something that we can't actually grasp losing?
Still, dear future hubster, things, people, relationships, places, habits, comfort zones, they all get lost destroyed, or otherwise taken away sometimes. Being in constant fear of losing them sounds like a terrible idea; spending the available time enjoying, appreciating, and thanking them, a much better one. 

Sunday, March 17, 2019

No need to rock. Or to be one.

Dear future hubster,
when your future wife feels like her life is a carousel spinning out of control, when all the things once wished for and then forgotten come at her all at once, and sometimes even ones never wished for, when all decisions need to be taken, except that by the time they are taken they are also outdated and need to be put on hold and/or reconsidered, when she feels so dizzy that she just wants to hold onto something, and preferably sleep through it all, not only because she's a natural conflict avoider but also because the continuous turmoil her mind is exposed to drains her body from all energy -  when you see her in that state, do you know what to do?
Just hold her. Her world is spinning and her head is a very noisy place. Hold her, close, tight, steady, until the noises quiet down and the spinning stops. Be her anchor.
For enhanced results, you might turn on the fake fireplace you have on your TV.

Monday, March 11, 2019

You might throw in a drawing or two

Dear future hubster,
so far, I have used the fridge to stick disputably useful notes, love messages, and tacky magnets.
But you know what? It may be about time to get a whiteboard in my kitchen. One of these immaculate, big, shiny and reassuring boards, where all thoughts, plans, wishes, grocery shopping list could be easily displayed, prioritized, and catalogued.
I have the impression that my head is becoming too small for everything I want to fit in it. Does it ever happen to you? Or is it something that only us women have been blessed with?  This capacity of thinking about three different things at the same time, while doing at least another two completely unrelated tasks at the very same time.
Anyway, when you come home you will probably see me drinking wine and scrabbling on my board, trying to get some sense out of the week's schedule, my ideas and the bureaucratic deadlines.
Get some wine and a marker, and help me cross out the things that you will do, those we will do together and those that do not need to happen for my mind to be at peace.

Sunday, February 17, 2019

To take your heart away

Dear future hubster, 
some days, all I want from you is to talk to me. Talk to me with all the words, beautiful in their sound, beautiful in their meaning, beautiful because you say them to me. 
We can build our own fort in the living room, our fort of words. You build the walls, I'll bring the furniture. You make it stand, I make it cozy. And then we move in, to our fort of words, and read them to each other. I read your words back to you, you read my words back to me, until we no longer know who said what and it doesn't matter because it's all warm and soft and safe and we never want to leave.

Sunday, February 10, 2019

My lava cake is as good as theirs

Dear future hubster,
you know how every Valentine's day I roll my eyes and say something like #FutureNotFlowers or "Send a girl to school"? 
It wouldn't be any different this year - were you around - as I would tell you that instead of spending an evening in a restaurant crowded with couples either smug or uncomfortable, getting probably overprized food while trying to not judge everybody around us, we should offer the same amount of money to do something good with it.
Thing is, we can. Thing is, I already have. Not only because you're not around so I don't need to look for heart-shaped business card holders or edible underwear, but also because you would like this idea, and you would donate too, and then we would have sent two girls to school. 
We can make dinner at home. I'll wear red if you'd like. 

Monday, February 4, 2019

In every single way

Dear future hubster,
that "believe in yourself" mantra, I think that's a bit of a myth. Some people never lost their initial, unchallenged belief of their worth, but the rest of us, we have to learn again.
And it doesn't just happen because you keep telling yourself all the good things. Even other people telling you all the good things is not going to make you believe. If you're a fellow beneficiary of the impostor syndrome, it might just make you feel like you're faking everything. 
What does make a difference though is when people tell you things without those nice words. Unplanned, instinctively. When they look at you and it's obvious that they see beauty. When they giggle uncontrollably. When they wake up crying from a bad dream, and they tell you what it was about. When they ask you important and complicated questions because they are certain you know the answer. When they count on you because they know they can. When they show up for you on small days, not just the big ones. 
Those firework-less, no-big-word, almost unnoticed moments: they make us believe that we're worth it, whatever 'it' is. 
I just wish there was enough of those moments for all the beautiful broken boys and girls with loud ugly voices in their heads telling them nonsense. So that they could also see their beauty. And maybe one day even start believing it. 

Monday, January 28, 2019

Dr. Grey recommends it too

Dear future hubster,
ever since Dr. Simon recommended that I dance to my own beat when stressed, emotional, overwhelmed, or simply need to express things I have no other way to express, I have been practicing rather regularly. I would describe my style as a mix of all 3 belly dancing moves I know, some good old headbanging, shaking everything Mother Nature gave me to shake, some poor imitation of line dancing moves and what I think should be polka if it was more elaborate, some jumping and fist-pumping and pointing other people do at concerts (where I normally just stand still), and of course dramatic moves to accompany my stadium anthem singing. You might refer to it as "versatile" if you ever have to discuss it. 
Now why I'm telling you all this is because I want you to be warned: whenever I take a second Monday off and say that I don't have anything special planned, please know that most likely you will come home to some kind of soup enough to feed the Dothraki hordes, but also please know that this is not an invitation for you to come home early or unannounced. 
Should you do so, you might find me in the kitchen, working on those soups and making a mess. Or in the living room, following Dr. Simon's advice, dancing it out. Probably naked. 

Sunday, January 20, 2019

Get lost and then get found

Dear future hubster,
working in flexspace teaches me many things, and routinely disinfecting every morning is just one of them. It shows me, if occasionally somewhat forced analogies with life in general.
It is probably not surprising that I have a selection of tried and confirmed locations where I like to sit. It is definitely not surprising that I do not like being told where to sit. It is understandable that untried locations feel like they are outside my comfort zone, and I only move to new ones on days when I feel I'm up for a little challenging stretch. 
Now there are days when I move far away from my usual locations. Maybe for more quiet, maybe for more pleasant climatic conditions, maybe for discovery.
Or maybe, just maybe, sometimes I withdraw just to see if anybody would notice I'm not around. If anybody would make the effort to come look for me. 
Almost like saying "You're missed".

And maybe not just at work.