The Women in My Life

(True story, biographical.)

“How do you know you’re at peace?” I asked my mother once, in my teens. She told me “when your masculine and feminine stop fighting each other, when you stop fighting yourself, that’s when you’ll find peace.” So I asked, “which side should I be then? Which one wins?” My mother smiled and said “figure it out.”

I watched, trying ever so hard to understand how my mother could be so at peace despite everything she had been through as a mother. Then I looked at both her sisters, and realised they’re made of that same metal that makes my mother who she is. Naturally, it made sense to get to know my parents’ siblings better so that I could better understand them…

In the last two years, I’ve learned that mother’s younger sister has been doing remote work from home for almost as long as I’ve been alive! What my generation aspires to do, she’s already an expert. Last month, I discovered that mother’s older sister is one of the first women who ever wore trousers as work attire in corporate London, back in the early 80’s. When she told me this, it hadn’t even occurred to me that there was a specific “skirt / dress only” dress code.

“We were supposed to only wear skirts to work,” my aunt told me, “but skirts can get very uncomfortable, you know. So one day I put on a pair of trousers because it was more comfortable. Next thing you know, other women start doing it too. Eventually, it just became accepted in our company (Ernst and Young).”

I reflected, and pondered: it stood to reason that the strength came from my grandma. With R20 (USD 1.50) in her pocket, my grandma moved the family of ten (five went ahead, I was told, the other five came later) to the city in the 1960s during the apartheid in South Africa. As a family, they never let the Apartheid become a factor hindering them from just living their lives. When survival is your main focus, and it slowly seeps into the “norm”, you learn to embrace the better parts of life.

My grandparents always opened their homes, always welcomed those in need. Though they didn’t have much, they gave what they could: love, shelter, and a hot cup of tea. They didn’t discriminate who came through the doors. They were loving, but they were tough.

To the kids, they were very disciplined, from what I was told. Swearing warranted washing your mouths out with soap, dishes had to be cleaned immediately after dinner. Beds had to be made and tucked in completely, without an angle sticking out anywhere (although, I was recently informed that bed-making was my great grandmother’s rule). Disciplined, but always out of love. They knew that as long as the kids were disciplined enough to later be self-disciplined, then they would be able to take care of themselves.

They were right. And so it continued in the family line. I see it in my mother, I see it in how she is with our family. I know it comes from her family, that strength, that unity, that togetherness. The way she always did her best to stay strong for all of us when we were all falling apart; when we’re at our worst, she’s always the one motivating us, holding us up, comforting us and letting us know that “it’s okay not to be okay, as long as you get up again when you’re ready.”

My mother is the strongest woman I have experienced. She taught me everything I know and more, at least by providing the platforms where I, too, could become self-disciplined and self-motivated. I am where I am (literally) because yes, she birthed me, but also because she is the one woman who has always, always been there for me, through thick and thin. The one who has lifted me when I was down, but humbled me when I was arrogant. The one who can fight me when I need it, and calm me down when I diverge.

I am strong because my mother is strong. She is strong because the women in her life are strong.

So how do I know that I am at peace?

Because my masculine energy and my feminine energy are no longer at war.

I am a person, a human. A human with strength, both inner and outer; a person with emotions, both aggressive and passive. A human with weaknesses, both external and internal; a person with flaws, both on the outside and on the inside. A human with motivation, both physical and emotional; a person with compassion, both expressed and empathised. I am not perfect, but I am balanced, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted to be.

Balanced, and equal.

Within myself.

Peace
Mikavelli

The Lie Is A Beautiful Thing

You heard there was a party tonight and I’d be here,
I just saw you lookin at me even though she’s here.
I’ll do it better than her.
~Mattisse~

Sitting in a coffee shop avoiding the rain, simultaneously updating this blog whilst waiting for work to commence, the sudden realization that if all goes as planned, this time next year I will be halfway across the world venturing onto my final year of a degree. Plans are in progress, and yet the reality of it though seemingly indistinct, is far more pressing than one could have realised.

Though this new “journey” comes with overwhelming expectations (both internal and external), the apprehension that comes with a new level of discovery is both petrifying and invigorating. The thought of leaving my comfort zone behind in hopes of  allowing a better, brighter career is tempting, yet the thought of giving up my independence is threatening my sanity. Alas, sacrifices must be made before a brighter future can be ensured.

Nonetheless, new developments have been made. As an alleged summer fling progressed into what might call a “secret affair,” the thrills and joys brought by such an unexpected frisson goes far beyond anticipation. As stated many times before, a lie is a beautiful thing ruined by truth.The same way a fantasy is a beautiful thing ruined by reality. People want the lie. They need the lie. Here are some examples (according to Barney Stinson)

  • Telling someone you’re 25 when you’re actually 30. Guys wanna hook up with someone fresh and young, and the thought that you’re 25 makes you all that plus more. Soon as they realize you’re triple decades, it’s over.
  • Not knowing the person you’re hooking up with is someone your ex slept with. The knowing kills.
  • Telling someone they’re gorgeous even if they’re (lets face it) barely average, just so they’d sleep with you.
  • Having your partner convinced that you’re faithful / loyal, even though it’s evident that you’re the biggest playa on the block. The lie: you’re committed. The truth: you can’t stand having strings attached. BUT the lie is what keeps them happy, and keeps you getting laid.

These are just some basic examples of why the lie is a beautiful thing. People want to hear what they wanna hear, and the only way to get what you want is to give them what they want to hear.

Truth leaves everyone in misery, the lie is what keeps a smile on their face.

The irony: this is all true. Had this twisted reality been left perceived as a lie, everyone would be happy. Now that the truth has been unleashed, the world will continue in its belief that we are all being lied to.

Notwithstanding, we all love the lie, so long as we never find out.

Heaven holds a sense of wonder
And I wanted to believe that I’d get caught up
When the rage in my subsides
~ Delirium ~