Beneath your Beautiful.

My husband (bless him) has had to deal with me loosing my cool with him a lot lately for taking photos of me when I am not looking. He doesn't understand my reluctance. I tell him I don't want my RBF (Resting Bitch face) on record and he tells me I am beautiful RBF or not (lucky me).  Still I am unable to give legit reason to why I don't want the photos.

I have had for a while now dreaded passing by a mirror and making eye contact with my reflection because I don't like what meets my eyes. The gained weight, the ratty dragon head locs, the blotchy complexion to name a few are just the little things. The thing that bothered me most was the haunted look in my eyes that refuse to hide even behind a genuine smile.

Most of you know I relocated from Italy to the USA recently....well it's been almost two years and I am still having  a hard time settling in. It's as a result of a combination of various reasons - Long story for another day.....

But giving up the life I knew, the friends I had and the family I created to come to the unknown with no guarantee of being accepted into the new was on its own unsettling. What made it all worse is that I come from a culture that encourages you to see the green grass on the other side of the fence as the nudge you need to work on and create an equally if not better greener grass on your side of the fence. So I came here with the thought of creating home, there I stood, looking for inspiration at the greener grass on the other side of the fence, and wondering how to recreate it here until I realized that greener grass was in fact the side of the fence that I used to be, and my first and lingering thought after realizing that was "What the heck did I just do??"

Unfortunately, I am as human as they come, I trust the devil I know better than the angel I don't know. So holding unto the safety of the familiar made it harder to take on the new, heck I would have to let go first right? But it was hard. Every which way I looked to  find something remotely friendly here to grab unto returned a frightening vacuum and that didn't help as there were other matters that demanded care.

Some of us don't have the good fortune of living through life in bliss. There is a murkiness of the mind that sometimes requires a lot more than a friendly smile and the happy-go-lucky fellow beside you telling you to simply suck it up because calmness and clarity of the mind is simply a matter of choice.

So slowly I started to spiral deeper into that dark place. Not good at all. This is my story of course and I have many such stories in the past too. Point is, when one arrives at that cross roads with a strong urge to retreat to the familiar simply due to the overwhelming fright of the unknown ahead, that fear will find its way to the surface of your visage until it nudges almost comfortably in the depth of your eyes. That is what I see when I look in the mirror lately. It has a rather annoying way of being contagious to the rest of your face until you almost have a permanent RBF when not smiling.

I'll digress a bit here....RBF is simply Resting Bitch Face (nope, I didn't come up with that one). Now that is that face we wear, or sometimes see on other's faces that looks like you are pissed off at something/someone when in fact you are just minding your business and NOT smiling like you normally would do. But behind every RBF there is a story.

So, back to what I was saying, everything I explained above is the reason behind my RBF, that isn't to say every RBF you see out there is struggling to settle in or is dealing with a murky mind or needing to retreat to the familiar. There are countless stories out there that touches one's core deeply and then rises to the surface until it shows on our faces. Point is, not every seemingly angry face IS angry.

Yes I am dealing with a very murky mind right now, I am having a hard time settling in and badly feeling a need to retreat to the familiar. And believe me, it takes a lot of spunk for me to even admit that to myself let alone tell you all. You see, where I come from, such a proclamation will have people whispering behind cupped hands and nodding at your direction with a knowing look. That bothers me.

Now I have lived in three continents (9 countries), you'd think by now I should be cosmopolitan enough  to have shed some of my initial reactions about what is and what should be, after all, we all see the same thing differently depending on what part of the world we are looking at it from and how it relates to our culture and tradition. So I should know that it IS OK to say I am not OK, yet it is still very hard for me to say that even if only to myself.

But you see that is not even all of it. We have turned into a society that are too much in a hurry to slow down and listen. I can't remember the last time I have had a conversation with someone that was genuinely interested in hearing what I was saying. The form of conversation we have adapted is the sort where we feel that every opinion has to either be agreed with or argued. We have forgotten the simple act of listening and simply taking in what was said. I am guilty of that too, unfortunately.

And it is also the reason why I have had a facade that can be deeply deceptive; it makes me come across as cocky and sure-footed. I cannot say what I would like to share because no one is listening, and if I don't come back with a witty reply to someone's opinion, I am considered non-engaging or at worse docile, So I carry my murk with me like everyone else, looking natural and feeling like a snail with its shell.

I have a very busy mind, i think twice as fast as I talk and as a result I have a hard time articulating what I mean when I talk - people close to me will confirm that. I say EVERYTHING twice in the same sentence (not in the stuttering sense, just repetitive). It is frustrating especially if I am trying to share something important. There is always a lot of details to it and in fear of not wanting to bore the listener, I summarize then repeat it. It doesn't convey the point any more by the repetition.

