Posts

Creation and Self

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They say creation comes when you are at your most emotional. But, really ? Does it ever? Many have written about writer's block, too. And that muse abandons them when they are going through difficult times. The pendulum swings either way, it seems. The last few months have been far from easy. I have swung from being crazily busy to being rendered inactive after falling off my bicycle, just before the pandemic had us in semi-lock-down. I spent all of my time during this period wearing a knee-brace, and a good chunk of that having to use crutches. I would have thought this was something that would throw me - as would being confined and forced to stay away from socialising. In reality I was healing, healing from a huge gaping hole that was caused by living with someone who had addiction and bestowing on him different kinds of love. What started off as love among equals soon turned to be, for me, a love that provided support and resolved itself, perhaps, into the son I should have ha

Life after addiction

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And so you move on. It is not some 'namaste' revelation, nor is it some hopeful journey. Or at least, not right away. Succumbing to addiction creates victims, not only in the addict themselves but in the sufferers who have to reap the damage sowed by the loved one who is an addict. Relationships are burned away - indeed, trust is burned away and depending on how bad the damage done, the harm might be irreparable.  There could very well be trauma involved - has there been violence of sorts? fraud? Violation of trust, of one's safe haven, of one's home ? These are all considerations that the community remains comfortably unaware of. It is considered that now that the addict has recognised his or her wrongs and, or gone into rehab, things will look up but this is most often not the case. And so society moves on, unaware of the underworld that is in recovery. It could be argued that even the support services are unaware: there is much weeping and gnashing of teeth

My Cycling Adventures

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I remember my first tricycle, when I was three years old, and not only would I chase up and down the garden path we had (was paved) but we used to go down to Raffles ground and spend hours running around with it. When I was about 4 or 5, my parents got me a lovely black and yellow bicycle and my red tricycle went to my sister (although I still secretly liked it). At first we had side-wheels, and then they were gradually taken off. A few years later, we got a red Tomahawk, which I still winder the fate of today. We graduated to using the bikes not only in Luxol but other areas where they could be taken for a good old spin. This was most Sundays. At some point, we also used to cycle in the small street / alleyway next door and go round and round the block. Since I lived (still do) on a main road, commuting here and there was not much of an option and I was into windsurfing with my dad and his best friend. and ballet more than anything else. Eventually I moved on the

A Hole in Your Back Pocket

Living with addiction is no joke. Whether or not you are an addict, whether or not you are seeking to recover, or perhaps you might be living with someone who is contending with addiction, there are the traumas, the underlying issues, and the proverbial hole in your back pocket. This expression hit me during various discussions at recovery meetings. Recovering alcoholics will tell you how money seemed to vanish (though it would sometimes mysteriously appear instead) during their life as an addict.  They would have spent too much on alcohol for themselves, rounds for others, stocking up their cupboards for those long nights. With that, there is probably an alleviation of guilt somewhere. You break your car irreparably, drunk-driving. You fix it, not because it's worth doing so, but to atone for your sins. Someone makes financial demands on you and because when you last were pissed you made a fool of yourself, you pay up. It's never-ending. The outflow never seems to stop.

Gratitude

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What a beautiful expression, and how deeply meaningful. Gratitude.  Gratefulness.  Thankfulness.  Counting one's blessings.  Appreciation. Acknowledging that people have had time / willingness or whatever it takes, to deliver some benefit to you, perhaps unprompted. Looking back on the last twelve months, I have had no option but to recognise the high amount of blessings I have received, having stepped on the right path. Just one year ago, I was headed toward London, a conference and disaster.  That disaster would prove to be, not my undoing but a blessing, because I put it to good use and turned matters around to my benefit. It hasn't been without struggle and I have re-visited and confirmed all my promises to myself. You cannot deny, however, that when you preserve yourself, then you are able to keep your word and therefore be a gift to others. This weekend, I was away and I was surrounded by people, whom I had often spoken to but not quite remembered. I know I alwa

Are You Normal ?

That was the question during a therapy meeting. What do you consider to be "normal". "NOT ME," screeched my amused brain. Tongue in cheek, of course. Not me. Today there is wide acceptance that everyone has that little thing that sets them apart from the rest. A quirk, a chip on the shoulder, a scar, or a genetic make-up. Yet there seems to be a mainstream of what people consider to be normal. My mind wandered off to a poem ( see below) that I heard, entreating with 'normal day' to make itself known to the writer. It often makes me think of how little we appreciate what we call "mundane" (the word itself having a deprecatory note to it). “Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in t

