There are few things that I wait for in life with muscle tensing anticipation: 1 is anything to do with the series Song of Ice and Fire (George R.R. Martin is a devious genius and I want to crawl into his head and marinate in his awesomeness) and the second is that fiend of a creative heart wrencher Adele.
When 19 came out I warmed to it slowly but then 21… I fell in love, then I watched some interviews and thought, yup, we could soooo do coffee, we’d get along immensely. I tried not to think of how stalkerish that sounded because OBVIOUSLY she’d like me back and nothing would go wrong between us ever.
Then 25 came out and I was scared. I was scared I wouldn’t get the Adele I loved so fiercely. I was afraid that if she wasn’t what I wanted it’d kill my ability to love things and stories because her music is all gut ripping story for me and it give me ‘the feels’. And then I stumbled upon the video for Hello and thought, ‘MY GIRL IS STILL BRINGING IT!’ and then I listened to the album and grinned like a buffoon at my desk.
Adele has no doubt changed but she is still Adele. There is emotion to her words and I FEEL THEM ALL. Even the ones I don’t like. I want to nestle in her voice and tickle myself with her tendrils.
And that, ladies and gents, is why I want to be Adele (minus the tendrils obviously).
Never mind that number of CDs (yeah, CDs not digital downloads, those coaster contraptions) she has sold. Never mind how many records she will break. The girl in 19 is still alive in 25. Even if life has both kissed and buffeted her for a spell.
In fact in my mind, Adele was Princess Merida as a young ‘un.
Tell me you cant see it!
Maybe with a different picture… Or everyone, just watch Brave and listen to Adele’s albums.
A while ago I came across this video (Coming Out of Your Shell) and my heart did weird things in my chest (like it could do them anywhere else) because I GET IT! You should check it out. If only I had talent with the rest of my limbs and REAL co-ordination, I could create such beautiful visual things… *sigh*.
For a lot of my childhood, I was an immigrant in various places. And language has always been a “problem” for me. Apparently I used to speak Portuguese before “proper” school (lived in Mozambique at the time) but my mum would pinch me (or atleast I think that happened… but it may have been something I made up to make my loss of something so beautiful mean something) because she wanted me to speak English so I lost that right quick. I have an ear for languages but my tongue sits in my mouth like gum at the bottom of a shoe when I try and make it obey other linguistic rules. I cant even do slang properly. I am terrible at trying to sound “street”. Terrible… but I am running off the rails again. Lets get back to topic.
I have generally always had a good “command of English” and it made my mother proud but it didn’t really make me fit in (and what child trying to be normal, doesn’t want that.. or rather, that was the norm at the time, attempting to stand out didn’t really make you special). Among my own countrymen I couldn’t be a part of their private jokes and stories because I could not speak my own mother tongue or any other language from my home country (technically, English is my mother tongue because that’s what my mother used “on me” but “biologically”, my father is Tonga and my mother is Lala, both from Zambia) . My mother didn’t want my siblings and I to be “polluted” by the local languages we were bombarded with because that affected the sound of our English so we were a purely English household except when my parents wanted to share something between the two of them.
“Why didn’t you just teach yourself?” Might be a logical question and to that I would respond “Have you met other children?” They are brutal. Trying to speak a local language when you “look like it should be easy” but sound like a well meaning although ill mannered tourist is torturous and if you do not have the self esteem to ride through the bullying, you give up. Which is what happened to me, I gave up trying to learn my own languages and tried to ace “exotic” sexy languages like French and make sure no one else could “out-English” me, this was of course ridiculous.
I love the sounds of different languages and while I don’t have the same kind of negativity towards my parents languages, there is still too much residual failure in there for me to seek out teaching my tongue to move in that way at this point in my life. If its something my children want to learn in the future, I will not block them and will do everything I can to provide the tools necessary.
The problem with being an immigrant for so long is that even when you return home, it doesn’t quite settle on the bones in a way that truly fits. It may be comfortable but its not entirely “made to measure”. I know I found it easier being an immigrant when it was obvious that I didn’t belong than justifying why I didn’t belong because I looked just like everyone else.