So people that know me in person know that I surf the surface when I talk, the best way to get details and clarity about anything with me have me write it....I digress. Anyway, we all have different coping mechanisms for dealing with the load inside. I write. But I won't go into details here.

I like the song by Labrinth (Beneath Your Beautiful) because it so clearly shares what I wish we all can do with each other - dare to push beneath the surface and reach the person inside that needs to relate and pull them out, because it is as simply an act as it is extremely effective and it helps start the healing process.

So with all said, the reason why I hate photos of me when I am not expecting it is because I don't want recorded memories of my RBF face, because each haunted look holds a loaded story I don't care to make a memory of.

I am lucky to have had a Labrinth moment this weekend in New York. All I can say is friendship is a rare thing but it also is a great thing to have when found. I didn't  do a good job of conveying the murk I wear; I only managed a few repeated in-cohesive summaries but I felt listened to for once. It felt great and that alone took the edge off my RBF. I guess the husbter can look forward to taking stolen photos again soon.

So as you wear your RBFs do remember that a shift always happens when you aren't looking. Nothing is forever. So while you ponder on that. I leave you with LABRINTH

Enjoy,

BAD MOTHER.

I am a bad mother.

He told me so in not so many words.

It can be seen from the sorrow the child demonstrates,

From the frustration she feels when she confronts the unknown

Or the impatience she shows for learning the new.

It is okay to feel sorrow, frustration or impatience,

And so is it okay to remind her to rise above it all.

I am a bad mother.

He told me in not so many words.

Because of the sorrow I feel for the things I have lost,

Because of the frustration I feel for the raised walls,

For the impatience I show for the lack of empathy.

I don’t need permission to be sorrowful, frustrated or impatience

And it is okay to exhale and carry on.

I am a bad mother.

But that is his opinion, not mine.

©Naan Pocen

Lost Fellowship/Red Sweaters.

Red Sweaters mean moving on,

And I am wearing one because he’s gone.

I look at that familiar face

And occasionally it breaks into a smile

While he looks at me.

His eyes don’t see me though

He is looking at something beyond me;

Something that draws him

And he smiles at it and is lost.

I talk to him but he doesn’t hear me.

He is hardly aware that I am in front of him

He never has anything to say

It feels like my presence pains him.

He avoids me.

He is right beside me but his soul is gone

I don’t know where to, so I can’t follow.

I pulled my red sweater tighter around me

Exhausted at groping in the dark,

Frustrated at the aimless wander

And saddened for the lost fellowship

That never was.

So I set in search of a fellowship

Don’t know what will become of us though

Will this be one more bridge crossed?

Or will it be another burned bridge?

©Naan Pocen

FOR THE PAIN TO NUMB.....

It has been a week now, I think, since I woke up to the news of Oscar Pistorius shooting his girlfriend. I had told “A” as soon as I could and he was quick to disassociate himself with Oscar. Actually the communication went like this;

Me - Your Pestorio or whatever his name is, is in the news for the murder of his girlfriend.

A - Indeed - we've been hearing that all morning... He's South Africa's guy, not 'our's' - we were all too happy to hold him up as a hero until today. Sad though about his gfriend...

Me - Ah! now that he has a 'criminal' tinge to him he is south african, but it was ok to boast about him before now, as though he was yours? what changed?

A - He's represented South Africa in the Olympics...

Me -  I know that

A - so he was never 'ours' we just held him up as a great example of an amputee who did well... lol

Me - whatever.....

The story was news worthy in the sense that it made absolutely no sense at all. ‘Why would a high profiled person at the top of his game with a rather bright future ahead of him do this to himself?’ was what I kept asking myself.

I went on facebook and an idiot had already written a feature on the case with his own conclusion that Pistorius’ girlfriend had brought it on herself and the base of his argument was that she was rather good looking. I surfed the internet, just like I believe countless others did, to get more info about what really happened.

If it wasn’t for “A” I probably would never have known who Pistorius was, I am one of those boring few that have below zero interest in sports, and since I have stopped watching TV for the past two years now, I probably would still be ignorant. But “A” spoke of him often enough; he sort of put him on a pedestal for being a good example of what greatness one can achieve if one doesn’t let ‘handicap’ be our handicap.

Slowly, the news started to come in. First it was that the shooting was as a result of assumption of an intruder, then that the murder was premeditated because of a fight that had ensued between the couple. Two ex-girlfriends had conflicting accounts, one painted him a gentleman, the other painted him an abuser. Someone insinuated Steenkamp was in a past abusive relationship as though to show that she was drawn to abusers. There was even an interesting feature by a south African journalist that talked about the Oscar no one hears about – an Oscar with a ‘dark side’.  

