I come from a very staunch Catholic family. My aunt has a life-sized picture of herself receiving the host from the pope. My grandmother prays with a rosary blessed by the pope himself. My mother goes on pilgrimages to the Vatican and Lourdes. I have visited other denominations and loved their services but I remain Catholic.
As a kid, I remember my cousins and I dreading evenings where in my grandmother and great-grandmother would get together for prayers. This meant that instead of the customary 5 decades of the rosary, we were going to be reciting all 15. For over an hour, we would sit there droning on like perfect little soldiers 150 recitations of Holy Mary mother of God pray for us poor sinners now and the hour of our death amen . We took turns saying the leading Hail Mary Full of Grace the lord is with thee, Blessed art thou amongst women and Blessed is the fruit of their womb, Jesus. We used to joke that it must be something about old age as it seemed like they were always praying. My more cynical cousin used to say they were trying to pray themselves into heaven. When asked to join the prayers my uncle once said Continue reading
I ride a motorcycle; a dangerous but exhilarating activity. Every time I put on my helmet, I acknowledge that it may be my last. It is often said about motorcycles “There are two types of motorcycles: one that has never been dropped and one that will be dropped.” I am still to drop my bike but I am aware that it may happen someday and while I do hope that I live to stand up on my two feet, I recognize the danger therein and face it none the less because I love to ride. I believe that the best way to die is to die happy which is why before taking up riding motorcycles, flying was my favourite pastime. I know that were my plane to ever crash, I would face it calmly. Once on a trip to Mexico, we experienced very disruptive turbulence and my aunt woke me up in a panic asking how I could sleep through the disturbance. Simply put, I was not afraid to die. FYI, I am terrified to die by drowning. Or burning.
Anyway I digress. I have always wondered where my sense of the morbid may stem from and I am going to have to blame my father. He was the one who while at the dinner table would steer the conversation towards a discussion of what would you do if your parents died? At first I was offended that Continue reading
As I get older, I get smarter and it scares me. I understand situations and decisions better than I did when I was kid and although I know that this is inevitably the course of nature, it still catches me off guard when it happens. One of the biggest revelations I have had in the past year is that as much as parents spend their lives trying to protect their children from pain, hurt, anger and any negativity, so it seems that children are born with an innate sense to protect their parents from ill. Of course there are exceptions to the rule like Continue reading
For some periods of my childhood, I believed I was adopted. My parents were hard on me because they believed as the first child I would have to be responsible for my siblings. Throughout puberty, they existed solely as a necessity machine: money, food, clothes, shelter. As I meandered out of my teens and into the twenties, we would go through intermittent times of strife and then bliss. Of both my parents, my mum was the disciplinarian and I had a hard time bonding with her in any way growing up. It has only been in recent years that we have grown closer. It did not happen under the best of circumstances but I am glad it happened. My mother has become my staunchest supporter and the little things she has done for me have been priceless: cooking for a get together I had for my friends, getting up early to make me breakfast or cooking a meal for me that I requested. They might seem minute but I would never have imagined the mother I knew growing up would ever do that. Continue reading
I am so excited! I just ordered a wok from Amazon and I can’t wait to start using it. I am on a journey to a healthy life and discovering my true potential so I am hoping cooking with the wok will open a lot of possibilities for me.
It has probably been over a year since I journalled properly. I hate feeling like I am too lazy to journal because there is something to be said for being able to look back on one’s life in one’s own words.
My cousin had her baby last night and my grandmother officially became a great grand-mother. I have wanted her to become one for so long one would think becoming one would prolong her life. I think it has to do with the fact that I met my great-grand mother and have such wonderful memories of her. I hope my neice gets to create some memories with hers.
Every time I get on my motorcycle, I am very aware of the fact that it may be my last ride. However, I enjoy riding so much that going while doing something I love is the best way to go.
I promised myself that this year I would restrict my travel to countries I had never been before. So far, I am striking out.
I wonder how long before my cousin heals from her surgery enough to do my hair? Did I mention I am in love with my hair?!
My mother flies in tomorrow. Yay, I finally get to stop eating out!!
I just finished writing a review for Kiosco in Marietta and I figured it would also serve as my writing for the day but I cannot access it to post in my blog as I decided to do something different. Writers are supposed to be an artisitc bunch but I could never figure out what else I was good at artistically besides writing. Growing up, my dad always had a camera around. He was always taking pictures and as with lots of practice comes skill, by the time I was in my teens, he was a pro at photo taking. This intensified my interest in photography but only in the last couple of years have I really pursued developing said skill. Therefore, I present to you, the jewels of my photography treasure trove!
The blend of old and new – New Orleans, Louisiana.
America invades Aruba – Oranjestad, Aruba.
The first sepia picture I ever took – Palm Beach, Aruba.
(Black and White beautifies it all.) The sun sets on Palm Beach – Palm Beach, Aruba.
Thanks to my sister I spent over 3 hours last night looking at hair porn. Hair porn for you non-initiates is hair pictures and videos one watches and lusts over. YouTube is my favourite stomping ground for hair porn and I can spend hours on end surfing from one video to the next lusting and wishing the hair in those videos was mine.
Any who… I happened upon a blog which suggested that it was a throwback to slavery for white people to reach out and touch a black person’s natural hair without permission. Okay. Hmm… I know it takes a lot to offend me but I think comparing a person’s admiration or curiosity for one’s hair in a state seldom seen in society and especially on TV is a long stretch away from said person assuming that you are their slave or property. Let me start by saying, I love my hair. I am pretty much in love with it! I think it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I wish it were longer but it is getting there, nevertheless, I think it could classify as one of the 7 modern wonders of the world….okay maybe I exaggerate a little or maybe not. That being said, I am not surprised but actually flattered when someone reaches out to touch my hair. I know that it is because they are curious about the texture and also fascinated about how it looks. So slavery? I don’t know.