An Appreciation - Hon. Justice Emeritus Mifsud Bonnici

I heard, yesterday, that one of the very first lecturers to make an impression on me in law school, has passed on to another life. Hon. Justice Emeritus Giuseppe Mifsud Bonnici was affectionately called "Jojo" by one and all in class, and he was a force to be reckoned with.  I still remember him clearly, riling against bureaucracy, indignant at a certain manner of doing things in University and his deep sense of justice - Natural Law and Natural Right. He was not one to be contraried in class - as I imagine was also the case in court. His temper may have appeared short but he was a righteous man - one who stood up for what was right. On his subject in our first year at university - the much hated book, Finnis - I was oft in two minds. The author was a pedant, and the book made heavy reading. Convoluted at best. I hated studying it with a passion and found all forms of philosophy repetitive.  However, Jojo would bring up humane issues at hand and an in-depth insightful a

Mundane choices

The tone of the iPhone, specifically, triggered it.  I used that particular "bling" for incoming e-mails, work e-mails, onto the phone, back when I was working in St Helier. Gut-wrenching pain reverberates through me, momentarily, as I remember the familiar smell of my beautiful apartment on the Esplanade, overlooking the yachts, and the walk to St Aubin's beach, 3 km of pure bliss as the tide was out, gazing longingly at the sand and sea. The staleness of struggling out of bed and the sinking feeling every time I would be called into an office, after moving to Malta. It was never-ending and the voices still echo in my head, as though I were in a time-travel cavern. I remembered the anxiety as it all spiralled again - and my struggling with myself and the thoughts of the one person  I had joined this team to escape. The crushing grief, his dogged insistence on remaining so close and yet so far. My perseverance in trying to get it out of my system but eventually succum

I Let the Stars Assume the Whole of Night

" I kept my answers small and kept them near; Big questions bruised my mind but still I let Small answers be a bulwark to my fear. The huge abstractions I kept from the light; Small things I handled and caressed and loved. I let the stars assume the whole of night. But the big answers clamoured to be moved Into my life.  Their great audacity Shouted to be acknowledged and believed. Even when all small answers build up to Protection of my spirit, still I hear Big answers striving for their overthrow And all the great conclusions coming near. " "Answers", Elizabeth Jennings Often we find that, while processing something of significance in our minds, we turn our thoughts to that which is less relevant - indeed we become obsessed by minor details when we really should be dealing with matters of greater import. One might find oneself distracted by clearing out a drawer when they really should have started to draft out a paper.  Alternative

Instant Gratification - the plague of today's society

I sat around, moping about the fact that someone's letter, supposedly posted ten days ago, had not reached me. Granted, the mere allegation that someone posted something does not mean it was posted at the agreed time or place.  Nor does it mean that the letter will be delivered swiftly, given the rushed period that precedes Christmas.  However, this caused me to turn my thoughts to how our expectations have changed over the years.  As a young girl, it was nice to have something to look forward to, and if a friend sent me something by post (perhaps we were unable to meet, or something of the sort), I knew that it would arrive, at some point, and it was a nice delicious feeling to know that the future held a nice little surprise for me.  It mattered not when it did in fact arrive, even if I looked at that letterbox with anticipation. Somehow, I could not bring myself to recreate that positive expectation this time round. My mind was immediately filled with ideas of letters gettin

Stupid O'Clock Musings - Not for the Faint of Heart

It is past 2 in the morning and the recent trend seems to be that my eyelids should be unable to remain shut. I am aware of the generous contribution being made by my erstwhile friend Caffeine - I've been binging unashamedly and unreservedly on sources of it.  Luckily, with this substance I know it's a fad that will soon be switched to something else, like sparkling water, tea or hot chocolate. It will begin to make me queasy, and I will just stop. Or perhaps stick with the dark chocolate.  It's an anti-depressant with delightful side-effects (weight not being one of them). It is during these silent mornings that my thoughts turn in on themselves and their cackles begin to echo in the caverns of my consciousness.  These audacious thoughts keep me awake and I know the reason. I sat in my therapists's room the other day.  This wayward one had strayed off for a few months and returned to its fold to ruminate.  He eyed me with amusement, as he always does, and a shutter

When Anxiety is Positive

Of course the world gives us good things to look forward to!  How one earth would we carry on, without things to smile about, things to look forward to ? Life has an extraordinary way of balancing the yin and the yang, and unless we are truly unfortunate, or utterly pessimistic, then we always have something to smile about at some point. Anxiety can be good.  Not that it feels good, but it may be induced by positive situations. My current state of mind is a productive one - the anxiety is generating work and high levels of efficiency.  There are things to look forward to and one particular thing that has lit up my days, even if it does not let me sleep at night. I almost hardly dare to dream and I am just looking at the idea, the feeling, and letting it stay with me, allowing it to infuse me with joy until it does become a reality.  I am almost sure there will be a few obstacles along the way, but the human spirit is always hopeful and the resulting anxiety is to be used in order