I hope you find your own tongues and come out of your shells. You can only be the best version of you, you choose whether that best version is a watered down version of someone else’s expectations.
I’m working on a few short stories and that’s a first for me, I usually handle one project at a time because I thought it allowed me to “give it my best”, but that means I kill ideas because I don’t feel “ready” to flesh them out and that could be a cop out (most likely is). So right now, I am trying to tweak three stories for my first collection of short stories and I’m working on two half stories that involve running away and travel but they are so raw, I have no idea where they are going.
But I digress, today I am sharing two videos because last week I didn’t put up a post. And this week I am typing this while drinking a cup of green Japanese tea. My stash is almost done, nooooo!
First up: When Your Boyfriend Asks You to Strip For Him . Oh my word! Can I just say how much I ‘gasmed over this? I honestly don’t even know. I felt my stomach lurch and my heart flutter when she reached the end, and I swore at her… many times! How dare she make me feel all these damn emotions! Granted I re-watched it multiple times and shared it with everyone I know who would share my feelings. Why don’t we (women) love ourselves more? Why do we project our (imagined) faults onto our partners? I sadly find it very easy to depreciate myself in front of other people especially my physical appearance (not my mind, since I am posting its produce here, overinflated view of my mental abilities). My flesh and bone is “distinctly average” and sometimes I find it hard to believe someone would think I am the sexiest woman in the world because… “c’mon!” Like this morning, I was trying out some yoga and I noticed cellulite on a part of my thigh that I didn’t know it collected and cringed but was fascinated by the fact that it wouldn’t matter to “my person”. Granted I haven’t shown him that particular pose so he hasn’t seen that cellu-pocket (as I like to call it) but wouldn’t it be great if we could see ourselves the way the people who love us see us? That would be amazing. Allow yourself to do that. Somehow. Don’t become an arrogant git but own your “perfection”. Coz we all have a dose of it, so don’t binge but take a sip once in a while.
The Little Things is just a reminder to keep our eyes open to the good things that people around us do. Sadly I can often “miss” the nice things and to those nearest and dearest to me, I love you spades and boatloads. I am thankful for having you in my life and even when I can’t physically help you, know that I think of you, and your nuttiness drives me and my fiction. Whether I am escaping from it or drowning in it.
Thank you so much for getting to the end, I know this is very random… watch the videos. They’ll distract you from the lack of direction going on here.
I love characters (and people) that have something to say but don’t shove it down your throat with some kind of moral authority, add that with a quirky personality and you have my heart. Right now my major internet crush is Anna Akana, here’s her youtube page.
As a child I was not a social person. I preferred my own company because it required too much effort dealing with other people and I hated small talk (still not a fan). I wanted to talk about “serious” things and other kids really didn’t, so even if I hadn’t chosen my own company, it would have been thrust upon me anyway.
One of my teachers thought I was abused at home because I was “too quiet”. My mother was grilled about my “home situation” during a PTA meeting when I was in the third grade, and afterwards asked me if I was OK (and happy). At the time I couldn’t think of why I wouldn’t be happy, everyone had problems including me but I was OK. In the end, what I took from that conversation was that I (and how I presented myself) was a problem, and I needed to fix that. My solution? Become more involved. After the third grade there wasn’t a year that I wasn’t involved in at least three extra curricular activities, in some kind of leadership role and smiled while doing it. Thing is though, I would much rather have just gone home early, read a book or written some story about something that was vaguely true and been internally satisfied. Instead I saddled myself with a perpetual people pleasing that I still struggle with. All because third graders are supposed to be noisy.
I only started fighting my people pleasing ways in university. Which isn’t really a good time to be fighting what defines you and led to my degree taking place at two universities and took twice as long to complete. Not fun when everyone has you pegged as an over achiever, so in the end, you appear to be a failure.
Letting other people’s observations become your reality is guaranteed to keep you wrapped in unhappiness. I really just should have learned how to express my desire for alone time instead of pretend I didn’t engage in it (if that doesn’t sound suggestive)…Obviously not in third grade but after then, instead of devising more methods to prove how social I was when I would rather not have been.