Still I didn’t get the sense that these assumptions were made with a 100% certainty of claims; I got the impression people felt the need to take sides and to do so fast.

Anger and judgment started to stream in from all directions, mostly from people that didn’t know the couple personally nor had enough info to serve a verdict. The bulk of what I came across said he was guilty and should pay. And I had asked myself, guilty of what exactly? I mean it was obvious from the moment the news came out that he shot her, that much we all gathered. So was he guilty of shooting her? No doubt. 

When more info came through, there was his admission of having intentionally fired the shots, so yes, in that sense he is guilty.  Was it premeditated as the prosecutors are trying to claim or was it instinctive as his family (and his statement of the incident) is claiming? We all will have to follow the case to decide that based on evidence/arguments etc. Should he pay? How can we quantify payment for a person’s life?

The more I hear/read about the case the more I grasped what Christ said at the stoning of the adulterous women “He who has no sin should cast the first stone”. Now before anyone is quick to condemn me for the audacity, what I simply mean is that besides the people that are directly involved in this (Oscar Pistorius/his family and Reeva’s family) none of us have the right to pass judgments based on our sentiments alone. The news is still too fresh and there are too many conflicting facts for anyone to really know what really happened or what intentions really were. What we are dealing with right now are assumptions, two faced facts and emotions.

I have no personal interest whatsoever in this case. If the court decides to send Pistorius to prison, my life will not get any better or any worse in anyway by that. Neither will it be if they let him go. I look at photos of him that have popped up since the news, and I see a boy - a very frightened boy.  I have asked a countless times.

·         How can a person as famous as he is, with the sort of fear of intruders he claimed to have, had not have thought of installing a security system that can alert you if there is an intruder on your grounds?

·         What went on in his head all these time that he has had guns about him, waiting for that intruder? That he would shoot and hopefully life will go on?

·         Didn’t he or any of the people he surrounded himself with see it fit to talk about the implications of owning a gun? IT KILLS!! I will assume he knew that already…..

This is not an attack in anyway on Pistorius or on anyone that feels the need to own a gun for self-protection.  Being at the offending end of a tragedy, one would want to ask all the difficult questions first and I can only imagine he and/or his friends and family already have and are still asking, albeit they being his support right now and he needs all the support he can get too.

 If this shooting is indeed a fatal accident as claimed, only goodness knows what hell he is going through right now, being responsible for the death of someone he is supposed to love. No ‘what ifs’ will erase what has happened. No regrets will bring Reeva back, no prison verdict, or pardon for accidental shooting will heal the pain everyone is feeling right now……on the other hand, I know first-hand what it feels like losing someone that you are close to and think they deserve to live many more years NOTHING can justify their death no matter how logical.

I can’t even begin to imagine though what Reeva’s family is going through right. She is gone and nothing we say or do can bring her back. Not even condemning Pistorius to prison or whatever it is the self-appointed judges out there will think a justified ‘pay back’ for this tragedy should be. I can say for certain if Reeva was my child or my sister or someone closely related to me, NO EXPLANATION WHATSOEVER will be good enough FOR ME, to accept this tragedy and let it rest, and NO PUNISHMENT will take care of the pain. 

However I am not going to condemned Pistorius. I do not and cannot pretend I understand the sort of fear that makes one act first then repent at leisure. THIS TRAGEDY, TO ME IS A SENSELESS ACT. Yet if I was his friend or family, I would want some sort of grace bestowed, no matter how small. The argument would be two wrongs won't make a right. Although the opposing camp will dispute punishing him, a wrong. Whether this was premeditated or instinctive, it is obvious that the frightened boy inside this man is aware of what has happened, whether or not he understands the implications.

I watched a small clip of Reeva’s  speech on the reality show she participated in, in Jamaica, it was a very brief clip, but it was enough for me to decide that I find her likeable.  I can see why people that have known her (even if only through the media and not up close and personal) would want Pistorius to pay for her life.

The saddest thing is a society that is so violent with so little respect for life that one would feel the need to be armed for self-protection, knowing fully well your self-protection is someone’s death.  I am not an advocate for gun ownership; I am yet to hear an argument about why gun ownership should be protected. But I don’t live in a society where there is that level of fear of violence that a need for a gun is as strong, so I cannot pretend or even claim comprehending what it feels like to be crippled with the sort of terror of intruders that would merit wanting/having a gun.

