And so, I was introduced to Def Poetry at Ideacity, where Vanessa Hidary read "The Hebrew Mamita".
True, Def Poetry is nothing I would transcribe in my diaries, or try out myself (did you know? I only love practicing Victorian era English literature, and it does help my English. Much. Just like Shakespeare’s sonnets, that I love dearly).
This resulted in some further youtubing, and some pretty diamonds in the rough discovered. And then this bit turned up on my screen:
Really?!
Forgive me but I was aloof to the idea that other people experience it in this two-part story way, too. See, my friends are strong people and give me Part 1, full stop.
So you say it is possible, and quite alright?!
That the Ass Clown Extraordinaire that robbed you of your sense of self and dignity, was also a sweet fair weather "boyfriend" (so much of a boy, so little of a mindful friend) who just “did not know any better”?
Awwwwwwwwwwwwww! Game changer, I guess.
Alright! Confession time! As it is the daring confession that ends the speech after which the grave gets finally closed. So five years ago today, I got under another to finally get over the first, and, in the following days, on top of the world (the latter, for the first time in time in my life! By the way, nothing empowering in that). I am one of those people for whom sex, hm, means love till the end of their life. To hell with modernity, this is how it was meant to be from the very beginning! Finally breaching that with another person was reaching out for freedom, accepting that I was allowed to have made a mistake with the first choice, and hoping that there will be no need to die for the second time. Now you understand, my friends, why you saw a picture of something that would be reminiscent of death herself – on my face – twice.
Relax, considering that it takes a double of what relationship lasted to get up on my weak and shaky legs and learn to walk on Earth again, chances are I won’t go There again. Or if I do, I might physically not survive another instance of It, should I encounter a mistake, not a man, again.
So, Universe, I don’t think there was anything to learn there. Thanks for the chocolate at ICA test. It should have ended right there right then. Why didn’t anyone write it on the sky – FAIL – while I sat silent in the bus, dinner and darn chocolate in my arms. That will be a 5 years old antics in a couple of weeks, too.
I will take care of myself, I promise.
I had promised to have a summer like this last year. So maybe now. Maybe next year. Life will be long and boring, and I’m keeping my bod nice and healthy, so I’ll get there. For now, let me throw it to the trash, that PhD in Him.
