Miss

Misunderstood. Not sure if for sending mixed signals or lack of empathy and communication… as a foreigner I face some sort of misunderstanding and misinterpretation on daily basis. And let me tell you something: it’s exhausting. Despite of my pretty good level of expression, higher than average vocabulary where I can cover even more complex, abstract and scientific topics as well as idioms and collocations existing only in the non native language, I still seem to find myself when I have to describe what I mean, to explain, to extrapolate.

It makes me think that maybe my command of the language isn’t as good as I imagined. Maybe it’s because the other participants involved are in such mindset that doesn’t allow them to look over any potential errors and mistakes and filter the message beyond those. Maybe they don’t want to. Maybe they can’t. I’m not asking for pity. Or patience. Just open your mind, broaden your horizons.

Funnily enough, similar thing happens with my tattoos. For sure, first glance might trigger just a basic image. One or two very distinguishing features can lead one astray. So I have this very simple, almost minimalistic Sword of Justice tattooed. It’s a sword with a bowl hanging from each end of the cross guard. There are few finer details. Alef in the middle of the cross guard, symbols of Sun and Moon on the bowls. Spiral tied grip. Light and dark halves of the blade. Has anyone ever mentioned Sword of Justice? No. Only if I was born under the Libra sign… I’m Cancerarian. Ankh and Scarab is mistaken for Christianity and interests in entomology, Raven for Phoenix..

Are assumption and prejudice guilty? Ignorance? Lack of empathy? I don’t know. But I know that all that shaped me. I’m always looking for several points of view. Different perspectives. Understanding. Empathy. Narrow mindness is frowned upon in my world.

 

 

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All The Red Strings.

Once in a while I’m going back to my roots. To all the places that were my homes at the times. 
To the small town in the west of the country, nestled in the hilly landscape with forests and woods all around, where I grew up. 
If I have time, I might pop in the old spa town where I tried to learn how to adult and failed thanks to my teenage “know-it-all” attitude. A place of most of the “first times” and “rebellions”. But I haven’t been there for ages.
Another stop is in the beer city in the south. There I finally learned how to adult, I found my first proper job, I studied uni as my dad wanted me to, I was blessed to become part of amazing group of friends who shaped me immensely.
However, I’ll never skip that dreamy village where it seems as if the time had stopped. I found there my second family and great love. And equally great heartbreak. And even though the bond that originally tied us together is gone with my lover, the family will always welcome me with arms wide open.
All these are in my heart forever. With all the people I loved, with whom our paths had to part years ago. 

But there’s a tiny red string still connecting our souls.
It’s been a year since my last visit and an awful lot changed in my life. Breakup/escape from one sided relationship, wild times as a party animalI as a reaction to it, seeking a shelter in a girl’s heart, saving Dragon slayer and The Broken Man so I wouldn’t have to think about my own damaged armour, Christmas just by myself- and then, finally, when the old year died off in the fireworks, the Moon-of-my-life found me, hugged me so tight, that all the little pieces fell in place once again. 
But there are still the bright red strings attached..
In the home town, there’s The Chivalrous Knight in shiny armour dwelling. To this day he says that one day, at the end, he will marry me anyway. It was a young love, yet very fierce. And our red string survived even the stormy time of anger.
The citadel of beer is connected by many red strings to those who I was young once with. We all moved on by now; so some strings faded and some strings were worn so thin that they snapped. And there was one which I thought that doesn’t exist anymore, but only during the last visit was found… yet it caused no more pain. Never more. 
And then there is this particular string. To the family that I was almost part of. This one is strong and tricky, woven with love, laughter, tears, pain, betrayal, joy, understanding, sentiment. Nice and neat weave with few knots marking the struggles, binding me to my One in Million. 
The New Moon in Cancer just passed became the point where we reached the full cycle of running and chasing each other. Dust of the years has been brushed off and the air has cleared. We spoke. We sat at the ‘altar’ by the old oak in summer breeze, overlooking ripples on the golden field of ripening wheat. We run our fingers over the knots and we forgave each other. Now there’s only love and peace between us again. The crimes from the old days are gone and great memories have risen from the shadows. 
I am not yours anymore, you are not mine anymore. Never more. That’s why there’s Raven sitting on my shoulder. That’s why there were three others seeing us off.
Never more.

On Transformation and Illusion. Daily Prompt.

You know all those big radical changes and turning points in sense of caterpillar, cocoon, butterfly. And you’re like whoa man, what a progress! Love it!

But what about the everyday illusions of transformation?

I went to TEDx event in Hull. The theme was Illusions. I met a guy there, performance coach, whom I spent all the breaks with. We chatted a lot, discussing impacts of speakers. After Corina Taylor’s speech, where she talked about anxiety and perception, we reflected our own experiences, I suddenly, without thinking spat out:”Well why do you think women wear makeup and certain types of clothes for certain occasions?”

“It’s a trick, an illusion, because sometimes the full transformation would do more harm than good. Take for example women in high positions, with their high hair up dos and padded shoulder jackets, to imitate male archetypes. They need to be tough players in the hard competition in business. But after the deal is sealed, they can go back to loving and caring mother character.”

“Or when they want to be femme fatale, with red lipstick and seductive eyes – makeup and laces will do the magic more than track suit and messy bun. But can you imagine her being predatory female 24/7? You wouldn’t enjoy it, would you?”

So we transform into whatever is needed, either full time or part time. Whether it’s illusionary or real.

 

On Tiny Cracks Filled With Gold. Daily Prompt.

There’s a Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum, called Kintsugi. As an art it carries a philosophy of embracing the imperfect and instead of hiding the damage, it highlights it as a part of the history of the object.

Like scars, that pink smooth reminders you loved, lived and took the risk..

..like that time when he went to seek attention from another girl, because you weren’t there for him when he needed you. Your heart exploded. But you picked up all the pieces, put them together and fill the cracks with gold made of forgiving yourself and him as well.

..like that time when you promised yourself to be more careful and didn’t do that nosedive, but slowly, one inch at the time, build up the love with all that tolerance and space he needed, but ended up broken again, not making it up to his top five priorities, even though he genuinely tried. So you went again and poured more gold in the cracks.

..like that time you had to make that difficult decision in woman’s life and then spend three days crying and tearing your own heart, hating yourself for what you had to cast away, but knowing it’s for your good. When all the tears dried out, you added some more gold to the new cracks.

All those tiny little cracks, webbing your heart, filled with gold every time they open, will tell your story. And one day it will be story about The Heart of Gold.

Shine. Photo Challenge.

Shine.

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Last year I went for a hike, you know, to get my head sorted. Casual 14-miler through nature, almost 3,000 feet (yup, three bloody thousand feet) of ascending and just about the same to climb down. During the descents from Twin Cairns I found this stone river. Having the sun overhead, it left its mark on the picture 🙂

 

And just for fun, because I’m not sure if it’s visible on the picture, but there’s a root of a rainbow, kissing the sea and disappearing in the clouds, I’d say in the middle of this pic 🙂

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Scarborough, UK. 2014