If this had happened in the USA, I suppose it would be a strong argument for those that are against the right to gun ownership – the perfect example of what can go wrong with that sort of self-protection – that is assuming of course Pistorius acted on instinct based on fear of an intruder as claimed.

While the rest of the world are divided, for or against Pistorius for this tragedy, one thing is certain, his life, and the life of Reeva’s  family is forever changed by all of this. It is indeed a tragedy and a very painful one whichever way you see it, regardless of whose side you take.

I won’t sit here and pretend that some good will come out of this, but I can hope, and I do sincerely hope that one way or another something positive will emerge from this tragedy for the memory of Reeva Steenkamp and that all the people that are hurting right now (including Pistorius, if he is), because of this tragedy, will eventually come to a place of peace where the pain numbs into sweet memories of who she was to them and how she had touched their lives.

REST IN PEACE REEVA STEENKAMP.

Time Flies

I have not blogged in ages, and it has nothing to do with having nothing to say, quite the contrary. There is so much to say and the thoughts run into each other that it’s tricky to sieve them and have a coherent line of thought to share.

And for the past two weeks besides trying to stay healthy, I have had a hard time falling and staying asleep, but I resist creating anything in the middle of that night as that is a sure what to keep me even more awake, when I need to rest in order to be alert at work in the morning.

My boss had commented often lately that I seemed a lot more nervous than usual (I wonder if he was trying to tell me I was naturally nervous….?). The thing is, with the lack of sleep my creativity is at its peak. I’ve loads of ideas. I sew (for those of you that don’t know; I am a certified fashion designer), so I have been sketching like a mad woman. I bead weave so I have laid down some ideas of projects I would love to try my hands on.

I have also jotted down a few plots for an anthology we (Andrew and I) would want to put together. Unfortunately the only times I can really get these ideas to production are during those sleepless night…..like now. It is 02:22 hours where I am and I should be sleeping.

My father was the same. My mother used to call him restless but he would say it was not restlessness but creativity. And he was right. I haven’t known anyone half as creative as my father, he could literally make anything. He was an oil paint artist (not by profession) and made all sorts of craft: painted vases out of bottles, carvings, sculpting, tie dye – think anything craft, he did it. I don’t mean to brag but if creativity was in the genes then I inherited most of his, although I am not half as creative as he was.

I found myself thinking of him lately during these sleepless nights, wishing how much I would love to chat with him, but I can’t because he died. And it just hit me a moment ago that it’s the second Anniversary of his passing…..well almost. He was gone three years ago on February 28^th but he lives on…..somehow….but I miss him still.

Anyway, if this posting comes a bit loose jointed, it's the sleep....or lack of it.

Gorilla - A Short Story.

Gorilla has the most interesting face of anyone I have known. There is something profoundly primitive about him. He doesn’t talk much and wears a blank expression until the chance to beat someone presents itself. A glint appears in his shifty eyes, he becomes a ball of repressed anger, and everyone who knows better, splits. His real name is Martin, but I’m not supposed to know that. Gorilla is Azul’s brother.

“Babes, do you like surprises?” I had asked Azul last night.
“No, I don’t” she responded, “surprises always seem to go wrong.”
“Well, I love surprises,” I said with confidence – she’d like what I like, like most girls do, I figured. But she didn’t change her tune, though I still didn’t believe her. What girl doesn’t like surprises?

We’ve been dating for three months, you see, but we live in different towns. It’s just as well, because she says her friends can’t imagine what she sees in me. She’s pretty smart and works at a taco stand. Me? I dropped out of middle school, but I suppose I must be wise or something. She always tells me I am ‘streetwise’, whatever that means.

My surprise for Azul is to show up on her birthday. Of course she’ll be taking me out for a burger... she always seems to have money!

I called her in the morning to set things up. “So Babes, it’s your birthday, huh?” Calling her Babes sounds very macho, eh?
“Yes it is, coming over?”
“No” I lied, “I’m broke. Probably gonna stay home and watch TV. What about you?”

“I’m not sure yet” She said sounding OK with it.

“You’ll be home all day?” she asked.
“Yup, can’t go nowhere.”
“I might drop by later. You’ll be there?” She said.
“Sure.” I smiled. She bought it. I guess that’s my “street-wisdom”. She’ll never expect me.

Later that day I took the bus to her apartment with my last two bucks. I knocked but no one answered, which seemed strange. It had started to rain now, but I went to her window and looked in. It was dark, but it looked like she was doing her nails by the bed. I rapped on the window but she didn’t move. I flipped my phone open and called her. But damn! I was getting wet.

“Where are you?” she said as my phone credit ran out. She’d call back - she always did. I peered in again wondering why she didn’t move. Then I thought how she sounded strange, strained. A little worried now, my mind putting the scene together, I ran to the front door and tried to open it.
“What are you doing?” I heard Gorillas big voice ask behind me.
I turned around to see him staring blankly.
“Azul’s in trouble,” I blurted and resumed ramming my shoulder into the door.

“Are you sure?” the unfazed Gorilla asked.
“She’s slumped over by the bed and not moving! I think someone tied her up!” I screamed.

By now, there was small crowd gathering, and with a single massive kick Gorilla brought the door down and we quickly found the figure slumped by the bed. It was her back-pack.

Gorilla coolly flipped open his phone, dialed and put it on speaker while handing it to me.
“Gorilla?” she said
“It’s me Babes, where are you?” I asked, a little mad and confused now.
“I’m on your front step in the rain, you idiot. Where are you?” she responded hotly. I only heard Gorilla shift and grow, but I didn’t see a thing.

(Thank You Andrea, for rearranging it).

©Naan Pocen

Count the Abacus

Lovers and Best Friends. Don't we all have them!!

I love my friends, especially those of you that give me a good cue to blog about. I have heard it said that men and woman are from different planets and I always say it’s a lazy cop out for people to refuse to understand someone just because they’re of a different gender. Still sometimes I find myself face to face with a situation where I find it really incredible to accept that the seeming naivety of the man in question is genuine. Unfortunately, for the most part it is.

And I say unfortunately very loosely here, because even though I empathize with the complexity of understanding the opposite sex, I fail to see how two and two won’t give you four if you have the abacus right in front of you and all you need to do is count!

I am not going into specifics here for respect of my muse (you know who you are). I love you to bits, you know that, but it’s very difficult not to touch the core of the matter here, so I’ll use my example and touch on your situation. It’ll make sense, you’ll see.

Now first question.

Why does a woman wear a form fitting outfit that reveals every delicious curve on her body? Yes, it is her size and it isn't tight....just revealing. True, but aren’t there also clothes her size that hang loose? She chose that particular style for a reason. Wanna guess?

Why does a man that is only a friend suddenly interested in knowing why that other fellow seems interested in you? Hey, you’ve both been good friends for a long time and he is only looking out for you…..or is he?

Why does she wear that wide-necked blouse, then tops it off with a very eye catching necklace that rests between her cleavage? OK, that was the size it came in. True, but why do you think it lies there?

Last question, but before I ask, I need to point something out. I have a great relationship with all my ex’s - ALL OF THEM, and I won’t find it out of place AT ALL if either of them calls or reaches out to me…. and they do too, often enough. Now with that said, I (Naan) regardless of what an awesome relationship we had in the past and how great we get along now, will never ( NEVER) consider an ex a ‘best friend’ material, very good friend, yes, best friend. N-E-V-E-R…..but this is just me, and more power to you if you can. That said.

Last week, I received an email from someone in my past. It was totally unexpected, and in a sense a pleasant surprise. It was then followed by a call a few hours later, then the very next day, then another email, you know, to find out what I had been up to and such, nothing wrong with that.

This person and I have a great relationship and we do check on each other often enough. But after 8 calls, five emails and two text messages in the span of four days, my radar picked something in that right away. This person had easy access to me and could call or write whenever they wanted, but for some reason or another had always been too busy with their lives; the demand of the job, parenting a pre-teen alone, living in another city….the usual. And I appreciate all of these reasons as it echoes my situation…..suddenly however this super busy person has the time to suddenly ‘drop by’ for a Pizza.

“Are you bringing the kid along?”

“Oh no, he’ll be at his grandma’s.”

“Aren’t you working? It’s a week day?”

“I could throw away a perfectly good day for a dear friend”

“O…..K……lunch then? Because I work this weekend and love my beauty sleep.”

“Lunch isn’t enough to catch up….you know? So many good memories…?”

Well, yes, some men are rather shallow like that, they just blurt it out. Women are subtle…..I won’t tell how the conversation ended, but long story short…..or rather, last question. Why does this understandably, super-busy person suddenly has a few hours to grab a bite and talk about old times? Hey, we ARE very good friends……could it be that something about my status threatens something about his place in my life?

OK

Let’s quit hiding behind the guise of being naïve when an ex is making their presence felt, even if in subtle ‘friendly’ ways…..there is always a catch…..

So…. very good friends with ex eh? You may want to lay a more solid foundation of what you are building right now before you go playing lovers and best friends. Dude, count the abacus; it’s right in front of you! And I tell you this because I love you to bits and I want you happy….see? I told you I’ll make you anonymous and I pulled it. Yay!!……Seriously though, the obvious is always obvious if we care to look closely enough.